"It's Like Mr. Schuman All Over Again!"

It was a normal Tuesday afternoon around Fusspot Farm: I was in the office, drinking my tea, and generally being an oxygen thief...


... and my mother was on a step ladder in a linen closet near our front door...


The way our house is built, we have an extra room at the front, which has an entire fifteen foot wall of closet space; this room is situated directly next to the front door, separated only by an archway, with the closets facing opposite the front door. There is one very small window on one side of the room, and a large glass block window overlooking the front porch/front door on the other.

We were each in our own little worlds -- no telephones incessantly ringing (have I ever mentioned how much I hate the telephone? It's my number one pet peeve), no company over for the day, dad away at the office -- it was a beautiful experience.


That is, until several things happened in very quick succession.
The telephone started ringing...


...to which I shouted my usual obscenities...


...and hear this coming from the spare room...


...I run in to see my mother standing at the open front door. Now, I'm incredibly near-sighted, so I don't know if Jack Nicholson is on the other side, or what...


...until I hear our friendly UPS man with this look on his face...

...telling her to have a nice day.

I asked her what happened, but all she could do was laugh.
Then, I asked if it was our regular UPS man.
She could only shake her head, and said that she saw a big bald man peering in through the glass block, which was what made her scream.

So, not only did he hear my profanity-laden shouting, but when he decided to look inside at the ruckus, he somehow created a ruckus of his own.
And then, we both laughed about it, very much like this...


It's like The Mr. Schuman Incident all over again. They parallel not just in the fact that the two of us screamed at strangers at our front door, but that those strangers rang a door bell that doesn't work.
I guess maybe we'll get it fixed now, won't we?

Our Favorite Birthday Boy Is Seventy!

It's June 18th.
Do you realize what that means?
Do you?
Do. You.
Paul McCartney is officially seventy years old.
The Precious Baby is seventy.


How is this even possible? The man never changes.



He's been touring all over the world since March, not to mention playing for the Queen's Diamond Jubilee...

Look at that beautiful bass. And that beautiful human. I'm fangirling, again; I need a cookie.

He's working on a brand new album -- expected to land into our greedy little hands in 2013 -- among other things. Not including the album he put out earlier in the year...


...or his awesome side projects...


Now, I know that the universe is going to gradually explode with "happy birthday, Paul" stuff as the timezones of the Earth hit midnight (this post included). Let's be honest, why shouldn't they? How often does the greatest living musician turn seventy? It's not an everyday thing. Especially a man who has given the world so much, and is obviously not going to slow down that whole giving thing in the foreseeable future.
And it isn't like we don't all love him to death, either.




Not to mention the fifty years of fangirls...

...of which I am proud to claim part in, naturally.
On this very blog, we have celebrated Paul's sixty-seventh, sixty-eighth, and sixty-ninth birthdays, each getting progressively more elaborate. With that thought in mind, for the last six weeks, I've been wondering what kind of over the top cyber-party this slice of the Internet could give our Paulie-Pants.
It's only as I sit here, listening to my Chaos and Creation in the Backyard B-sides (that album was my baby, dammit; I was thirteen, and it was the first album that I counted the days down until its release. I also got to see Paul tour on that record, playing five of the thirteen tracks. That was really my point of no return) that I realize that nothing I do will suffice. It isn't a defeatist attitude bearing down on my writer's soul, but the mere fact that whatever I say -- or, more accurately, attempt to say -- cannot possibly do this man justice. It would also come out as so utterly fangirly that I would probably just curl into the fetal position and cry at the perfection that is Paul. There are so many threads that run through my life that can be traced back to Paul -- as you saw, I couldn't even say "Chaos and Creation in the Backyard B-sides" without launching into a story, and thinking of a few more (like when Paul performed "Fine Line" on that November 1st, and he messed up the very first verse, grinning nervously at Abe, hoping no one noticed the blunder. I did, Paulie; I did) -- that you would eventually tire of my tales.
So, tonight, when we cut into my famous pumpkin praline cake made in his honor, I will cheezily raise my tea cup to one of the most special people in my life (as dorky as it sounds).
Happy birthday, Paul; we love you, and expect at least another forty of these birthday things, OK?

Blog Casserole: Stella's Dental Adventure (Sorry, Suzanne)

As with any story that ends in an emergency hospital visit, it started out innocently enough. There we sat, Mother and I in our respective recliners, when I heard a concerned "oh, God, what happened, Stella?" When I inquired, I was told that Stella had hit her face on the coffee table, and that she may have lost a tooth. I looked on the floor, but the elusive little tooth wasn't there, so I figured she just swallowed it. Anybody with dogs knows, though, that it's never as easy as "they just swallowed it". When we pulled up her little lip to look, her tooth was sticking out the wrong side of her gum.
Call the Puppy Ambulance...


