Bird Bits--Mellow Picnic

It's summer and the perfect time for a picnic, so please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute video from the "Bird Bits" series, called "Mellow Picnic." In this episode, a potential rival interrupts a picnic for two birds on a date.

First It Rains, Then it Pours, Then It Floods

You know what they say about the best laid plans of Mice and Men, right? That no matter how well you prepare or plan for something, chances are something will inevitably go wrong. But what happens when everything goes wrong all at once? Because that’s exactly what happened to me last weekend when I tried to throw a relaxing afternoon pool party for nineteen—Ten adults, nine children. (And whoever said throwing a party was relaxing anyway?)

The sad thing is, everything started out great. I’d spent most of the week trimming bushes, weeding and dead-heading all the flowers, so the backyard was as close to Paradise as I could get it. (See photo above) I’d also prepared all the sauces, dips, and hor duerves the night before, so I wouldn’t have to be working up until the last minute. The weather was supposed to be perfect for a pool party, a hot and humid 95 degrees.

In fact, the only issue that week involved my boiler, which seemed be turning itself off for no apparent reason. The plumber had already been to the house twice over the last few days to try and fix it, but it was still not working properly. So on Saturday morning, I called in a panic, because I wanted to make sure I had enough hot water in case people wanted to take showers after they got out of the pool. The plumbing company assured me they would have someone over between 10 and 12 that morning, and since my guests weren’t arriving until one, that would give the plumber plenty of time to fix the issue.

And yet at one o’clock, when people started arriving, the plumber had still not shown up. But I pushed forward anyway, asking my guests to please use the bathroom in the basement to change, as the first floor bathroom door (the folding variety) was having some kind of issue as it was no longer closing and the inside of the door would not hold a proper handle. In other words, no privacy. (Home Depot was supposed to replace it two weeks prior, but screwed up the order, so now it wasn’t arriving until three weeks later.) And I didn’t want anyone to use the bathroom upstairs, because the second floor had only been “selectively cleaned.”

Anyway, as people began arriving and making themselves comfortable by the pool, I was moving around at the speed of light handing out beach towels and trying to fill drink orders. And that’s when the first disaster struck. One of my guests, a rather charming woman in her early seventies (Yes, I do know such people) came running upstairs out of breath to inform me that the basement toilet was overflowing and would I mind going down to stop it?

In horror, I ran down the stairs just in time to step in a large puddle pouring out from the bathroom area. I quickly took off the lid of the toilet and found the problem—the chain on the rather old toilet had decided today was the perfect day to come apart. As I was hooking it back to where it had been attached, the toilet automatically flushed itself again, pouring the already overflowing water even faster on the wet tile floor. At this point, I’m sure I screamed a few expletives that were no doubt overheard by the youngest attendees at the party, ages 4 and 6. After hooking the chain back on, I ran upstairs and emptied the entire closet of towels into my arms to help mop up the mess.

And that’s when the plumber arrived. So at the moment, I had only one other bathroom I had offered for use—the first floor bathroom without any privacy—and a busload of arriving guests, all apparently needing to use the facilities immediately. Naturally, I had to offer the use of the second floor bathroom, which meant guests would also be privy to my “selectively cleaned” second floor. But what else could I do?

So while guests splashed and laughed in the pool, I mopped up the basement bathroom floor and adjoining areas with all the towels, mops and handy wipes I could find. Once that was done, I threw everything into the washer and was finally able to go upstairs and rejoin my guests, forty-five minutes after the party began.

The plumber continued to tinker around in the basement before he finally asked if he could take a look at the manual for the boiler. While he was busy brushing up on the intricacies of my heating system, I busied myself with passing out hor duerves and filling people’s drinks. I also fired up the grill and began cooking hamburgers, hot dogs and chicken, while my guests continued to enjoy themselves in the pool. At one point, the plumber came upstairs to tell me I needed a new part, but that the stores were all closed, and I would have to wait until Monday to fix it. This meant there would be no hot water for my guests. Great!

A half hour after the plumber left, the poor woman who had suffered the original toilet overflow came to me again in a panic. The toilet was overflowing again. At that moment, I didn’t know which was worse. Having the toilet overflow again, or having it happen twice to the same elderly woman, who no doubt blamed herself for once again recreating Niagara Falls in my basement. So once again I ran downstairs to deal with the problem, leaving my guests and a few hamburgers burning on the grill.

