I Really Like Your Enormous Umbrella

Dear Citizens of the rain-soaked mid-Atlantic area:

Unless it is 1809 and/or you are trying to create the first helicopter, you do not need an umbrella with a five foot diameter.

Please stop trying to a) rip my hair out with your broken umbrella's enormous, exposed metal rods and b) blind me or otherwise injure me with your insane stadium-covering, tarp-like protective device.

And here, with the perfectly acceptable level of semi-dryness afforded you by a normal umbrella, are today's playlists:


Log for first part of June 18th, 2009 show

Log for second part of June 18th, 2009 show

P.S. On the first playlist, I don't mean to suggest that my mother is a grizzly bear. Rather, she requested them.

P.P.S. The above image of the flapping man is from a 1908 early try at the helicopter. It was called an ornithopter. The linked video is of the "Sky Car," from some OTHER year that I don't know.

The Art of Not Irritating Me

Help me out, please. How is it grammatically correct to call people, who are protesting the policies or actions of President George W. Bush, "anti-Bush protesters"? Isn't that a double negative? If one protests things that are anti-Bush, isn't one supporting Bush? (Think "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," people.) I hear this phrase, this "anti-Bush protesters" phrase, on NPR. I hear it everywhere, actually, but it bothers me more on NPR. Aren't they actually talking about "anti-Bush DEMONSTRATORS"? Or, perhaps, "Bush protesters"? I believe that they are.

Thanks to lolgeeks for this Donald Knuth picture. It halps.


And here, with all of the twitching you'd see if you said something like "the reason why is because..." in front of me, is last week's twitchy playlist:


Log for first part of June 12th, 2008 show

Log for second part of June 12th, 2008 show


Grumble.

This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (#2)

Oh, Philadelphia. You fell off the wagon. You were doing a fairly good job of not interfering with my happiness, and I appreciate it, I do. However, you can't go back, Philadelphia. No one wants to see you degrade yourself this way. You don't need to repeat your mistakes. They're done. I forgave you, and I thought we'd both moved on.

Also, geez, what's with all the garbage on the streets? Show some pride, would you?








Okay, enough complaining about Philly's snarky attitude towards my car. Instead, enjoy the site of these kids cooling off on one of those very, very hot days last week. Philadephia definitely has its charms. Some of them are illegal, but still charming.

Click here for "This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (#1)"

Glassy McHalfFull

I just stepped into a very deep, cold, slushy pile of snow in my sweetie-pie work shoes. These are adorable shoes. Little heels and everything. I was stylin. Needless to say, wearing little pantyhose sock thingies and adorable little kitten-paw shoes and landing your foot ankle-deep in snow is annoying. I was trying very hard not to swear. I nearly succeeded. My co-worker heard me bleat out some mild expletives as I entered the building and told her that I'd just stepped in the ONLY patch of snow deep enough to accommodate my foot. "Could have been worse. Could have been dog sh*t."

Touché, Co-worker.






I'll be on the air tomorrow, y'alls. Get ready.

Philadelphia, I Implore You

Nay, I beg you, Philly.

Cut me a break.



















My poor car.







































Play nice, Philadelphia. I am not moving.

And Curse Sir Walter Raleigh (with pictures)

I'm tired and I'm cranky and I've decided that this post is going to be a little bit whiney and a lot disjointed. I've also decided that I'm going to use every picture on my computer that I can find. Also, I'm tired.


By the way, don't read. God will punish you for it. (I just *told* you that I'm using every image. Don't get haughty. Of course I don't *really* believe that God will smite you for reading. But I do believe that we are made in his image and that we are, therefore, legos.)


Yesterday's show went fairly well. I played quite a few electronica songs, which isn't really like me. They were there, I liked them well enough, and I was tired and a bit cranky yesterday, too, so I wasn't going to go crazy looking for just the right song.

Here are playlists for my last TWO shows. I'd apologize for taking so long to post them, but I'm tired and cranky.

Log for first half of June 15th, 2006 show
Log for second half of June 15th, 2006 show


Log for first half of June 22nd, 2006 show
Log for second half of June 22nd, 2006 show


Now, back to the pictures. THIS is the disturbing image one sees sometimes when logging onto Yahoo! Mail. I refuse to post it in this blog, as I find it abhorrent. Feel free to click on the link to view it. I actually wrote them a complaint letter about the image, as it showed up for me EVERY DAY when I logged on, even though the pictures are supposed to appear in some sort of rotation. This picures makes me cranky.



This picture helps undo some of that crankiness. Remember when I showed you the Atlanta, Georgia panda hanging out next to his hammock before? Well, here he is again, IN the hammock, as seen on the Atlanta Panda Cam on June 14th, 2006. I don't know why watching this lazy bear sleep in a hammock pleases me so, but I'm glad he's there. He doesn't look cranky. That's nice. Here's another bear in a hammock that doesn't look cranky. My friend Ryan sent that link to me, knowing my penchant for all things bearish and hammocky.

This has been good for me. I've posted some pictures, I've scanned my playlists, I've nearly gotten over the trauma of a video that Ryan showed me on the internet [if you really want to see it and be traumatized, you'll have to ask. I'm not posting it...], and I believe I'm very nearly not cranky anymore.


In celebration of this fact, I give you this adorable picture of yours truly as a youngster, with my beloved dog, Devon. I think I was about 4 in the picture, so Devon was 4, as well. My Uncle Hu was probably asking me to hold her so that he could snap the picture (Devon wasn't much for standing still when there was romping to be done outside), and it appears that I am pulling her lips off while trying to subdue her. I promise you, though, that I loved that dog dearly and would never have (knowingly) pulled her lips off. Not even if I were very cranky.

An interesting thing about Devon was her incredible speed. That dog ran like the wind, and often. She routinely managed to escape from the house and would chase our car great distances before we noticed that she was behind us, on the road, running with the panicked fervor that only a dog who is desperately trying to catch her family can know. Once, the vet said that he wondered if she might have a little bit of Greyhound in her, as he'd heard tell of her speed and noticed that her hips were a bit high, much like the racing dogs'. We knew her to be primarily a German Shepherd and Black Labrador mix, but, thereafter, I boasted to anyone who met her that there was a very good chance that she was part Greyhound. Her nickname, given to her by my brother Andy and me as children, was "Devvie Doggie."