Sunday, February 9, 2025

Sunday Music: Cold As Ice

 


Foreigner's first single in 1977, Feels Like The First Time, took from March to nearly June to claw its way into the Top Ten, and was already fading fast when this was dropped as their second single from their debut album in July. In three weeks it was in the Top 30, Top 20 in 6 weeks, and Top 10 by two months, (even blowing past the theme from Star Wars), peaked at #6, and was inescapable on radio for the next year. Foreigner went from "Sorry, who?" to "Foreigner!" virtually overnight.

It's also possible that every guy's dorm room stereo spontaneously blasting this song, with the pounding piano intro on "11", when played by a local radio station on a Saturday afternoon, may have been responsible for every door and window on the girls' dorm floor being vigorously slammed shut at warp speed, while delivering a witheringly pointed message on the dating ethos on a certain college campus that fall, and remains hilarious to this day. Just saying. One could make a case as that summer being the moment when nascent feminism began its long, slow decline into an endless future of box wine and cats.

Friday, February 7, 2025

Moar. Harder. Faster.










As every new day brings fresh butthurt from the latest Libtardian rectum, up which 47 has just fired a heat-seeking missile, I've been coasting, because AFAIC, the only words I could add to what he's done so far are in the title of this post.

If there were dogs on Mars, they'd be howling from the screaming going on in and around D.C. about now. How magical!

Sunday, February 2, 2025

Sunday Music: I Hate Myself For Loving You

 


Arch-badass rocker Jett was in her prime and at the peak of her career when she released the single and video for this Top Ten song in 1988.

PSA

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Shouldn't That Be Considered Cannibalism?

Not our wiring, but illustrative of the problem. Mice (the four-legged rodent variety)
 start more house fires this way every year than arsonists do.










We finally replaced our long-serving wired mouse with one of the wireless models, albeit reluctantly. Partly because we appreciated that with a wired model, no one else could intercept (or simply interfere, even inadvertently) with our input, but mainly because we didn't have to feed it a new battery every year or two, and we're cheap like that.

Imagine our surprise at the short life of the previous finalized technology, when we discovered it had become wonky because back before we eradicated the little bastards, actual mice had chewed partially through the hard wire cable. (Reason #27 on why we hate the little vermin m*****f****rs with a passion rivalled only by cats.) Now you know why Groundskeeper Carl Spackler referred to their cousins accurately as the Varmint Cong.















But it strikes us that mice killing our mouse by eating it has to qualify as behavior reminiscent of the Donner Party.

It also warms our heart to have wiped them out to the last with glue traps and peanut butter bait, and then smashed their little heads with a wooden dowel while they squealed in helpless immobility. If we'd ever thought about it at the time, we'd have strangled one instead, and made a taxidermist mount for the wall.












Now that the cause of the problem has been eradicated locally, we'll probably go back and get a new wired mouse. Maybe we can relegate the superfluous wireless mouse to occasional use on the TV monitor.