A ! B ! C !

Here's an alphabetical mix to kick off December. It's pretty excellent. But don't take my word for it, download it here and leave a comment, por favor.

S is for "Scenes From A Motel"

Johnny Avocados adjusted his banana hammock, coughed nervously, mussed his hair and looked at his reflection in the motel mirror. He promised he'd quit after this one, "Cold turkey," he whispered to no one as he affixed the fake mustache he bought off of that off-duty DMV employee with the she-mullet and the embroidered elephants on her pink satin jacket.

His heart beat metronomically, like the wrist of a fly fishing pro or a goiter on a jogger with an enlarged thyroid. He put his hand against the cool surface of the bathroom mirror. "High fives. All around." he whispered.

*******

Margaret studied the "You Are Here" icon on the Emergency Escape Plan mounted on the back of her door. It looked like she felt: like a target. On the TV behind her and to her right, James Carville yammered on about something or other. In the war of the talking heads, we are all losers. She had no idea what he was talking about. It may as well be a diatribe on the dangers of kite flying for all Margaret knew or cared.

Margaret was burdened by the Great Eternal Truth: we're all transitory. We're all going to die someday, somehow, whether it's by accidental lobotomy, getting shivved in a prison shower by Martha Stewart or a long weekend at Neverland Ranch, eyes heavy with wine and opium.

A chewing gum commercial came on with that "Way You Walk" song by that band, Papas Fritas. Margaret had seen them in concert years ago as a student in Quebec, before everything got so scary. Before anthrax in the mail and airplanes used as bombs and removing your shoes at airports. Before now.

She sat down on the end of her bed, sobbing.

*******

"Take that ridiculous hat off. You look like a Rastafarian or something."

"Well, that shirt makes you look like an extra in a high school production of Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. And you managed to slop tiramisu all over it. Nice."

"Whatever. Wait, who are you calling? Your mom? It's been what, 10 hours? Geez. Yeah, I guess you're about due. What's the matter, the umbilical cord pulled too tight?"

"Oh go pop a Valium or something. I should have listened to my mother and married Jerry Washington. He wouldn't have brought me to this crappy motel in who-knows-where and insulted by shirt and bored me to tears with details about fungus and whatever!"

"Um, it's called xylan. It's a polysaccharide found in plant cell walls and some algae. Freaking zoology majors."

Silence.

"I'm sorry. Your hat is nice."

"I'm sorry, too. But your fungus is still boring. And Jerry Washington is a doofus."

*******

And that's the end of the words and the end of April. I'm not doing the "Voices" thing for May, so, business as usual. I'll post the new mix soon.

This list is courtesy of Caitlin. Thanks to everyone who participated. If I didn't use your words, don't take it too hard. You just weren't good enough. (I kid, I kid!)

C is for "Corn On the Cob"

Dear Corn On the Cob,

Will you marry me? You are lovely and I adore you. We will be happy forever and ever.

Please Check One (preferrably "Yes"):

[ ] Yes.

[ ] No.

Sincerely,
Dylan

N is for "News: Good, Bad & Other"

Here's the good news: Guilermo del Toro (not to be confused with my friend Guillermo who works at Del Taco) is officially the director of the big screen adaptation of the Hobbit, with Peter Jackson co-writing and producing. I can be very down with this, although I still say that two three-hour movies for the one book is stretching it out a little.

Now, the bad news: Jimmy Fallon is taking over Conan's late-night spot when Conan moves up to the big leagues this year. I predict a drinking game where a person has to drink whenever Fallon cracks himself up and/or fixes his hair. I also predict a lot of alcohol-related fatalities ("FINISH HIM!") due to aforementioned game.

And finally, in other news, Miley Cyrus is reportedly "writing" her autobiography. It is tentatively titled: You Really Will Buy Anything That Has My Large-Toothed Face On It, Won't You? It will be approximately 23 pages long, double-spaced, set in 36 point type and will be 85% exclamation marks and smiley faces. The book will be dedicated to "All you suckers out there."

Q is for "Questions?"

Any questions regarding last night's episode of Lost? Now's the time to ask them, especially after the month's break.

In the meantime, for you other Lost nerds, you can busy yourselves with Doc Jensen's newest Entertainment Weekly column. I really thought this episode was super duper keen, even though I had no clue what was happening half of the time. In other words, another excellent Lost episode.

