Month: January 2005

Not that I’m running a deathblog, but I thought this was notable as well. Watch carefully though, all architects who make it over the age of 80 start wearing glasses like that.

I dropped everything that I was doing this morning when I found out that Johnny Carson had passed away. I got in my car, drove to Media Play and purchased “The Ultimate Johnny Carson Collection.” If anyone needs me, I’ll be holed up in my condo watching all seven hours in tribute to this personal idol.

At the recent North American International Auto Show, Dodge announced the 2006 Dodge Charger.

Someone is going to do it, I’m sure. I just wanted to see it first.

First Colin, now his son Michael. How do I feel about Michael Powell leaving the FCC?

MESSAGE REDACTED DUE TO DECENCY STANDARDS

Whew, feels good to finally get that off of my chest.

They say the pun is the lowest form of humor, you know.

I watched Casablanca again last night for the ten millionth time (Tivoed off of Turner Classic Movies, God love ’em) and I had a realization: I don’t know what the lyrics are to “La Marseillaise”, the French National Anthem. You know the scene, Victor Lazlo leads Rick’s Cafe Americain in a rousing chorus to counter the Nazi rabble singing “Die Wacht Am Rhein”.

A bit of googling lead me to this website, where my I found the English translation and the answer to my query:

Arise children of the fatherland

The day of glory has arrived

Against us tyranny’s

Bloody standard is raised

Listen to the sound in the fields

The howling of these fearsome soldiers

They are coming into our midst

To cut the throats of your sons and consorts

To arms citizens Form your battalions

March, march

Let impure blood

Water our furrows

LET IMPURE BLOOD WATER OUR FURROWS? Le Yikes. And people talk about the Star-Spangled Banner being militaristic.

Got up this morning and on my way to work I decided that I had to have food scattered, smothered and covered, so I headed to my friendly Waffle House.

After bellying up to the bar and placing my order, I noticed some commotion after a couple walked out the door.

“Do you know who that was?” Maude asked.

“Yeah, I saw him on TV the other day,” Flo interjected.

“That guy owns the Pancake Pantry,” Dusty replied, cracking a egg on the side of his bowl.

For those who don’t know, Pancake Pantry is a Nashville breakfast institution, on any given morning there’s a line out the door and down the street as people wait to experience the cornucopia of breakfast delights.

I can only assume Mr. Pantry just wasn’t in the mood to wait this morning.