The waiting room was quiet, except for the radio propped up in a window sill, playing the dreaded country music one would expect from a rural vet (I prefer to call country music "farm emo", but that's just me). When the doctor eventually worked little Stellie in, she said she would have to remove the tooth. We handed over the little four pound wonder, terribly exaggerated images floating in our heads...

...when the radio cut to commercial.

"Have the killer smile you've always wanted! Dr. Schmuck has payment plans! He'll make your smile awesome. He'll make your teeth purdy. He's a doctor, so he can, you know, like, do that. People will love your fantastic teeth! Come see Dr. Schmuck for your fantabulous new smile today!"

All the while, I'm sitting there thinking of things like this...

Thanks, Dr. Schmuck.

Stellie is a trooper, though; she did it all without any anesthetic, to boot. Such a brave little girl.
We were instructed to give her a pain medication when we got home, as well as some gooey pink stuff; let's just say, we Anna Nichole'd her...


And, naturally, my mother asked to keep the tooth as a souvenir.




And now, it's time for another "He Really Looks Like..."

Reginald Kitty is not amused.

I don't know that we've talked about this particular period drama, but "The Duchess Of Duke Street" is one of my absolute favorites (side note/spoiler alert: even though there's half a season left to watch, I always stop the series when Louisa walks up the Bentink's staircase with the decorator after Charlie's death). So, when I saw this goat...

...it instantly reminded me of Mr. Merriman...

It still isn't as funny as the Shep dog, though.



The other day, my dad brought home some left-over cookies from an office party earlier in the afternoon. Now, the secretaries in dad's office are some very sweet people, particularly the lady who made the cookies; but her cookies are hilarious compared to mine.
Look how dinky!

Hers on the left, mine on the right.


Mine on the left, hers on the right.

I thought it was quite a chuckle, truth be told. People always act shocked when they see my baked goods, and, after looking at a "normal" cookie, I can see why.
Really, though, I'm not insulting your cookies, Suzanne! Don't hate me!


Also, has anyone ever noticed that Vic Steele (the guitarist in the above video)...

...and Tom Higgenson...

...look remarkably alike? Consider this a "He Really Looks Like..." two-fer deal.




I have talked about my love of blogging statistics in the past, particularly the chuckles I get by keeping track of what people search to end up on this piece of the Webbyverse. For some reason or other, with the release of All Time Low's latest single (The Reckless And The Brave, go support some lovely lads between labels, enjoy the warm fuzzies self-empowerment songs can bring), there has been an upswing in related searches that are bringing folks here.



I screen capped it for the "gimp cats", the others were just a bonus to prove my point.

Now, I realize that, while most people were out forming social lives, I spent my time supersleuthing.

Some people may not know how to, and it's perfectly understandable why. If, however, you aren't any better at it than to end up here, you should probably practice this skill before a situation really depends on it (remember when I had to track down an AWOL teacher?).

I'll help you out this once, but, really, put some effort into your Internet stalking in future, OK? (Helpful Hint: to avoid scraping the bottom of the Google barrel, make sure you're searching for the proper things. For example, know who hit their head before you start Google-ing; I miss a funny search on my stats page, but you get what you're looking for.)






Here I am, fixing teeth/looking at goats/comparing cookies/explaining how to use the Internet, and a year ago today, I was here.

Did you spot the Ono Lennons?

Those aren't tears, it's just Paul in my eyes.


Also, what about that special Hofner for the Jubilee concert?


I. Love. It.

Especially Appealing To Those Who Love Their Grandmothers

It was a pretty typical Sunday at Fusspot Farm. We were all properly hyped up on caffeine, enjoying my latest recipe endeavor...

Almond Honey Cookies

...listening to the radio, and, in general, having a swell time.
There I was, browsing the Webbynet, when the thought occurred to me to check my blog statistics for the day (so what, I like to do that once a day, sue me).
Imagine my surprise when I saw this chart...

Side Note: the "Page Views By OS" pie chart looks like Pac Man!

It looked kinda like this...


Judging from the fact that there are eighteen views from the UK, and eighteen views in Internet Explorer, I'm going to assume that you are the same person. I'm totally fine with that, actually; I love that someone found my blog (side note: please, tell me you were the person that searched "kinks village green preservation society t-shirt" to get here), and enjoyed what they read while they were here. I generally try to write my blogs as if I were having a conversation with a single person, rather than going about it thinking that it's open property for anyone on the Internet to find; it seems to have struck a chord in at least one reader, and I greatly appreciate that.
That being said, let's hear it for the 2,361st visitor, lovingly called "Mr. UK"!







