Spitball Army

It is charming, quirky, sung not entirely in tune, and contains the phrase “shook a little turd out of the bottom of your pants.” How many songs can claim that?

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Every year I look forward to watching the broadcast of this annual event, then do a Homer Simpson DOH! when I hear about it the day after it aired. Not that it should be difficult to catch – the show traditionally airs during the week between Christmas Day and New Year’s Day. But my brain gets wiped clean after the Christmas retail season, and the week after is spent stumbling along, trying to remember my name and where I put the car keys.

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This evening, after finally locking the doors, we were cleaning up with the store iPod playing in shuffle mode (yes, we use an mp3 player at a CD store…what of it?! 23,191 songs, by the way), when this came on:

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Did I say how rabidly anxious I am to see I’m Not There? I am. Anxious. And rabidly so.

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Concerned that he may not seem believable as an inebriated dancer, Fred Astaire got into character for a scene where he is supposed to drunkenly flail around a dance floor on New Year’s Eve by downing a shot of bourbon before each take. Most of the footage used in this clip is from the seventh […]

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I post something every single day, whether it is a fully-formed articulate idea or something that someone else wrote that I happen to find of interest. Maintaining a weblog can be an exercise executed in a vacuum and, since no man is a dust mite, I thrive on the few comments that any of you might have the generosity of keyboard to throw my way. I will always respond when there is an open door.

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