A spoonful of knowledge.

Well, probably a little more inanity than knowledge, but, that's neither here nor there. Apparently 2008 is the year of the footnote, and rumor has it there might be a thing or twelve that I say that causes a little confusification for my BFF, the reader. I guess thanks to Patrillo / McCain 2008 and the Straight Talk Express, mystery is a thing of the past.

So, pals, at the behest of the masses (ahem), here are some Occasionally Asked Questions and their oh-so enlightening solutions.

The name of this fair blog: Is it "this blog is eggsalady" or "this blog is eggs a lady"? Well, reader, I'd say that's open to interpretation. Originally, this blog was intended to epitomize all that eggsalady stands for. I guess I was under the impression that everyone had seen the breathtaking cinematic masterpiece that was robbed of the 1988 Academy Award, Big Top Pee Wee (whatever, Rain Man). Not to give the plot of the powerful film away or anything, but Pee Wee's suitor is trying to impress our stud by making him a picnic lunch, including (but not limited to) an eggsalad sandwich. How's it taste, PW? "Mmm. Eggsalady." To me, eggsalady is, I guess, just pretty sweet. You know what else, though, I realize is pretty frickin sweet? Egging a lady. In my head, that seems like it would be hilarious. So, you know, your choice.


Your name seems a little dumb. What is What's a Donzer supposed to mean? Sigh. This one is, I guess, a little weird to hold on to twenty three years or so later, but Ramona Quimby was always kind of my hero growing up. If you don't know who Ramona is, then you have some serious literature reading to do. Anyhoozle, here comes the pepperjack: I always thought the following story was really endearing (awwwww). You see, in my favorite Ramona book, Ramona the Pest, five year old Ramona gets a little mixed up. I'll let the omniscient answerdeity Wikipedia explain this one to you, as it does a pretty good short and sweet job, and I am not feeling like using the mindpower to paraprase at the moment. Here she is: "[Ramona]decides to impress everyone with what knowledge she [has] and tells her older sister Beezus to get a "dawn-zer" to provide "a lee light" to help Beezus read. This confuses sister and, eventually mom and dad, until they all realize that Ramona has misunderstood the opening lyric to the Star-Spangled Banner: 'Oh say, can you see, by the dawn's early light.' Pretty great, huh?



Did you really name your poor kid Cornflake? Well, that does seem like something I would do, but, no; I didn't name her Cornflake. It's Suri Apple. She kind of issued forth from my womb looking a little like a flake o' corn, and when it's time to awaken, "Wakey wakey, Cornflakey" she doth hear. Hence, Cornflake.



Did you really name your poor dog Timmy? Yes.





Why aren't there pictures of you on this blog? How do I know you aren't a thirty nine year old world-weary convict named Lonnie who is suffering from a case of the doldrums? Hmmm. You're weird, reader. I dunno. It feels a little Jerky Jerksmith being all la la la look at me. Besides, the guys in cell block four would be even more feelsies than normal if I started posting my Glamour Shots all over the information superhighway.


Who and what are the "BSGs"? Good question. Here's a clicky to bring you back to their introduction. If you're lazy and don't feel in the mood to get your click on, in short, the BSGs are part of my core fanbase. They are first-rate computer gurus; they are Battlestar Galactica Gangstas, they are BSGs. They just so happen to be my muses for Sexy Programmer Thursdays, which can be found here and here , if all of a sudden you are ready to let clicking back in your good graces again.


Speaking of Sexy Programmer Thursdays, from where are the SPT candidates plucked? That's easy. Heaven.




How you're not chewing and all: break it down for me. This subject is still a little embryo-ish not to sting. So, I'll explain in haiku, entitled A Dentist Sliced my Lingual Nerve and Diced My Heart.


A Dentist Sliced my Lingual Nerve and Diced My Heart
Goodbye, wisdom teeth
Mygod you just shivved two nerves
Thanks a lot, asshole




What does "there's an ass over my shoulder" mean? It's basic perfection. It's Eden in your backyard. It's a jaunt on a tugboat and a disembarkment at the promiseland. Succinctly, it's Wolf Blitzer. Aaaaahhh.