This event got me to thinking about first-time readers here; if you are like me, you end up arriving late to every party -- you miss a lot that way, too. I generally take for granted that either a subject will be very specific to what someone is searching for (the "Hipster Versus Anachronism" post is generally what people are here for, and I must formally apologize to them for that someday), or you are one of a very rare breed that actually looks forward to my updates. After thinking about it, though, I see that I have not done anything to aid folk that are trying to familiarize themselves with this slice of the World Wide Time-Suck. I mean, I've thought about opening up comments before, and even having you lovely people ask me questions (kind of like formspring, but not on formspring), but, alas, I have simply not done it. Whether it's lack of inclination, or fear that only my mother will ask me questions, I'm not too sure.
Either way, here are some things that newcomers may like to know.

*I have the cutest children in all of existence; by children, I mean dogs, and a canary.

Stella and Lilly


Nigel, my only fanboy. We have the same music taste -- almost exactly -- but his absolute favorites are Paul, and The Redwalls. He also gets particularly excited when he hears me sing; that's why I call him my fanboy.

*You will discover as you go through the archive (or, as I have called it, "Ricky The K's Solid Gold Time Machine) that I love to talk about music, and that I like to make it sound like I know what I'm talking about (even when I don't, which can sometimes result in my looking like a total ass).

*That being said, I do a lot of fangirling. A. Lot.
Short history of my fangirlyness: I went to my first Paul McCartney concert at age ten, and I've been lost to the world of my gut-reaction emotions ever since (over various things, naturally; I've been nerdy about a lot of drivel over the last, um, decade. Now I feel unnecessarily old. Thanks for that).

*I attend a second-rate community college, which I absolutely despise. It's not even as cool as Greendale.


*You'll also discover that I have a soft spot in my jaded little heart for Great Britain (good news for you, Mr. UK!). I also tend to have a more British sense of humor than an American one, which accounts for my presumed weirdness (what do I mean by "presumed"?).

*As referenced early in this post, I identify as an anachronism. If I didn't think I'd miss cheap pop punk, and the Internet so much, I'd hop into a time machine and head to a simpler era.

I really miss Community, OK? My Thursdays are boring in the show's absence.

*If you really-well-and-true want to see what this blog is all about, I suggest familiarizing yourself with this post. Of the 333 posts I've made since 2008, that one best describes the blog as a whole.

And that's about it, really.
Now, of course, you are free to go about your merry way. I, on the other hand, have to fulfill a long-standing promise to myself: I swore that I would post this content when I used the koala picture.

The joke around the fangirly sites I regularly visit is that a band is not a band until they've been photographed holding a koala.






And, of course, my favorite...


I highlighted some fun ones for me, but, if you want to see more, go here.

ALSO.
We all like legal free music, right? We all like cheap pop punk, right? We all like to support unsigned bands, right? If you answered "hell, yeah!" to any of those questions, get your butt over to alltimelow.com, tweet the little message, and get their latest single, "The Reckless And The Brave". This is the third time I've played it in an hour; it's not getting old. Also, God bless the Theory of Twenty-Three.

Are We Supposed To Be Excited About The Olympics? ('Cause I'm Rather Preoccupied This Week)

By now, two facts should be firmly established to anyone perusing the three-hundred-and-some posts made through the years on this here piece of the Interwebbing: for starters -- judging from the fact that there are over three hundred posts here -- it should be evident that I spend far too much time on the Internet; couple that with the now completely obvious fact that I am a massive fangirl (and to think I actually tried to keep that from you; no wonder my early posts were boring), and you have the basis for most of the stories of my life. So, if I start out this story by saying that I spent my Sunday night like I spend every night, Pinky -- yes, on the Internet -- looking at fangirly stuff, you wouldn't be surprised, right?
Surely you can give me some kind of reaction.

Thank you.

There I was, minding my own business, when I came across four little words, typed all in capitals: IMAGINE A BAND OLYMPICS.
I briefly considered the fact, and left it at that. It was only in the shroud of darkness, in the early hours of the morning, that I allowed myself to fully explore the concept.
While I was trying in vein to sleep last night, I came up with a full itinerary.

Would you like to see a template for the London 2012 Band Olympics?

Reginald Kitty is not amused.

Rather than a traditional torch carrying ceremony, the Band Olympics would have a torch lighting ceremony dedicated to the fallen gods of Rock 'N' Roll, during which, Don McLean would perform "American Pie".


After which, the Official Opening Ceremony would commence. They could use a hologram of Freddie Mercury for the obligatory "We Will Rock You" performance to fire up the crowd before the games began...


Taking cues from the actual 2012 Olympics, there are a few sporting events that could take place in the Band Olympics that will be featured in London next month.

