Knitting Night Image

Here's something silly to celebrate Wednesday night on a short week. I had Monday off and have Friday off for the holiday. I love these long weekends. But tonight I don't have a ton of time. So you get a picture. I have absolutely no idea what he's doing. I've never seen a squirrel lay like this.

Songs about Toast and Butter Jesus

I'm going to steal a post idea from my friend Salt who writes a very enjoyable blog about whatever argument happens to end up in his head. Today he wrote an interesting post about religion and the belief that things happen as a punishment. He was referencing the gigantic Styrofoam Jesus that was recently struck by lightning and burned to the ground. But I'm not going to talk about that.

Instead I'm more interested in the singer he mentioned. A while ago Jeff got me hooked on the morning show Bob and Tom. I loved the comedians they brought in, some of their batter between the group, and I particularly liked the musicians. They introduced me to people like Paul and Storm, Rodney Carrington, Stephen Lynch, and Heywood Banks. Sometimes the humor got a bit crude (this show is not for the young ones) but it almost always made me laugh. I haven't been listening to the show recently but I still listen to the music.

So where to these two paragraphs combine? With Heywood Banks, a parody songwriter. Heywood wrote a hilarious song about the giant Jesus sculpture called "Big Butter Jesus" since it has a bit of a buttery looking color to it. With descriptors like "unsalted Jesus", "Promise Jesus", "sweet cream Jesus", and the ever perfect "Oleo Lord", this song is blasphemous and downright hilarious. And this is just one of his songs.

Most of his songs are just silly. He has a decent voice and that with his bizarre lyrics make these songs enjoyable. His song "Iowa" is a regular favorite of mine. Any song about the state that occasionally bursts in with "What's that smell?" is good in my book. I laugh so hard I cry when I listen to "You Can Be Mean to Me (The Revenge Song)". And you really have to watch his song "Toast" on video. Heywood sings while accompanying himself on...well...a toaster. Bob and Tom's favorite seemed to be "A Trauma to the Groin" which is enjoyable but not quite as good as "Wiper Blades".

Heywood is actually Stuart Mitchell, and he has a style all his own. I've seen pictures of him with long straight hair and a pair of nerd glasses, but I've also seen pictures with him looking like Colonel Sanders. There both funny looks but but his image is only a small part of the act. It's the music that fascinated me. His music just makes me crack up laughing. If you're not easily offended (and have a good sense of humor) he's well worth a listen. Fun stuff.

Thanks for the idea, Salt. Hope it's okay that I "borrowed".

Poetry Friday

I haven't done a Poetry Friday in a while and I figure I'm about due. I've been thinking about which poem to post all week. On Wednesday I had decided it would be Jorie Graham's The Way Things Work, mostly because I tend to repeat the last line as something of a mantra. "The way things work is that eventually something catches." Not sure why that lines sticks with me but it does.

But today I'm in a silly mood. I just finished a very, very, very (can I stress the VERY) frustrating work project and I feel like I can breath a little easier. So today is something silly, a little ditty by Ogden Nash. I've been reading through his collected works and am constantly beset by smirks (sorry too much rhyming poetry). For those of you with children, this may seem familiar. For me, it just makes me laugh.

Children's Party
by Ogden Nash

May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest.

My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats.

I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces.

Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages.

Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. Francis from here to Natchez.

Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen.

Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults,

And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again,

But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover

Cleansing Post

The previous post was a bit sad and a bit disgusting. So here is a painting attempt I made this afternoon to cleanse your mind. Maybe. It's not a great painting but I'm having fun. It's my Balloon Boy. I love the blue of the sky but otherwise I'm not in love with the image. But it is much happier than my poor sick bird.

Poetry Friday

I'm a little early with this but I thought it was appropriate for today. I've been ill for the last week and this poem by Shel Silverstein has been coming to mind. 

Sick

by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today," 

Said little Peggy Ann McKay.

"I have the measles and the mumps,

A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,

I'm going blind in my right eye.

My tonsils are as big as rocks,

I've counted sixteen chicken pox

And there's one more--that's seventeen,

And don't you think my face looks green?

My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--

It might be instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, 

I'm sure that my left leg is broke-- 

My hip hurts when I move my chin, 

My belly button's caving in, 

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained, 

My 'pendix pains each time it rains. 

My nose is cold, my toes are numb. 

I have a sliver in my thumb. 

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, 

I hardly whisper when I speak. 

My tongue is filling up my mouth, 

I think my hair is falling out. 

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight, 

My temperature is one-o-eight. 

My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear, 

There is a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what? 

What's that? What's that you say? 

You say today is. . .Saturday? 

G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Got Your Goat

This is just for the heck of it. And really because it makes me smile. Enjoy.