Well, I'm sure there's more, but I am distracted by Kim Kardashian's heinie at the moment and I can't seem to concentrate on this task at hand. If there's anything else I can clear up, let me know. I'll open up my brainfile of Afterschool Specials and see if I can produce an answer for it. Because, to me, you're worth it. Kisses!

Hitting the Road

In honor of International Women's Day, I am on my way out of town, the open road in my sights, and a pocket full of dreams. On this day of all days dedicated to the ladies out there, it is only fitting that the queen of the fly honeys, James Van Der Beek, is celebrating his 30th birthday today. Happy 30th, Dawson. I'll be thinking of you while I get my lady on. Alright, sisters, let's jam out with our clams out. Party on.

And things just when waaay downhill.

Remember a while back when I told you that I kind of have the maturity of a nine year old boy? I may have been exaggerating a little bit for effect. Out of respect to my homie fairness, and since you have been such loyal readers (What up, BSGs!) and all, I need to pony up and reveal that, on the reals, my actual-time mentality might be a little bit more twinsies with a lad around the age of twelve. This fact came to light quite clearly while I was driving back from my local Targetopia today. Picture it: I am cruising along, happily providing background vocals to the smooth sounds of Man Man emanating from my stereo (they really remind me of the Muppet Band, and little Cornflake seems to really dig Muppet-sounding melodies - especially anything in the Rolf family). Speaking of little Cornflake, she was bopping along from her still-backwards-facing car-seat (less than two months til the big switcheroosky - get it, girl!)sucking her right thumb, loving life. All of a sudden, seemingly from out of nowhere, this wanker in a sporty black automobile swoops in and cuts us off all abruptlike as wankers are wont to do. Instantly my mouth flew open and I shouted (cleverly), "Hey, Jerk, in your Audi TT." And that is when I just started giggling, and giggling uncontrollably. I had the full on I am laughing by myself out loud moment, and not because I had just labeled the wanker a jerk. No, no. It was because the guy drives a car I had just called an Audi Titty ( pronounced "teety", naturally. Your car is named after boobs, Wanker!). Oh - that sounded like something your annoying nephew Kevin would say? Yeah. I know. So would I.

So, this got me thinking. There have been many occasions in which my inner Kevin has reared his pimply head and I've snickered at some other Audi TTs of the world. If you have a moment, I'd like to share just a few of them with you. Here are ten stooopid reasons I have had the occasion to turn all twelve year old boy up in here.

1) Long before I was twelve, my I12YOB (inner 12 year old boy, obvs) emerged. My lovely 2nd grade teacher, Miss Sexton - God bless her, was my favorite teacher ever. She had the ingenious idea to make every kid in the classroom buy his own stick of deoderant to fend off any unfortunate early stinkers and she was responsible for singlehandedly bringing about my love and subsequent poster purchase of William "The Fridge" Perry; HOWEVER, sadly, I found it impossible to say her name aloud during the first two months I knew her, and then I couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly giggly/embarrassed each time I finally did manage to spit out her surname.

2) This next one's obvious. I think I'll go ahead and stick the picture in so you can say it with me.All together: Hello there, Boner. I mean, really? The nation turns hysterical when Justin Timberlake (allegedly) aids and abets the most famous teeniny covered-nip release in all of history, yet thanks to that family programming paradigm Growing Pains, the name Woody McWooderson becomes a household name - nay - a household institution on a weekly basis?! Regardless of the hooplah, I got a case of the tehees each and every time Richard (we couldn't have gone all the way and used that other euphemistic chortle causer, too?) "Boner" Stabone danced across my screen.

3) While I am in tvland, I am going to step a little bit out of order and just pose a question, really. Since naming tv characters after tent pitchers was obviously appropriate in the 1980's, was it apparently likewise seemingly kosher in the 1950's to name America's favorite scoundrel and Wally's little brother, "the Beav" after June's hoo hoo? I mean, did people object back

then, or even notice? I'm just asking because I wasn't around in the olden days to get the giggles. If I never get my answer, I do know this: that Ward Cleaver sure had a helluva sense of humor! And, since I'm posing questions anyway, are we still allowed to name kids "Whitey," or has that little pet
name fallen by the copacetic wayside?

