in Humor, Relationships

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Welcome to Jestertunes! If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. Feel free to leave a comment, read through the archives, and enjoy yourself. See you again real soon!

UMB was just complaining to me a couple of days ago that there are a lot of pictures of other people on my page, but none of him.

Apparently he has forgotten the photo of himself in all his glory on my folk’s back deck. So because I like sleeping next to him, I’ll acquiesce and make sure that I’ll put a great photo of him up on the site today.

Let’s see… it’s Halloween… it should be something cutesy like umm… no… not that one… Aha! I got it!

Introducing my favorite French Maid.

And in the interest of fairness, since Toby seems to think I can’t humiliate myself on my own blog* I’d also like to introduce you to my quirky Aunt Flo.

You can keep your Freddy Krueger, Jason, Pinhead, Candyman, and the Clown from Stephen King’s It. I don’t think it gets any scarier than that.

* I can’t understand this point of view, surely he’s READ this blog, I humiliate myself all the time.

in Links, Web Design

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This week’s featured site, Scott-o-rama, is written by a guy that I think really could be be related to me. He’s a “thirty-something gay man living in Arizona” he is partnered, posts pictures of man candy, and thinks everyone else on the planet drives like an asshole. Sound at all familiar? Show him some click love and try not to get addicted to that damn Funny Farm game he links to. I’ve already wasted several hours in front of it. Sheesh!

If you’re feeling click generous, you could also show some love to Ghost Works Online who was brave enough to let me crash on her couch for the week.

in FYI

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So someone (who knows who) has declared that November is National Blogging Month.

I guess the general idea is that for the month of November 2006, we’re supposed to write a post about something every single day in the month.

If you’d like to participate, check out this site and put your name on the list. I’m going to do my best to actually write that much.

in Music, Thoughts

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Found in the Tub O Memories last night, these are the lyrics to a song my favorite 6th grade teacher, Lavetta Prichard, used to sing in class. I wrote them out long hand, and even dated the paper (yes, I was a geek) on May 24, 1986.

When I was walking down the street, a billboard caught my eye.
The advertisements written there would make you laugh and cry.
The sign was torn and tattered from the storm the night before,
And as I gazed upon it, well, this is what I sawr:
Smoke Coca-Cola cigarettes. Drink Wrigley’s Spearmint beer.
Ken-L-Ration dog food makes your wife’s complexion clear.
Chew chocolate-covered mothballs—they’re sure to satisfy.
Brush your teeth with Lifebuoy soap and watch the suds go by.

When I recovered from the shock, I went along my way.
I’d gone no further than a block, when there to my dismay,
Another billboard caught my eye, just like the one before,
And as I gazed upon it, well, this is what I sawr:

Take your next vacation in a brand-new Frigidaire.
Learn to play piano in your winter underwear.
Simonize your baby with a Hershey’s candy bar,
And see the difference that Drano makes in all the movie stars!

Doctors say that babies shouldn’t smoke ‘til they are three.
People over 35, take baths in Lipton Tea.
Oh, you can make America a better place today—
Just buy a copy of this song and throw it far away!

I guess I always knew that she didn’t write the song, but I had convinced myself that she had, and she was terribly witty and funny and I wanted to be just like her. She lived in the best part of town, wore nice clothes, was definitely the most ‘popular’ of the teachers. However, she didn’t write it. It’s an old song by the group “Homer and Jethro” who also had a song called, “I’m My Own Grandpa” that fans of the Dr. Demento show surely remember. Here’s their recording for your enjoyment. I am not responsible for it getting stuck in your head.

in Thoughts

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I haven’t published any more of The Record Contract story. I know this. There’s a very good reason: I’m still looking for my copy of the contract, because in order to explain the contract itself, it would be helpful to actually see the language used.

I have determined that the contract is not in my desk drawer where I thought I had last seen it. It is also not:

• in my bedroom closet.
• in the spare room closet.
• the linen closet.
• the living room couch.
• the filing cabinet in the garage.
• any of the several boxes of cds in the garage.
• the refrigerator.
• the bookshelf.
• the tub of “stuff I need to go through” from the garage.

Oh, but I did find several items of interest in the tub in the garage, including The Letter from Toby. A copy of my response to The Letter. The 3 letters Toby wrote me while he was at Basic Training. Old address books and journals from my life in Nashville. My journal from my trip to Russia in 1991, some random photos of people I have forgotten. My high school diploma and medals and letter that should have been affixed to a ‘letterman jacket.’

There’s an old phone bill in the tub, the envelope had become stuck to the cover of a book of song lyrics that I used to write in. The phone bill itself is a history of people I knew and once spent a lot of time talking to.

There’s a scrapbook in there, it’s got my elementary school report cards in it. It was lying on top of my graduation photo. At the bottom of the tub is a tee shirt I bought in New York City while on a high school trip with my show choir.

I can’t help but think that my brain must look like this… the memory of standing in front of my great-grandmother’s coffin and asking my dad, “What’s in the box?,” is somehow connected to the memory of my first time I stepped into the Pacific Ocean. The face of my middle school girlfriend has somehow been implanted on the body of my favorite high school teacher.

My memories have started folding over on themselves until I can’t remember who said what when. Did UMB and go out to dinner last night, or three nights ago? Where did we go? I have no idea.*

Wouldn’t it be funny if there is some big joke at the end of our life, in which we’re just trapped in a gigantic tub of someone else’s memories, and we experience everything out of order for them, but in perfect order for us?

* Actually, this isn’t true. UMB just returned home from Texas this afternoon, so I can say with no question that we did NOT go out to dinner last night or three nights ago. Of course I will have to refer to this post next week in order to remember what day he came home.