Meanwhile...

Morty was fascinated with the record once-in-a-century flood dousing us in Georgia. He had that TV on around the clock, when all the cat needed to do was look out the window, go outside even. No, he wouldn't do that. Kids gotta have their electronic gadgets to filter life. Why bother to actually experience?

Morty did offer to dash down to our creek bank to check on the water currents, but only if I'd buy him a catnip snorkel.

I didn't fall for that one, believe, you, me. We've got catnip flippers strewn all through this house, but just try to find a fourth.

Oh, sure, I could locate two left rears, except they don't fit Morty up front in "Shotgun."

Besides, flippers are a moot mew anyway. He'll only wear them to waddle through catnip slobber.

My Latest Obsession (Collect the Hole Series)

Have you ever heard a stranger's voice and felt an immediate connection? Love at first sound bite? 

I have. The Talking Pothole.

Moving Picture

As did

Big Weekend

 

I got caught

Off the Wall

Saving Facebook: My Confessions:

I would love to see you and New York at Christmastime. That would be fun, but I cannot this year.

Hang in there, though, I will be at Carnegie Hall April 12th with my one man show, "A Tribute to Beyoncé in Card Tricks, Jello Molds, and the Dogg's Swerve On," featuring tropical fruit and, of course, jammm. I'll be crooning, flying them all, from "Sweet Dreams (Smash Mode Remix)" to "Ave Maria" to "Get Me Bodied." I'll leave comps at the box. Bring congratulatory liniments. Looking for a Dance Captain, Dance Private First Class, and a gunner.

I think I've developed Carpal Tunnel Bathroom Syndrome. And I wasn't even right-clicking my mouse.

On Mom's Cuisine:

I boycotted her gargantuan cow tongue on a platter. I think my vegetarianism began with those moo tongue bumps with the hairs in them.

Man, that was the creepiest dinner ever.

That poor cow, running around, going, "MOOF."

On the Dangers of Phoning and Texting While Driving:

Fortunately, I'm old school. I just spin plates on a stick.

I Got Nuthin'

Consolation Video: Yaen: "Fish Fight" via YouTube
 -- 
Thanks to Randy Stewart, especially for the ouchless fish unquents and the snarky Hello Kitty bandages.

100 Things About Me #171

Michael Caine is making news, WENN reports:

"The actor played spy Harry Palmer in three movies in the mid-1960s - 'The Ipcress File,' 'Funeral In Berlin' and 'Billion Dollar Brain' -- and he's keen to bring the bespectacled Cold War super agent back to life one more time."

Show Business Is My Life

The mention of "The Ipcress File" stirred memories of my 8th grade adolescence, working at the Emory Theatre, a single auditorium in Atlanta, where I apprenticed to become a professional motion picture machine operator. This film, as I recall, was the first 35mm feature I ever screened unsupervised to a paying audience.

I was manning -- rather, boying -- the snack bar during Christmastime, 1965. We'd close the counter by 10 p.m. and I'd climb the staircase to the projection booth each night and finish out the last show with approximately 90 minutes remaining to the end titles. My mentor left the premises early and drove home as part of the big test.

I was under a lot of pressure to not bumble the reels and keep the film advancing smoothly through the trusty pair of Simplex projectors. The large, satisfied audiences gazing Caine never knew an actual grown-up was not in control.

Showing movies properly is not as easy as the task might appear. The urge to make shadow puppets is darn near overpowering. I've always managed to stop two fingers short of a bunny.

I was pleased with my performances of "The Ipcress File," heavily determined by the not getting yelled at.

Operating the machinery without a safety net during those late nights was exhilarating, but -- hey, wait a minute! -- it meant my ride was already in bed.

I didn't mind. I had grinning achievements to ponder, walking out of the building and into more dark.



"The Ipcress File" (1965) Trailer via YouTube


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Poster via Moviegoods

Big Weekend

Kicked myself for missing out on the Bob Hope stamp.


And, hey, how' 'bout that Frank Thompson, huh?