Out of the fondness I feel for you, I am going to move this little list along and stop writing my life story with each entry. But just so you know, I have a lot of questions about some of the following. I'll mainly keep my mouth shut, though in the interest of time.

4) Faygo - I am not being disrespectful here - really. This drink name just always made me spit grape flavored bubbles of heaven each time I said its name.

5) Lemme say hey to another drink - circa high school - from the local now-defunct grocery store Delchamps: Dr. D. This Dr. Pepper impostor literally made me wet my pants as when you are a twelve year old scamp in a seventeen year old girl's body, you can't just say "Dr. D"; you are contractually obligated to only call it "Dr. Deez Nutz." Of course.

6) Speaking of grocery stores, Hi there, Publix. A friend's grandmother in high school used to honest to God pronouce this beloved chain with a long "u." And the hilarilty commenced.

7) Dear Dominoes Pizza: Thank you so much for inventing the Mighty Meaty. I don't eat it. Didn't even when I chewed. But I love you.

8) Oh, Cherry Pie Filling - you really know how to put a smile on my face. Honestly, I'm not a snob. Any flavor will make me snicker. A special shoutout to my husband who introduced this terminology to my twelve year old male brain. If you are scratching your head, good for you. Innocence is much more becoming than moral degradation.

9) Next, I'd seriously like to publicly apologize to two adorable characters from a sweet little book called Guess How Much I Love You: Big and Little Nutbrown Hare. I am sorry that my family members cannot seem to remember the proper order of your middle and last names. From here on out, I am going to try to stop addressing the mail that I send to your burrow to "Big Brown Nut Hare and Little Brown Nut Hare." I'm sure you can understand wherein the confusion

lies.

10) Last but not least. I'd like to say hello to the Northerners in the house. Northerners, you really know how to do it for me. Some of us say "hot dog"; others of us select "franks." But you, my friends, take it all the way to the hoop and drop a "tube steak" on us like it's hot.

Case in point: Mitt Romney and his favorite treat:

Where do you think Mitt was going with that? "They look like they're..." My inner Kevin's mouth is salivating just thinking of all the giggly possibilities...

Sexy Programmer Thursday: Hotness Version 2.0

Happy Sexy Programmer Thursday, playas! You and I both know what time it is: it's time for us all to get a little bit of our naughty on. Oh, I'm sorry - did I interrupt you watching that gut-busting video of the monkey blowing a big Hubba Bubba bubble out of his butt for the ninth time? Well, turn your attention this way, because it's now time for our weekly journey of euphoria. Here's a little paradoxical algorithm for you to ponder: while today's balla is currently providing us with our own voyeuristic fantasia on this very page, he himself is responsible for providing millions - nay - trillions of peeping toms the ability to get their rocks off anytime they desire (incuding you and your bubble butt chimp, sickie). You see, our boy Jawed Karim is the man who first thought of internet phenomenon You Tube - and he is one of You Tube's three cofounders.

There are so many profound layers to our stud o'the week's uberdeveloper framework. Sidle up and settle in: we're about to get schooled, Karim the Dream style.

So let's get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we? Here's the DIRTY DISH on our Casanova. Purrrr.

1) Our beautiful Bengali was born in Germany, so gentle Jawed is an international hottie, and English is this stud's third language! Ooooh, Herr Karim: you can whisper your coded sweet nothings into my framework anytime, Stud. Das ist gut. Das ist very, very gut.

2) Hey, Jawed? Are your calves tired? Because you've been racing around my mind alll night long. You know where else Jawed has been racing? Uh, everywhere! Our virile hunka engineering love often races 100 miles on his bike working out those bangin genius endorphines. You go, Speed Racer!

