The Office Season Finale is on, seriously. Why are you here?
Strange Search of the Day: “sexist bra” (wha?)
Do you trust me? Have any faith in me whatsoever? Then please take the time to read this and view these videos. Sometimes I see a post on a blog that I read and it is full of youtube videos and the ants in my pants tell me to skim and move on. If you do that as well, don’t do that with this one. If you hate me at the end you are free to short sheet my bed. Thanks.
In 1997 MTV was at the tail end of changing over from being a music video cable television station into pure crap. During the end of the transition they aired for two years The Sifl and Olly Show. Sifl and Olly were two sock puppets that hosted a show with sock puppet friends and listener call-ins. I have a hard time explaining this show, so if you really want to learn the premise, GO HERE. Apparently there are still dedicated fans out there that are screaming at MTV to bring it back. But alas, MTV is too busy filming The Real World Timbuktu to take time and listen.
I adored the show and watched it faithfully. Today I was thinking about it as I had discussed it with a co-worker and of course I was able to find it in the all knowing and wise Land of YouTube.
Please watch and enjoy.
This answers many questions I had as a child
I like that they create facial expressions with socks.
Look for the Altoid lunch box.
See, that was fun! Go search Siffl and Olly on YouTube, there’s a ton more.
**NEW FEATURE**
Strange Search of the Day! (I’m gonna post these cause they are fun for you and funner for me- I get to see what people search to come to The Pilver, and sometimes they are so absurd I need to share them)
“people do win the lottery why not me?”
This means that someone thought they deserved to win the lottery, but in reality only I deserve to win.
I think there have to be lots of families that share one common detail. Maybe it’s something pleasant, like they all golf. Maybe it’s something worse, like they all smoke crack. Among plenty of families in this world there is a bond that they can speak about over dessert after dinner. In my family it was grocery stores.
Almost 40 years ago my grandpa opened his first grocery store in Minneapolis. I cannot remember what it was called when he opened it, but when I was born it was called King’s SuperValu. Since, there have been several stores built and opened, sold and bought under many different names. Currently there are four still owned by my extended family.
During those forty years the following family members have worked at the stores: my mom, my dad, my two sisters, myself, four uncles, one aunt, five cousins, and to prove it’s a small world both tg and his mother worked there in the past.
When I was young we would go shopping as a corny little family and see literally all of the extended family we had in the area while we were in the store. My two sisters and I were allowed to walk into the stock rooms and receive damaged Popsicles from our uncles. We were shown off to the pretty cashiers. This makes me wonder if we were paraded as toddlers to be chick magnets for my uncles, who were then unmarried.
All my life “going to the store” meant going to the family store closest to wherever we lived at the time. I was not allowed to look messy when we went and I was not for any reason under the sun allowed to go into another grocery store unless we were on vacation.
Sister, Me, Sister, Cousin- Minnesota store.
When I was fifteen, my dad decided he would like to buy his own store. He wanted to own one in his home state of Washington. Off we went to Oroville, a town smaller than your coffee table and we were then the new-business-owning family in town.
The store was small, with only a dozen or so employees. My family accounted for half of those employees being as my cousin had moved to the town to work in the store as well. Our first week living there the humble newspaper printed a story about us with a wonderfully embarrassing photo of the family in it. So much for quietly easing my way into my new high school.
I think we look more like a bowling team-Oroville store.
I worked there nights and weekends without choice for the next several years. I did, however, enjoy it. My favorite nights to work were with my sister Sarah. She had a care free attitude towards the job and took full advantage of her cute-as-a-button-innocent look.
For instance: when my dad asked her to make a sign for the cantaloupe melons on sale for 39 cents a pound, she drew a picture of a bride crying and a sheepish looking groom. Underneath the picture she wrote:
“Can’t Elope-39 Cents.”
Other masterpieces of hers included making a sign for bundles of wood that said:
Bundle’s of Wood Joy! 2.49
I think my favorite Sarah moments were the times that high school boys would enter the store. I was on the shy side and she loved to announce to them as they entered, “My sister told me she has a crush on you!” And I would be stuck there, my mouth slightly opened in shock, trying to figure out how to dismiss this claim. My only method for revenge was to post less than flattering pictures of herself to our schools bulletin board located in the commons area. She, of course, would retaliate with worse pictures of me in the same space the next day.
I did actually work some of the time I was there. I cashiered, I manned the video department, and I faced the shelves. Facing is just making it look like they are all full and pretty by pulling the boxes and the cans forward to the front of the shelf.
In 2000, my parents stopped with the grocery owning business and we all ended up in Seattle, with the exception of my oldest sister who decided to marry and dwell in Oroville, possibly forever. It was the first time I did not have a store to shop at that was my family’s in my whole life. And to be honest, it was weird.