F is for "Forever Lost"

Thanks to this amazing new pharmaceutical, I can now live my life:

But seriously though ... how awesome does tonight's episode look? If you answered "Really Awesome, Dylan." then you are correct.

Oh, and by the way, has anybody else seen this? Also, has anyone else wet themselves in excitement? Because I sure did. I am totally pwned by JJ. And are we excited for this new Joss Whedon show? I'm not all ga-ga over him, but I'll check it out, I guess. Why not, right?

A is for "Animavore!"

I eat animals. I eat them for breakfast. I eat them for lunch. I eat them for dinner. I eat them for snacks. They are delicious. Every chance I get, I eat some sor tof animal. And I don't care what Courtnee says, dogs taste good. Like a four-legged chicken. Everybody gets a drumstick!

Some people might be offended by my experiments in cuisine. Those people don't know how many funkalicious meals they are missing. They're too wracked by guilt to consider how their gerbil might taste with some horseradish (pretty good!) or how happy they could be gnawing on a seal bone and toast. "Seals: they're not just for tallow to make candles to light igloos anymore!"

Some jack-o-lanterns (this made-up swear word is copyrighted! Do not steal it!) might take umbrage when I look at their kittens and lick my lips as I describe the juiciest portions and perfect side dishes to them on the subway. Well, those people can go fly kites for all I care! (No seriously, it's a great hobby) Life's too short, you know? I want to make sure when I get up to the pearly gates, when Saint What's-His-Name is recounting my life, he's not going to talk about how much money I made or what sorts of noises I made when I watched The Price Is Right alone. (I really get into Plinko) No, he's going to look at me and say, "Did you really eat an ostrobamarich egg? With radish dressing?" To which I will reply proudly, "Yes. It was ostrobama-licious."

I really don't see what the big deal is, I mean, have you smelled pigs? Now that is a disgusting animal. Dogs smell good. (And taste great with a little ketchup!) Cats are known for their cleanliness. Monkeys ... well they're sort of gross. (But tasty!)

The thing I hate the most about all of this is the constant quizzes whenever I describe my eating habits to people. "Have you had turtle?" Yes. Great with relish. "How about kangaroo?" Yep. Most people think I'm joshing when I say it has a little kick to it. "Would you eat reindeer meat?" You betcha. If it's good enough for Santa Claus, it's good enough for me. That's why I wear this furry red suit (One hundred percent red panda fur. They are salty!) and give random people presents. (Okay, so "presents" is more like "advice on how to properly prepare their pets as meals", but well, teach a man to fish...) Ho ho ho!

The biggest problem I face is the media. If only there were more positive portrayals of animavores on TV or in movies, (or radio plays for you old-timers)I don't think I would be faced with such ridiculous treatment. I mean we all eat animals, I just venture out from under the umbrella of "the Norm" every now and then. And do some of my expeditions in to unknown territory end in something besides victory? Or course. I'll never eat pigeon again. Or anything than waves at me. Xcept for those two things, it's fair game. And I do mean game, all you yellow-tailed zig zags out there. You're going to taste great with some spicy mustard and a Bearnaise sauce.

Yum!

*******

Today's list via Courtnee whose blog is Top Secret. (Not the movie) And no, I didn't misspell her name. Two "E"' s. Weird, right?

T is for "A Toilet Story"

Apple Jacks and Banana Pancakes had not spoken to each other since they had a pretty feirce argument one late night over what model of Corellian Freighter the Millennium Falcon was ("uh, duh, Apple Jacks, it's a YT-1300!" Banana Pancakes exclaimed, his mouth a morass of spittle and partially mashed French Onion Sun Chips ... ) of if Delta Force was a commentary on Reagan-era US foreign policy and its pursuant pitfalls or if it was a metaphor for the escape from the prison of one's own elephantitis-ized ego.

Needless to say, they did not leave that apartment on the best of terms. After their little verbal fandango, Apple Jacks packed up his collection of Garbage Pail Kids cards, gruesomely decapitated action figure heads and all 27 volumes of The Complete Annotated William Shatner's Tekworld and move out their shared hovel of an apartment and onto the dark and lonely streets.

"Better to sleep on a park bench that smells vaguely like boiled cabbage and vinegar than spend another minute in an apartment with a nincompoop!" Apple Jack yelled at noone in particular, his voice a mixture of indignation, sadness and Milk Duds.