Archery (2:06 to 2:28 time stamps)...


Athletics...


Boxing...


Gymnastics (fun hint: try muting the music video, and playing this while watching the video. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, but I thought it was hilarious at four o'clock this morning)...


And shooting...


Of course, since it's the Band Olympics, perhaps a special "Rock Band" event could be arranged...


To close the ceremonies, Ray Davies would perform the title song from "Village Green Preservation Society" to add to the British vibe (see what I did there)...


And, for the big finale, Pete Townshend would tear the place apart piece by piece...


Naturally, there would have to be a decent amount of planning and safety concerns if there was to be a Winter Band Olympics...


Although, after considering the dangers involved for these highly important people, it's probably best that there is no such thing as a Band Olympics after all.
They need to keep doing what they do best...

Mr. Higgenson, you naughty boy.


The countdown on their main website is what will be keeping me preoccupied this week, in case you were wondering.

And we can keep doing what we do best.

The Essence Of Stevie Wonder Lives Within Me

Last Friday was such a lovely day, mirroring the week that was ending: the sun hid itself behind some beautiful rain clouds; I had the house all to myself for a while, with The Maine on my Bose, my dog in my lap, and a fresh cup of hot tea. The "smashing" end to the afternoon, though, was the awesome bump on my head from where I ran into a door. That was fun.

It was like this, but with less face. I hit my face later, in a totally unrelated incident.

Last week was full of false alarms, though, let me tell you.
On Monday, I woke up and thought it was Bachelorette Monday.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, I took my finals for the semester, one with the biggest implications since The Algebra Incident (because I know you care).

On Thursday, we got the news that Community was cancelled.

There isn't anyone I would rather have heard that from. Which, I guess, is a good thing, since that's how I found out.

And, Friday, my grandfather flat out told me he thought I was going to be a spinster. Also, I am, apparently, in love with Paul McCartney.



Now that we are almost a week off from these little heart-attack-inducing moments, I can look at them a little more clearly:
*I was only a week off; the Bachelorette started on Monday, people! It looks like it'll be a fun season, too. After all, we wait all year for the Bachelorette! We've been excited about this for over a month. I made butter spritz cookies for the premier.

Unfortunately, due to an accident involving my cookie press, we were deprived of the awesometastic shapes; the satisfaction of saving a disastrous situation came in the form of waxed paper, a rolling pin, and the little screw cap to my now broken press.

Also, I think I need a new cookie press; maybe one with a trigger?

Oooooo, pretty.

*I passed each of my finals with flying colors, thereby maintaining my cumulative 4.0 average.


*Community wasn't cancelled! The next season was shortened to thirteen episodes, and moved from Thursday to Friday (still undecided if that's a death move or not), but it certainly wasn't cancelled; at least it has a chance to have more episodes commissioned, and that's of great importance. Personally, I'd like to see them make it to the hundredth episode mark before they officially got the axe, even though, in an ideal world, the show would live out its lifespan (but that might not happen). Of course, every other American show I've liked in the last ten years was cancelled. And by American shows, I mean Pushing Daisies. I still mourn the loss of my Tuesday date with the inhabitants of Coeur d'Coeurs.

"What Did I Do With My Life Before I Blogged?" fun fact: I visited the actual Pie Hole set while the show was on hiatus. It was awesome.

If Community can't make it on NBC, then maybe a cable station can pick it up (if that's the case, I need to buy one of these before the are unavailable). We can hope so; otherwise, how will I get my Abed fix?

A guy that actually likes to sit in his pajamas, watch British TV, and eat buttered noodles? Where can I download an Abed? This is a serious inquiry.

*And, as far as my grandfather is concerned, I'll just chock it up to his unnecessary need to constantly speak, and age-related senility. I may die alone, but at least I'll have the mono Ram to keep me company on those lonely nights.

Who else took advantage of the lithograph and t-shirt combo? LOVING IT. What, RAM is one of my "Top Five Personal Favorite Albums in the History of Ever"; I'm entitled to get the deluxe fangirl package if I want it.

That, and my kick-ass personal audio settings (so what if I screencapped my personal audio settings; it's my blog, and I can!)...

My computer's speakers are professional grade, but my favorite part about them is that these settings also apply to any headphones/speakers plugged into my machine (read, BOSE). If you could hear music like I do after I made this freaking amazing discovery, you would run out to the nearest Best Buy and get a laptop like mine.

...and, of course, all of you who chose to spend time here. And even those who just type in random awesome things that make me laugh...

I love that someone found my blog by searching for this; I simply had to screencap it.

As for the "essence of Stevie Wonder", I can't really say much; my mother just said it to me. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.