Well, dear readers, it occured to me that I have not even mentioned that it is nearing Christmas. Tis the season to be jolly, and here we haven’t even fa la la la lad yet. That is simply heinous (heinous, do you hear me?). I mean, here it is, the season to be jolly, and we should be singing Christmas Carols. And, as long as we’re singing Christmas Carols, shouldn’t we be singing Christmas Sharons and Christmas Susans, too? Why does Carol get all the singing and fame and glory? Don’t get me wrong, I like Carol as much as the next person, but I think we’ve got to spread the fame and glory to other women and men, too. This year, I will not only be singing Christmas Carols, I will be singing Christmas Arnolds and Christmas Yvonnes as well, and no one can stop me from doing so, not even by serving me legal papers. What the hell am I talking about?
Last night I dreamed I was at Manderly, but before that I dined with two delightful dear readers, Laura, and her charming daughter Sandra, who were in town to see the Forever Plaid Christmas show. Sandra is the number one Plaid fan in the entire world (a true Plaidette), and Laura is the number one fan of Sandra. They are both the number one fan of Mr. Jason Graae, and I’d met them at his Cinegrill appearance in September. Upon meeting them, I insisted that they also be my number one fan, and, in fact, I threatened to throw rice pudding on them unless they complied with my request. Happily for all, they did. To read further about our dining experience, you’ll simply have to click that darn Unseemly Button Below.
We went to the California Pizza Kitchen, where we had a twenty-five minute wait. Then, after the wait, we ate. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, first the wait, then we ate. The food was on a plate. Yes, it tasted great. Our waitress wasn’t named Kate. Oh, the reason we had the wait was because Laura and Sandra were late. To wait is the fate for those who are late. At any rate, we ate, cleaned our plate, and afterward I felt as big as a crate. Does anyone have any Lithium they can lend me?
Well, it is a beautiful and brisk Saturday here in Studio City, California. Today I will be buying the Tuesday batch of new DVDs (I get the Tuesday releases a few days early, thanks to a very nice store that I frequent). There are quite a few good releases of some classics, plus I’m getting Moulin Rouge, which I haven’t seen yet, but which everyone either loves or dislikes. I’ll have a full report for you on all titles, so stay tuned.
Is there anything more annoying than the sound of a lawn mower? It just gives me a headache, the sound of a lawn mower does. On and on it drones, sometimes in the key of A, sometimes modulating to Bb, or, if the mower gets excited, the key of D. D for droning. Droning, droning, droning. I just want to go outside and kick that lawn mower from here to eternity and have it be gone with the wind. Perhaps I’ll do it at high noon. Oh, don’t think I’m psycho, but this droning is for the birds and it’s getting me in a frenzy because I’m looking out my rear window and all I see is the wrong man operating the wrong mower, and he’s notorious for it and I’m getting a suspicion that I’d like to push him down thirty-nine steps. I won’t though, because I have vertigo. I wish that my neighbors Rebecca and Marnie would at least have their lawn mowed at a decent hour. Frankly, I think it’s a family plot to annoy everyone. They don’t even keep their house looking nice. I mean, there’s a torn curtain right in the front window. I don’t mean to act like I’m the man who knew too much, but there’s not a shadow of a doubt that that lawn mower is annoying me, rather like when you meet annoying strangers on a train. Speaking of a train, I took one once. It was going north by northwest, and I was going to visit my friend Harry, but the trouble with Harry was that he’d gone to jail for stealing a Big Hunk bar. Apparently, Harry had gotten stage fright while stealing the Big Hunk bar and the police were able to catch a thief in the act quite easily. Well, I confess that I’m at the end of my rope, and besides there’s a lady at my front door and I must go talk to her before the lady vanishes.
What the hell was that all about? Did anyone noticed I was on a Hitchcock roll? Next I’ll be on an onion roll or even worse a kaiser roll.
Well, dear readers, I must brush my teeth, comb my hair, annoint myself with various balms and gileads and liquids and lotions and sprays and washes. Then I shall be fit for human viewing. Have you ever been fit for human viewing? Was the fit a little snug in the waist? Was the inseam long enough? Well, I must stop because the drivel quotient in these here notes has exceeded even my expectations.