Strange work dream:
Mel Blanc was mad at us because we wouldn’t include something he donated in a digital collection. I observed that I was pretty sure it had to be Mel Blanc‘s son who made the complaint, because Mel Blanc himself was dead.
Just as I was about to look it up and see when he died, I woke up. Of course, I immediately went for my phone and looked it up anyway.
Mel Blanc died in 1989.
Random gay porn video, circa 1991:
My living room, circa now:
…that there seem to be only three options under “what are you mailing?”:
One night in 1996, I picked up a very adorable boy at a bar in Sacramento (the Wreck Room, I believe) and we went back to his flat a few blocks away. All night long, we made out to the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald, which made me like that adorable boy even more.
The next morning, as I was driving back to my room at the Motel 6 or wherever, I heard on the radio that Ella had died the previous night while we were curled up in bed listening to her. It made me very sad. I never heard from the boy again either, which also made me sad.
I loved Ella even as a child, and I have very sketchy memories of seeing her on the Ed Sullivan Show when I was really young (maybe this one?). In that proverbial game of dead celebrities you’d like to have at a dinner party, she makes my list every time.
Happy 100 and rest in peace, Ella.
I’d think this was pretty cool, but:
That said, it ties in with something I was thinking about this morning. I could never love anyone who:
I think this will be enough bullet lists for one Wednesday.
This seems like the day to finally confess after all those years that the song (both times) was Careless Whisper.
I was not a big George Michael fan, but dang, that song sure did surface at some pivotal points for me.
Just as I decided I was really tired of being perpetually outraged, and that I could not bear any more social media time, any further discussion of Cruz/Trump/HB2, nor the grading of any additional badly written assignments, I discovered tonight that Animaniacs is now on Netflix. Suddenly, life is worth living again.
Don’t look for me on Facebook. No, I’ll be spending my time with the Warner brothers…and the Warner sister Dot. I will be much happier and will sleep much better. And there will be no idiotic comments to read.
New Tokyo Police Club. They’ll be here in April, thus permitting me to see them for the second time and to provide a friend with a good birthday present. Plus, as an (honorary?) child of the 1990s, how can I not love an EP entitled Melon Collie and the Infinite Radness?
Scary: When someone at work asks you who the lead singer of Dead or Alive was and assumes you will know the answer.
Scarier: When they are correct in that assumption.
It’s kind of hard to curate posts that are less than a year old, but I tried. This is the final year to be covered in my “twenty years” retrospective. I may talk about the actual anniversary tomorrow and try to draw some broad conclusions. Or I may not. You’ll have to check back by to see which it is.