3) He's worldly, he's robust, but our Renaissance man is also a real romantic. Before ideating the You Tube juggernaut, J-Dawg created an online video site called "Tune In Hook Up" that apparently "drew little interest." Want my theory? All the ladies tuned in to hook up with our Jaws. Sorry, ladies: there's only so much of our boy to go around!

4) Our Hunktown native can drop some philosophizing on that piece. Listen to these metaphysical words from our silver-tongued fox: “Every evening when I leave school or work, I step out and look up at the sky and I see the stars. Science has helped us a great deal, but fundamentally, we know nothing really, about the bigger questions in life.” Those honey coated musings are like lyrics rivalling the best Extreme song, aren't they?

5) Finally, our adorable programmer is a real pioneer. Need proof? Jawed starred in the very first You Tube ever - 18 seconds of bliss simply titled "Me at the zoo." Enjoy!

Thank you, Jawed. You are more than words. You wear the Sexy Programmer sash well.

Travel down the road and back again, won't you?

Oh, hi there, reader. I'm glad you're here. Sit down for a second. I want to tell you how I feel about you. I can tell that your heart is true; to me, you really are not only a pal, but also a confidant. Because I thank you for being a friend, I want to make sure I am here for all of your needs. And right now, I can't help but notice that you can't help but notice that there is a little bit of the old politicking going on in the US of A. "What does all of this mean?"; "These candidates - why, it's all so tricky - how will I ever decide which one is the candidate for me?"; "How is it that just when I thought Wolf Blitzer couldn't get any sexier, he goes and lobs a come-hither look in my direction and my kinkometer explodes, yet again?"

Relax, reader. I am here to take your hand and help you through all of your mental pickles, for together we will select the candidate for you by breaking it down with our handy Which Golden Girl is My Candidate? Guide.

It's only polite to start with ladies first, but we'll go ahead and begin with Dorothy, anyway. Our resident feminist, Ms. Zbornak married a ladies man back in the day who did a little bit o' stepping out on our heroine. But a teensy complication like an adultering ladies' man who refuses to accept a little thing called aging and can't ever seem to keep his self-serving trap shut ain't gonna stop our Dorothy. Often wordy and long-winded, our "gal" Dot is bloody intelligent and clearly has a case of the booksmarts. Highly ambitious, she tends to overpower others with her forceful opinions and dominating personality, often coming off as cold compared to her softer, friendlier housemates. Does Dorothy sound like she'd do a kickass job ruling the Free World? If so, then, cast your ballot for her political counterpart, Hillary Clinton. It doesn't take a village to realize that Hilly and Dotty are like the Bobbsey Twins, co-valedictorians of Gloria Steinem U. In the senior "predictions" from Senator Clinton's high school newspaper, classmates predicted that Miss Rodham was destined to become a nun named “Sister Frigidaire." Aaah. I'm sure Mother Superior Dorothy would be right there in that convent, too, frolicking with our possible Commandress in Chief down the icy path to righteousness.

Well reader, maybe your ideal CEO of the nation is a little more seasoned, perhaps a little more gray in the curtains, if you will. Our girl Sophia Petrillo is certainly a little more chargrilled, and, as she reminds us often, she's seen some real hardships in her life. Some may view Old Lady P as somewhat crotchety, a tiddly-tad curmudgeony, a smidgety-smidge quick to snap back in the face of some hemmorhoid yammering in her direction. While she garners respect from most, still it's not hard to see glimmers of a little of the crazy left over from our favorite geezer's Shady Pines days. Often our cherished great grandmother drew the ire of her Ice Queen daughter, and frequently Sophia got in some hot water because she just was not conservative enough for everyone's taste. Well, Sophia is her own person, and she'd say to hell with your judgments! Is Sophia 's brand of ballbusting sass your dream leader o' America? Then Good OLD Johnny McCain is the man for you. Tough and dauntless, Senator McCain sure seems like he could kick a terrorist in the nards and never look back, just like our fireball Sophia. So, if you go for age before beauty, go McCain in '08.

