The Artist Currently Known as Milo

I realized last night that Milo is a performance artist.

What else could explain his strange habit of putting the top of his head on stuff?

Performance art.  It’s the only explanation.

(My friend Adam once said that “Performance art is a personality disorder with a grant.”  I’m thinking I now know where Milo gets the money for his designer kitty bed and blinged-out toys.  I blame myself for being duped into buying him the nuclear kitty ganja in the Kitty Can’t Cope sacks.  He can clearly afford to buy them himself.)

“Close the door.”

Mom and I were joking about this the other day.  The old jokes are sometimes the best…

I could swear I used to know how to do this

I recently scored a nice, inexpensive, refurbished sewing machine.  I hemmed a pair of pajama pants that were about four inches too long for John, then thought, “Hey – pajama pants would be a nice, easy project in general.”  Cheap, cheerful – great weekend project.  I even found this Instructables article on using your own favorite pants as templates for making your own.  Cool.  We kind of live in pajama pants around here, so this makes all kinds of sense.  John is especially in need of a few new pairs, so he was to get the first fruits of my labor.

John and I had an errand-running day, and we fit in a trip to the biggest local fabric emporium while we were out.  I said, “So what were you thinking about for fabric?”  Poor John looked like realized he was an inadvertent contestant on “Who Wants to be Asked Questions They Never Considered” – a new game show we apparently have in development at our house.

“Um… I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well, look around.  See anything you like?”

John almost immediately gravitated towards azure fabric with sharks on it.  “I kind of like the sharks,” he said, fingering the fabric uncertainly.

“Okay, you want the sharks?”  I asked.

“I dunno,” he replied.  At this point, I realize that the woman helming the cutting table in this department is trying hard not to laugh.

“Do you want Wookies, maybe?  Tie-fighters?”  I glance over again.  The clerk is doing a fair impression of stoicism, but there’s some quivering of the lip going on.  Her eye is twitching.  “It’s okay,” I tell her.  “Everybody laughs at us – go ahead.”  She dissolves.

We got the sharks.

Upon arriving home, I throw the fabric in the wash and grab John’s favorite pajama pants to trace out a template on craft paper.  A few hours later, when John comes back from a bike ride, I have him try them on before I do the final hems and install the elastic.

They don’t fit.

Seamstress FAIL

They don’t fit HIM anyway.

I’m going back later this week for more shark chintz and a proper pattern.

My hero…

What an absolutely terrific clip – Neil Gaiman on Colbert:

What passes for amusement at our house

Yeah.  We’re easily amused.

Mom thinks we should be able to see the bend from our rear-view mirror

….because we’re that far around it.  This is based on me telling her that John and I made up new words to the Harry Belafonte classic this weekend:



–daylight come and me want fried bread–


–daylight come and me want fried bread–

Hey mister dunkin-man, fry me up a do-nut.

–daylight come and me want fried bread–

–with glaze!–

We had the Hallowe’en that wasn’t. How was yours?

From Marissa, a beautiful image of a cool-sounding little kid in Minneapolis:

Princess Leia the Four-Year-Old Jedi is perfectly prepared to kick the butt of any naysayer who tries to point out that this is not canon; this is her light saber , and she is Princess Leia, and you wanna make something of it, buddy? She thought not.

Go read the whole thing .  You will die of the cute.

Me? We got dissed by the tiny goblins again (I think we had a grand total of about five trick-or-treaters. We get fewer every year). I did see some funny stuff on the Metro on my way home. A group of college kids, dressed up for a party. A ballerina, a Dorothy Gale, Cupid, who posed for me, but the iPhone camera and the train make for some blurriness:

Halloween on the Metro

And for a truly surrealistic touch, which I couldn’t photograph without being obnoxious, a tiny (presumably female) Ronald Reagan in a Nancy-red suit sporting an Obama button.

You can’t make this stuff up.

ETA: The funniest song I’ve ever heard about zombies.  “Re Your Brains ” by Jonathan Coulton.  Go.  Listen.  Laugh.

“Show this guy, then cut back to these two.”

For anyone who grew up with "Friday Night Videos."  (You know who you are.)  What happens when videos get literal:

I admit, I had "Hunting High and Low" on vinyl.  I can’t say I remember a single other song from it, though.  Also, Wikipedia says a-ha is still extant.  Amazing.  I’ll have to check out what they’ve done since 1985 at some point…

Bringing up the rear

John just about crippled himself with laughter the day Tosh let out an audible fart which caused him to whip his head around and look at his own butt as if to say, "What was THAT?"

Today he did one better.  After farting he started, jumped up, circled around to where his butt had been and commenced a thorough investigation of the scene of the crime.  I believe the theory of the brontosaurus (ehrm, apatosaurus – I was a kid in the 70’s: my brain will always hand me "bronto" first) having a second brain for his rear has been debunked in the case of dinosaurs, but it may have to be revived for our dog.

Food, glonous food.

No, that’s not a typo.  It’s a show tune by way of chopsticks wrapper:


In case you can’t read the text, it says:

Welcome to Chinese Restaurant.
please try your Nice Chinese Food With Chopsticks
the traditional and typical of Chinese glonous history.
and cultur al.

I first blogged about this sort of thing a very long time ago , but I still love loony neologisms created in the service of signage.

ETA: Rebecca points out that I mistakenly credited them with spelling "cultural" correctly.  Heh.