This time the flood got even bigger, spreading out into other areas of the basement. And because the toilet was old and somewhat antiquated, you couldn’t even turn the water off to stop the flow. The valve just spun in place like a merry-go-round without any intention of doing its job. So I once again employed the use of my towel collection, which had never actually made it from the washer to the dryer yet, leaving them a little wet and soggy. Nevertheless, they were the only things I had to use, save a very ineffective mop and a box of paper towels.

Thirty minutes later, I had the situation under control and the basement bathroom was quarantined for the rest of the day. Thankfully, that was the last major disaster I had, and the rest of the party proceeded like a dream. Everyone ended up having a great time, even the charming elderly woman who finally recovered from her two bathroom drenchings to get properly wet in an actual pool.

And when the day was over and the last guest had finally left, I fell on my bed and went into a nice long deep sleep, from which I’m not truly certain I’ve awoken yet.

But that’s just me. Have you had any horrible disasters take place at one of your perfectly planned parties?

Cat Clips--Window Watchers

Please click on the photo above to watch a short video from the "Cat Clip" series entitled "Window Watchers." In this episode, the two cats react very differently when they discover the back door is open.

When Comediennes Lose their Novelty

I remember an old episode of “The Brady Bunch” or “Family Affair” or one of those other moralistic family shows of the sixties or seventies where each episodes ends with a proper lesson learned. On this particular episode, famous character actor Jack Gilford (the Cracker Jack guy) made an appearance as an eccentric Uncle. His character was always telling these corny, outdated jokes that made everyone around him groan. Or maybe he was doing corny magic tricks that weren’t that good. (Ah, yes, I remember it well…sort of.)

Anyway, one of the kids (maybe Jan or Buffy or perhaps even Opie from “Andy Griffith”) complained to his/her parent that the Uncle embarrassed him/her with all his old corny jokes and/or magic tricks, and of course the Uncle happened to overhear it. Naturally, this led to a few heart-wrenching scenes whereby the kids all learned a very valuable lesson on how to deal with such a colorful character. You simply placate them. By the end of the episode, everyone was laughing and enjoying the Uncle’s jokes or tricks because they were trying to appreciate him for who he was, rather than how funny his material was. But is placating really the answer? Perhaps Mr. Gilford’s character would have been better off knowing his material stinks, and he should either update it or happily retire to the Old Folk’s Home for Irrelevant Screwballs. (Or what some people refer to as Congress.)

I bring this up because I was fascinated with the recent publicity circus surrounding Mike Meyer’s latest effort “The Love Guru,” and how badly the movie did at the box office. Even with an uncomfortably forced appearance on “American Idol” and a publicity blitz akin to Jerry Seinfeld’s embarrassing campaign for “Bee Movie,” people really didn’t care to see it. Was it because Mike Meyers is no longer funny? Or because he’s been notoriously portrayed in the press as a self-righteous perfectionist that is difficult to work with, and therefore no longer funny? Or perhaps there’s only a certain amount of time a comedienne is allowed to remain at the top of his craft before he eventually sinks into comic obscurity.

Consider Chevy Chase. In the seventies, no one could touch him. Even in the eighties, he still was a box office bonanza. But now, he is relegated to infrequent guest appearances on television shows, and a couple straight-to-video movie gigs. So what happened? Did the public finally catch up to the fact that most comediennes only really have one basic persona they play? And though they try to dress it up with different costumes and occupations, eventually the public will get sick of seeing the same thing over and over again. Even with “The Love Guru,” Mike Meyers is basically playing the same character he played in the Austin Powers movie. The name, costumes and devices may be different, but he’s still an over-the-top character with little regard for the people around him. Or maybe the public just sensed the desperation in Mr. Myers need to create a new franchise, and wasn’t particularly eager to support it. It’s a pity. Because now we’ll never know whether “Love Guru 2” would have featured a Mini-Me-Love-Guru or Beyonce in Sari swapping contest.

