The Soap Opera I've Always Wanted

Cartoon Network's Adult Swim is currently airing the soap opera I've always dreamed of: The Heart, She Holler. The premise is fairly conventional: a family squabbles over the control of their dead father's estate... which is left to a son none of them knew he had until his death.

Of course, the son (Patton Oswalt) has been hidden in a windowless room for decades, never seeing light or hearing language. And his sisters are a scheming, hilariously (and hideously) oversexed moron (Kristen Schaal) and a crazed telekinetic who listens to the voices in her head (Heather Lawless). And the entire holler (The Heartshe Holler, of course) is populated with the finest assortment of mouthbreathers and knuckledraggers to ever escape from a Jeff Foxworthy routine.

There's freaks, and mayhem, and more Just Plain Wrong than you could bury in a steel drum in the backyard.  The entire miniseries airs its six 15-minute episodes all this week, and then repeats them next week. (Or, you can catch up on the Adult Swim website.) I hope you enjoy it as much as I do... because otherwise, you'll never forgive me for asking you to watch.

Here's a taste. A sick, crude, ridiculously gory taste.

I can guarantee you never saw that on Days of Our Lives.

Rob

Okay, now I'm really nervous.

Here's a fly-over video of last year's 30-mile Twin Lights ride. I'll be pedaling this route (or something similar) on Sunday.

Ulp.

Rob

P.S. Kathy, incidentally, will be doing a route almost twice as long. Because she's Superwoman, is why.

Edited to add: Holy crap, I did it!

And so the sad farce continues

This was the funniest thing I saw on TV last week; if you don't watch Colbert, or you missed it, give it a look. But frankly, I'm just posting it so I can watch it again whenever I want to.



Rob

You Might Wanna Read...

...a lengthy interview with national treasure Fred Willard.

I sure did.

And here's a little extra Fred, since you're so nice.

Rob

It Finally Happened: When Harry Met Sally 2

Seriously. Watch.

When Harry Met Sally 2 with Billy Crystal & Helen Mirren from Billy Crystal

Rob

Marvel Declares War on...30 Rock?

Say what you want about Marvel, but they have a great nose for publicity.

Rob

My Uncle Ed

My Uncle Ed passed away recently.

I can't write about him without writing about New Year's Day. For years, my mom and dad threw the best New Year's party I'd ever been to, and it started up hours after the ball dropped in Times Square. It started out, I believe, as simply the day we'd invite my dad's cousins over to the house, and we'd have hors d'oeuvres and dinner and watch the parades and bowl games. I was a little kid at the start of these. I have a distinct memory of making designs with my Spirograph with my cousin Wendy, in the house we lived in up until I was in second grade. Anyhow, I saw my mom's side of the family all the time, but this was really the one day of the year I could count on seeing my dad's side.

As we got older, the party changed a bit. My cousins started bringing their kids, and the party grew. Other family friends would come over, and the party grew. My brothers, my sister and I would invite a couple friends, and the party grew. People would be happily jammed into the kitchen, dining room and family room, talking and watching the game and digging into the buffalo chicken dip and eating delicious little jellied hot dogs on toothpicks. Man, I loved those things.

But in the living room, my Uncle Ed and Aunt Florence would be holding court. He'd have his harmonica out, telling jokes and stories, reciting poems, and playing songs with his sons and daughters and daughters-in-law and grandkids. And us. Singing old songs: folk music like "Mountain Dew," or pieces of Americana like "Daisy," written before most of us were born. The crowd gathered, the crowd stayed, the crowd piped up. There was no fire in the fireplace. We didn't need one. Uncle Ed and his harmonica were the spark, and Jim and his guitar and Brian with his concertina fanned the flame. And New Year's Day was my favorite day of the year.

Uncle Ed was 52 when I was born; he was 93 when he passed away. I realize now that I have no earthly idea what he did as an occupation between coming home as a veteran of World War II and taking up coaching tennis in his retirement. I'm okay with having that gap in my knowledge. I don't need to think of him at a desk, getting the bills paid. To me, he'll always be on my mom's sofa, playing that harp. The happiest man I know.

Play us out, Uncle Ed.

Rob

Snatched from the Time Vortex

A couple of weeks ago, Craig Ferguson devoted his entire Late Late Show to Doctor Who -- to the point of doing one of his "cold open" dance numbers at the top of the show to lyrics the show put together for the Doctor Who theme.

And then, at much later than the last minute, found out that they didn't actually have the music rights to broadcast the theme. They had performed it for the studio audience, but couldn't broadcast it. So the group of them just stood there in their odd costumes and talked about the cold open, and why they couldn't do it.

But thanks to the awesome power of the Internet (and at least one person -- probably more -- on Craig's staff wanting this to see the light of day), we can see the Lost Craig Ferguson Doctor Who Tribute. And for fans of CraigyFerg, all your favorites appear.

And then some. Enjoy!

Rob

To the Left!

I just typed "left-hand side" into a document and thought of this song. I'd say it holds up better than 90 percent of everything else that was on the radio in 1982.

Rob

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, P.U, Fish!

Last weekend, our brother-in-law gave us some delicious bluefish fillets that he caught. (Well, when he caught the fish, the fillets were attached.) Anyway, we cooked 'em, et 'em, reheated 'em and et 'em agin. And now, well... the microwave smells like bluefish. Any ideas on what I can do so I don't smell bluefish every time I reheat coffee?