What's that, reader? Enough with the sanity, you say? Well, alrighty-roo. Why don't I offer you up a little bite of kooky, maybe a sip of some unhinged? So, your ultimate leader is a little endearingly batshit, I hear. Then you need a little bit of Rose Nylund running around 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Our Rosie just won't conform to a pre-set mold. She's a mold of a whole different flavor - perhaps the little green jiggly squares of jello you're so tempted to place on your tray at the Piccadilly. She's a friend of the environment, she's a friend of soft, cuddly puppies, and she's a friend of oldy old people. Often, fair Rose causes some serrrrrious shenanigans with her rainbow sized dreams and unicorny ideas. These dreams and ideas have been known to rock the boat of some others in her path in the past, but she won't apologize for her dingy outside-the-mainstream mindset. Readers, are you up for a little bit of Nylund-like outside the box thinking, maybe a leader who's a little greener than the competition? Then our boy Ralph Nader is the kook for you. He may be the ultimate party crasher, but he's sure to show you a good time. A vote for Nader is a vote for Wooo Woooo!

All this political-jabberjawing making you feel a little randy? You need a smokin' head honcho with a little sex appeal? Then grab a glass of Kool Aid and turn the car around: it's time for us to veer down the Blanche Devereaux path. Our smooth-talking, velvet-tongued lady is animal magnetism through and through. She'll draw you in with her luxuriously mesmerizing words and charm you as she evangelizes you with her hopes and her dreams. When Blanche whispers in your ear, you believe, dammit! Yes, we can, Blanche! Yes, we can! She has the brains and beauty to capture the crown in any pageant, and just because sometimes she's a little light on the substance, well, who cares? She's got charm! She'll hold your hand when you need a little compassion, and you'll wish it wasn't only your hand she was holding. Is the Divine Ms. D. the cat on a hot tin roof for you? Then Barack Obama is your man. Wow, what a man. Why don't you let him preach to you? I bet you won't regret it.

Friend, I hope that you now feel a little more confident in your decision. The way I see it, you can't really go wrong with any one of our Miami ladies in office. Oh, and about Monsieur Blitzer...all I can say is, when you've got it, you've got it. And man, does that Wolf got it.

This city has a...thin..candy...shell...

Well, today is March 4th, the day in which voters from two states that matter march forth and cast ballots for their candidate to march forth (wait 'til you see how I use May 1st; it'll be genius, I tell you! Genius!) into the 2008 mygodCandyCrowleystoptellingushowmonumentalthiselectionis Presidential nomination. In other news, Rhode Island and Vermont pretend people care about them, too.

In honor of the historical collective turning of the watchful eyes of the nation toward that industrially sexy hotbead, Ohio, this blog is eggsalady would like to focus on perhaps the most pimpin city inside the Buckeye state: It's a Spotlight on Sandusky!

My mind has oft wondered what makes our Boy Sandusky tick. Well, finally I've done a little research on the 48870 (I wanna throw a shoutout to my peeps in the San D postal office - Keep It Real, Fellas and Sharon!) and you, fair readers, deserve to get your learn on, Sandusky style, too. I wish I could write a book on my sweet 'dusky, but, alas, I only have a little time with you. So, I'll try to play the highlight reel and throw down some S-Town educatin' real quick like.

A Hotbed of Action - There are simply TOO MANY dope things to do while in Sandusky to list them all. Those 27,844 Sandusky proper natives are never short of Saturday night activities to light their fancies. Why, if I didn't know how mad smart the Duskans are, I'd assume they never did any book-reading with all the fun times to be had in our Erie County gem. First off, which American amusement park won the Golden Ticket Award as the BEST park in the world EIGHT years running? That would be crazy-sick Cedar Point Amusement Park, Sandusky's "home to the most rides (75) and roller coasters (17) on Earth." And, how! As if that weren't enough, our metropolis also boasts world class shopping rivalling Rodeo Drive. Ladies, while you're cruising the downtown strip, why don't you stop and pick up something special for your guys at Erik's Clothing for Men? Afterwards, settle in for some down home nourishment at grubalicious Yesteryears Restaurant. I've heard they have not only a "nice" salmon dinner, but also a "nice" salad bar, as well. Do you take reservations? This is the Donzer Family, party of three!