Now I live back in MN, but too far to shop at any of the family stores. So, I pretty much starve.
My 24 hour pity-party for myself is now over. Let me tell you it was terrific. But today I decided to make a trip to a certain landmark located on my favorite website and he had all the answers to my issues.
I rubbed his belly. He told me I probably won’t die. No, I kid. He is made out of wood and cannot say anything at all.
However, I did do some fun stuff yesterday. Let me tell you about it.
Max had his first day of soccer, meaning soon I get to wear these:
I went to a baseball game, which my Twins lost. But during the hoopla a certain someone thought it would be a great idea to infuse vanilla absolut into my diet coke. I always choose diet at the ballpark, and I hate diet, but it tastes so good in those large plastic cups. Being as I was the driver I had to pour out my lovely souvenir mug and instead suck on cotton candy.
I was so busy I did not have time to drink properly as one in a hissy fit ought to.
There’s always next weekend.
Also, the quitting thing has been such a blast. I think I am going to do it every day.
I am having a bad day worsened by my overreactions to the bad day. So, instead of boring you with that I am going to post a poor quality video that I took last night at my son’s spring program for day care. Enjoy!
Yes, very poor quality. he was demonstrating his karate moves that he told his teacher he had learned from “the ninja turtle with the purple bandanna.”
My boss is Mitch Omer, the owner of Hell’s Kitchen. He is well over six feet tall. He’s loud as, well, Hell. There is nothing about the man that screams, “I am a normal guy!” When he enters the building in the morning he walks past the server’s station,bangs on the glass and greets us all with a smile and the finger. Also, he is in love with Ralph Steadman, the artist. Steadman is the man most famous for his artwork of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
The artist signed Mitch’s arm one time and he went out and got that signature tattooed. We have, at the restaurant, original artwork from Steadman. Even our uniforms show a bit of his art:
That’s my co-worker Alek, posing for the website in his Pollack ‘fro.
The reason I chose to talk about Mitch today is because when he came into work today he was showing off his new cane. He got into an accident awhile back and I believe shattered his kneecap. Why one would choose to show off a cane was foreign to me, so I leaned in and eavesdropped on the conversation. This is what I heard:
“It’s made out of, get this…A BULL’S PENIS!”
Whoa. Wait, what did you say, dear man who signs my paychecks? He confirmed that I was not hallucinating. It was made out of a ding-a-ling from a barnyard animal. I didn’t ask how or why or what-the-heck. I don’t want to know the answer. I am sure PETA is going to find him and pour paint on him. But I had to get a picture.
Cheers to you Mitch, a great and most interesting boss!
If my guessing is correct New Kids On The Block were popular about 1988-92. I fell right in their target audience during those years. I never did idolize them, not on any level. Don’t for a second think I was too cool for the New Kids. I had my share of favorite songs from terrible artists. (Think Paula Abdul and MC Hammer) I just did not listen to the New Kids. My best friend, Kristina, loved them. She had the wrist watch. She had all their cassettes. She had Bop magazine cut-outs of them on her walls.
1980’s
This time around who is going to hang posters of Joey? Who is going to read interviews of Donny’s likes and dislikes? Who is going to shriek when it comes time to see them live?
They are too old for the tween audience. I assume that the kids may listen, but no eleven year-old girl is going to have a crush on a group of thirty-five to thirty-nine year old men. The New Kids are the same age as her father.
2008
Should I be the one to camp out all night in efforts of being front and center when they come to my town? I could lean forward and touch one of their hands when they reach down to the crowd as they sing the long note in ballads I know they have directed toward my soul.
NOTE: You want to hear their song, you do. Click this and you can.
A: I have no idea.
I had one. I caught it on one of those sticky pads and tg “disposed” of it, cause I am too much of a wuss.
So, me and The Max had three mouse free days. I walked barefoot. We made fudge. It was like Christmas. Then, just about 15 minutes ago I heard the familiar sound of munching on the rodent poison that I have strategically placed throughout the home. I arose to see the fun. What I caught a glimpse of was a very small furry thing sticking its repulsive head out of the closet. This is the same closet that the previous mouse took residence in.
I really do have a great landlord. I called him one day and he had the exterminator out the next. He is not a bad slumlord by any means. But effin’ ay. I cannot live with mice. Maybe now the nice but inefficient landlord will let me get a cat.
Can we please stop talking about it now?
I got an A- in poetry. Proving you actually can get an A (minus) for effort.
I got one grade better than that.
I got one grade worse.
Also, I got an incomplete, which I will hopefully take care of this week.
I have no clue how people do this when they are 18 and drunk all the time.