Eddie Murphy has made a career of using “devices” such as fat suits, multiple characters, special powers, ghosts, etc. to create the illusion that he has comedic range. But the latest efforts like Norbert seem like sad attempts to recapture the glory he once had. I think Will Ferrell might be falling into this trap too. Is it just me, or do all his movies seem the same? A befuddled egocentric moron with some kind of offbeat occupation goes through a belabored journey to enlightenment. And along the way, he meets every character actor who ever worked on “Saturday Night Live” or is currently in the public eye. Ironically, the one Will Ferrell movie I actually enjoyed in recent years was the one most people hated, “Stranger than Fiction.” But it was the first time I actually saw a person behind the mask…or at least part of a person. And though he wasn’t laugh-out-loud funny, I really enjoyed his performance. Much better than the tired comedy of “Talladega Nights” or “Blades of Glory.” (And I have absolutely no desire to see “Step Brothers.” It just looks like Long Day’s Journey into Tedium.)

But that’s just me. What do you think of comediennes who have somehow lost their humor?

Mouth Organ Karaoke--STAYIN' ALIVE

The Rubber Duck Players are very excited to perform their own rendition of the classic Bee Gees song "Stayin' Alive," accompanied yet again by the Hohner Organ in my mouth. So click on the photo above to watch a short one minute movie from the "Mouth Organ Karaoke" series. And don't forget to put on your platform disco shoes so you can bop along.

The Eerie Reoccurrence of the Number 143

Have you ever seen the Jim Carrey movie “Number 23”? If you haven’t, don’t bother. It’s a tedious journey into a dark, bleak place that nobody with any common sense would choose to travel, let alone watch for any length of time (including the hour and thirty-five minute running time of this film). Nevertheless, the premise of the film is rather interesting. A man finds a strange connection between the number 23 and his entire life. He can add, subtract, multiply and divide the number into a plethora of combinations until he finds his birth date, the day he met his wife, the day they married, the number of letters in his name, the address of the house he first lived in, the phone number for the local Chinese Restaurant, etc. Every time he thought of something, he was somehow able to connect it to the number 23. Preposterous, yes?

Well, maybe not. It seems I have my own number that keeps popping up in my life on a rather frequent, if not freakish, basis. But my number is 143, which as many people might know is a code for the phrase “I Love You.” Why? Because there’s one letter in “I,” four letters in “love” and three letters in “you.” A girlfriend of mine in high school taught me this phrase and used it on a rather frequent basis on all our note-passing correspondence during class. Then she eventually dumped me right before prom to go out with some mindless football player, which may account for my turbulent freshman year in college as I tried to move past such a painful and public humiliation. (But that, as they say, is a completely different story.)

The point is, I have always had the number 143 in my life since then, and have often used it myself whenever I needed to express my affection in code. (Though, with this blog posting, I have obviously made this code irrelevant.) Nevertheless, lately I have noticed the number on a much more frequent basis. In the last few months, it seems like every time I glance at a clock, the time is 1:43. Or if I happen to put a DVD on pause to go get a drink, the time it stops on is 1:43. Recently, I even went on a trip and the room I was placed in was 143. (I kid you not.) Or I buy a product at the supermarket, and the price is $1.43. Or even stranger, several of my recent Cat Clip videos have timed out at exactly one minute and 43 seconds long. Without my trying or having any kind of timeframe in mind, the final edited version clocks in at 1 minute and forty three seconds.

Weird, yes? But still this could all be a coincidence, right? Well, then I decided (like Jim Carrey’s character in “Number 23”) to investigate a little further. I tried to apply the number 143 to my birth date, which is November 8th. Right away, you will notice that if you add all the numbers up individually (1+4+3), you get 8. And if you multiply 4 times 3 and then subtract 1, you get 11. November is the eleventh month of the year. Now I realize this is sort of pushing the issue, trying to see all the relationships between the number and my life. But what if it did mean something? What if it was some kind of message? Or a communication from someone from the great beyond?

I don’t really follow Numerology, or Astrology, or even basic Biology, so I don’t know if this number is significant in any way. But I thought I’d broach the topic to see if anyone else has a reoccurring number in their lives that defies explanation. If so, please elaborate in the comments section below. If not, just chalk this up to another weird blog posting that you can’t identify with. There must be millions of those, right? Or at least 143 of them. (Cue loud dramatic music here.)

Bird Bits--Snow Blue

In the spirit of the recent posts about Disney, here is a special "Bird Bits" episode entitled "Snow Blue" that parodies the famous Wishing Well scene from Walt Disney's "Snow White." To watch the video, please click on the photo above. Hope you enjoy!