That was two years ago.

Since then, Banana Pancake had embarked on a career as a hip-hop mogul, rising through the ranks as the hot new MC, Hostile Apostle, known for his venomous lyrics packed full of cheeky references to discarded pop culture and how badly his back hurt. Dude was huge in Denmark and Hungary.

Apple Jack, on the other hand still worked in the produce section of a rather disreputable supermarket owned by a Spaniard who bore an uncanny resemblance to Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride. The faux-Montoya even wore a sword, knee-high boots and a puffy shirt around in public. Needless to say, the man was hell with the ladies.

So you can imagine the ill-feeling that hung in the air as they glanced at each other at opposite ends of the urinal tract in a public restroom at a certain Major League Baseball park on May 27, 2006. It was obviously palpable to the man between them, a 50-something man who looked a little like Jack White/Black/Palance mated with a cougar who flew through space to have her abominable offspring birthed on the mystical planet Kobol, whose king was the great-grandson of one Lorenzo Llamas, you know, the dirtbag guy from Renegade. With the mullet. That guy. All of that was a roundabout way of saying that the 50-something man's ears were too big for his head.

Big Ears tried to clear the obvious tension that hung like a hanging thing over the entire urinal row by talking about muscle cars and how he'd once seen 14 ninjas piled into a Shelby Cobra, but after one-and-a-half sentences, he fell silent, finished up, and ran out of the lavatory. And no, he didn't wash his hands. I know, gross right?

Both parties tried to optimize the silence to come up with a killer opening line that even pirates or Jason Quinones* would blush at. They stood there, no longer "taking care of business," just glaring beams of purest hatred across the aisle of urinals like missiles or turkey legs, locked an intricate dance of hatred, bitterness and non-urination.

Then something happened.

Someone started humming Kiss' "Rock And Roll All Nite" in one of the stalls. Some guy with Star Wars boxer shorts and jeans down around his ankles, hearing no noise and thinking he was alone in the restroom began singing, as in "like really singing"-type singing. Guitar solos and everything. Improvising, even.

By the time he finished up, the tension had melted like cheese into tortilla soup. After Apple Jacks and the hip-hop mogul formerly known as Banana Pancakes washed their hands (like everyone should do, especially after using a public restroom), but before the guy in he stall started in on humming the entirety of Dave Matthews frat-friendly jam-band classic Under The Table And Dreaming, Apple Jack and Banana Pancake did the unthinkable, they smiled at each other and shook hands. Then they hugged. Then they started arguing about the merits of bass sensationVictor Lemonte Wooten and whether there is a Wilhelm Scream snuck into Xanadu. But they were smiling. For the first time in years, they were smiling. Unlike most other people, they left the restroom with more than they went in with. I don't care which god you pray to or what you believe politically or if you once met Adam West at a classic car show in lovely downotwn Burbank in the fall of 1976, but that right there is a beautiful thing.

So, why am I writing this on the wall of a men's room stall in Yankee Stadium? Well, the fact of the matter is that I got bored sitting here singing the theme song to The Fall Guy over and over and sometimes you see something while you're sitting on the toilet that is so life-affirming and beautiful that you just have to share it. "Pay it forward" and all that.

Also, I'm sort of hoping the people from the Zagat Survey see this and give me a job or something. A guy can only sit on toilets singing loudly to himself and whoever else is "taking care of business" before he starts to get bored and wish he had a "real" job.

I'm sure you know exactly what I mean.

*******

Today's list comes from Ben, so it's his fault if it's too weird for you and your fragile sensibilities to handle.

* Jason, I mean no harm. You know that, right? Well, just in case you don't, I don't. Mean any harm, that is. You were the "Q" in the list. I did what I had to do. I am not sorry.

Okay, I am sorry. Sorry.

B is for "Buffalo", as in "Use Every Bit of the Buffalo"

What follows is an attempt to use every word in Patti's list, in order, in a blog post. It is totally based on a true story, which is to say that it's all fake:

So I was sitting down to watch the Apple Dumpling Gang, starring the indomitable Tim Conway and Don Knotts and I'm struck by a perilous conundrum: should I eat a brownie or a piece of carrot cake while I watch this cinematic masterpiece? It's always a touchy decision, dessert. If you choose wrong, man, you're screwed.