Otherwise, well...

Rob

Oooh, Witchy Woman

Elvira has an important message for you. Especially if you're a voter in Delaware.



Elvira's Movie Macabre is showing at 2am on Fridays and 1am on Sundays on WPIX in New York and WPHL in Philly... more local listings are here. (Pdf download.)

Rob

Hell Yes.

Translated or not, I will see this masterpiece.

Rob

Fest Minus 8 Hours

Seven and a half, actually. I'll spend a couple of them sleeping, a couple more driving, and then a good chunk of time hauling a ridiculous amount of camping gear out of my car. And then: Bliss.

So here's the incomparable Chris Smither, an amazing songwriter and guitarist, to keep you company while I'm gone. He's singling No Love Today... and ths weekend, he'll be singing at Fest.


"No Love Today" by Chris Smither from Tom Weber on Vimeo.


Wish you were here.

Rob

Back From Vacation

And a good time was had by all.

Seventeen of us in one house, and we managed to have fun and live together amicably, like the ginormous family we are. We're a good, friendly bunch, and every now and then we get together and prove it.

There was only one member of the household with whom I must admit I have irreconcilable differences. And that is a cable television network called Nick Jr.

Now, Nick Jr. certainly does the trick of keeping the kids occupied and, for a while, quiet. And I realize that there were probably moments where it saved the day, temper-wise. But man... when it was on the TV, what I'd give to hear a baritone voice. And how can they call the show Go, Diego, Go! when he's always around? Worse yet, he never eats any of the animals he finds. (Though there was a wonderful moment when Go, Diego Go! became a drinking game, with us all tipping our beers whenever he spoke a word or phrase in Spanish. Gracias, Diego.)

Anyway, upon our arrival home, Kathy & I realized that there could be only one antidote to a week of intermittent kid's TV: the last two episodes of Deadwood. Swearing, murder, drinking, swearing, betrayal, complex sentence structures, swearing, prostitution, gambling, drugs, and did I mention the fucking swearing? Oh, home. You know just what I need sometimes.

I've got some good stories of vacation, and I intend to tell them here. But tonight's for homecoming. 

Anyway, here's a little video demonstrating why it's best that we didn't bring any Deadwood DVDs to the shore with us.

Rob

Texas Tea

From the Upright Citizen's Brigade, what happens when BP spills coffee:

Rob

Too BLANK for TV

Okay, so I find Gene Rayburn one of the unsettling people in broadcast history. (That skinny little microphone doesn't help matters any.) But this page, on the Match Game Wallpaper website, cracked me up: Six censored answers, while Match Game Fans try to figure out the offending words.

Bonus Round: Here's a video of Alex Trebek, purportedly drunk (and certainly grouchy) while shooting a promo (though one commenter says it was Diet Pepsi he was drinking).



Rob

Extended Shellfish Break

Regular posting will resume tomorrow, as it's my honey's birthday today and I've got crab cakes to fry up for her.

So here's a video from the closing act of yesterday's Crawfish Fest, Galactic. That's Cyril Neville on vocals, and Stanton Moore blasting away on the drums. I'm glad I finally got to see this song; I was heading back to the chairs with bowls of crawfish etouffee and shrimp creole at the time.

Pal Jay, who could only make Day 1 of the fest, asked us to make him feel better by telling him that Galactic sucked. No can do, buddy.

Rob

I Mean Your Little Poodle Dog

Well, so far my Blog Every Day resolution hasn't borne a whole lot of fruit just yet. And since we're heading out to Crawfish Fest to celebrate Kathy's big four-oh for a few days, I'll have some more catch-up to do. But to tide you over, here's one of the weekend's featured performers, the amazing Marcia Ball, who wants to play with your poodle.

(And if you can't join us at Crawfish Fest, why not check out Jeri Smith-Ready's Shade? Jeri's signing at the Border Express at the Springfield Mall on Saturday, and I can tell you without a doubt that it's a damn fine book. Go!)

Rob

Bellydancing Beauty with a Power-driven Saw

So yesterday, as I was finishing up S.M. Stirling's A Meeting in Corvalis, the name "Lady Eleanor" pops into my head. Some people in the Stirling books go by "lord" and "lady", but I don't think any of them are named Eleanor, particularly. But it jogged a memory of this name, and that reminded me of this song, which I'm pretty sure I taped off WXPN when I'd first started listening to it, and the depth and breadth of the music they'd play seemed so much vaster than it does to me today. (Granted, I rarely listen anymore, since I'm about 10 miles out of broadcasting range.)

This might have actually been on the same tape as Tim Hardin's "The Lady Came From Baltimore," also a strange, old-timey folk song, though far less trippy. "Lady Eleanor," on the other hand, recalls Cream's "Tales of Brave Ulysses,"or if Fairport Convention were playing King Crimson songs.

Anyway, here's a recording of the band Lindisfarne's 1972 hit "Lady Eleanor," inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe short story, "The Fall of the House of Usher." Along with, improbably, pictures of butterflies.

Rob
(Well, that just bounced from place to place, didn't it? I ain't joking, woman, I got to ramble.)

I Just Realized I'll Be Missing the Lost Season Finale

Appropriately enough, I'll be on an island.

Anyhow, this will have to hold me over until we get back from our trip:



Rob