Anyway, so when faced with a "zig" or "zag" situation, I always choose "zug", so I opted for a delightful elixir known colloquially as a "French Taunt", made from raw eggs, baby seal tears and ennui. Its name derives from ancient times when a gaggle of Gallic peoples would mix up a big old cup of the stuff and pour it on French peasants while saying horrible things about their aunts, uncles and pet chinchillas. It's true what they say, "Happiness is a taunted Frenchman."

Anyway, so as I was mixing up this brew and listening to the distant lilt of the ice cream truck as it ambled down the avenue, selling joy and bomb pops, an interesting thought got all up on my jock. What if Kleenex were made from sandpaper? That would be horrible! Oh how I laughed and laughed at this thought, so much so that I cried tears of pure limeade into my newly-baked batch of spaghetti sauce muffins.

"Nuts!" I exclaimed as I threw them out the window, accidentally hitting my flamboyantly heterosexual neighbor, Mister Darryl Oats, formerly of the 80's blue-eyed soul duo Pancakes & Oats. You may remember their hit single, "Que Onda Radish?", which was a sensation in Portugal, where it dominated the charts until Señor Sexy released the mega-smash, "Salsa Tomatillo", which I don't need to tell you, really gets your ulnar nerve a-shakin'. Why Spanish disco was so popular in a country that speaks Portugese is anybody's guess. Novelty, maybe? Aaaah, the 1780's. To be 13 again ...

It was at the exact moment as I sat there, humming Señor Sexy's other smash hit, "Forget the Alamo (And Remember To Get Funky!)", watching Mr. Oats pick bits of muffin out of his white-man Afro (Euro?) as he cursed me in twelve different languages (including Esperanto! Impressive!) and threatened to report me to the Vice Squad regarding a rather hilarious - though admittedly "mature" - Dilbert cartoon I had shown him which he found highly offensive (seriously, you Americans and your fear of the nude male form! Talk about your hangups!) that I realized something of cosmic importance: Wheat Chex are not that good! Like, at all! Not to get all xenobiotic on you, but have you tasted these things? Yuck! Like for serious! They're like sticks held together by mulch and bailing wire. Seriously!

Anyway I gotta go and wash this Yorkshire Pudding out of my mustache before it sets like it did last winter. It took twelve firemen equipped with blowtorches and rubber cement 17 hours to remove it. I almost had to lose the mustache and we can't have that!

Talk to you later! Ziti!

Sincerely,
Martin P. Wiggumbottom, Esq.
AKA: "Your Boyfriend"

*******

Today's post courtesy of Patti, though Ben threw down the gauntlet as far as using all the words in a list as the basis of a post. Ziti!

Y Is For "Yesterday's News"

What follows is a series of news items that I must comment on or the internet will break itself in two. Here goes:

ITEM! This whole Woody Allen/American Apparel thing is bizarro, innit? I mean, "sex sells" but not that kind of sex, pervy American Apparel guy.

ITEM! I like me some Cusack. John, Joan, whoever, but this is a little overboard. But then again, sometimes you do crazy things for love, right? Am I the only one who thought that Cusack's character in Say Anything was a little too, I dunno, aggressive there at the end? Like at any moment it could turn real ugly real fast with restraining orders and whatnot? I'm just sayin'.

ITEM! I have started an ephemera/work dump over on Flickr. I'm gonna try and upload something every day, but don't hold me to that. I'll do what I can. If you're on there, feel free to add me as a contact, kay?

ITEM! Did you see who's hosting SNL this week? I will definitely have to take measures to make sure I don't fall asleep a half-hour into the episode only to wake up all confused sometime around 4am.

ITEM! I'm pretty psyched for the new Islands album. And you should be, too.

ITEM! The New York Post is my new favorite newspaper. Okay, so not really, but still.

ITEM! This initially was a fairly lengthy post about the Whiskeytown album Strangers Almanac, the Deluxe Edition I recently obtained. But it was long and rambling and didn't really have an ending or make a whole lot of sense so I'll just say that you really should own it we'll leave it at that.

ITEM! I'll be posting the April (titled No Cars Go, btw) mix later today so chill out, Ben!

Today's post was submitted by Dave. Who will it be tomorrow? Tune in to find out. Same Bat-time, same Bat-weblog!