World Famous Natives - With all the famous names that hail from our city, Sandusky keeps the paparazzi in action, fo sheezy. For starters, a famous native who, sadly, is no longer with us. But, meet Fanny Mills, the "Ohio Big Foot lady" who weighed but 115 pounds, yet wore a size 30 shoe! Fanny (a lymphedema sufferer) was an amazing attraction at the Dime Museum in the late 1800's, drawing in scores of suitors who wanted the chance to be paid five thousand big ones to marry our girl. The Human Marvel website reports that visitors flocked to Sandusky to ogle Fanny's swollen extremities; I am not so sure that's the only reason: I can't stop staring at her brights, myself. I guess it was cold in Ohio in 1885, too.

Another famous Sanduskan I'll highlight is Tampa Bay Buccaneers head coach Jon Gruden. There's not a whole lot I know about Grudie, and I'm not trying to be a jerk or anything, but frankly the wee wikipedia explanation of Jonny was even too long and snoresville for me to plow through. But, I will tell you three things you can take to the bank: 1) Senor Gruden kinda looks like a massive tool; 2) El Grudito claims to have no hobbies (zzzzzzz); and 3) my mother in law thinks Gruders is a hottie. Hmmm.

And, of course, everybody's fat guy in a little coat (may he rest in peace), Tommy Boy himself, hails from Sandusky, OH. Tommy Boy initiated my Sandusky opining, and we should all turn our heads toward the sky whenever Sandusky is mentioned, for Big Tom Callahan's only son deserves hella props for putting this hamlet on the map.

You know, I don't think I could ever swallow enough Sandusky knowledge. All I know is, my education will not stop here. Tonight, while Anderson Cooper is yammering on about these polls and those returns, my focus will be on one precinct and one precinct alone: that bewitching midwest paradise - Our Sweet Sandusky.

Baby, come back! Any kind of fool could see...

Tonight while eating our respective seperate dinners (one for a chewer and one for a non-chewer) , my husband and I copped a squat in front of the tv for our third Netflix movie of the week. "Their third Netflix movie of the week," I picture you saying to yourself. And then I imagine you scratching your chin and going, "Why, that coupla kids must be huge movie buffs! I'd bet they just eat and sleep movies, those crazy film zealots - probably celluloid snobs, the pair of 'em." Well, that's where you'd be wrong, friend (and we're not snobs, either, you judgers). Actually, we keep renting all these movies because of our assessment of the current state of tv as a giganto wasteland of shite. Actually, this shitey wasteland brings us to the reason I am communicating with you today. I just want to hearken back to a time when television made me smile. Today I give you Ten Really Non-Crappy Things I Wish Would Return and Live On Forever on My Television Set.

1. Sale of the Century, circa early - mid 80's. Oh, wow, was this ever the best game show ever. Holy crap! Did that lady just pay the surprisingly low, low price of $12 for the once in a lifetime opportunity to have a six days five nights all inclusive stay at the beautiful Desert Isles of Palm Springs Resort? You bet your sweet ass she did, and she's not done yet! This game show doesn't get any play on the modern rip-off Game Show Network, but it deserves its propers. Jim Perry (the host, duh) was aces, the music was gnarly (in the nonironic way), the prizes were outtasight. I want it back.

2. Small Wonder - How could this show not be perfect? It's the perfect premise: a normal Wonder bread family featuring a beautiful mom, a sporty dad, a super-white-teethed adolescent boy with an effeminate name and, oh yeah, Jamie the boy, apparently you aren't quite feminine enough for your sicko mommy because she made Daddy create an incredibly creepy glass eyed robotic female sister for you named Vicky. One of my most requested impressions as a six year old was Vicky's robot speak, and I was damn good at it. This show had plenty of waaaaacky hi-jinks and, if that weren't enough, Edie McClurg in her acclaimed inside the box pesky neighbor role. If all of that doesn't spell perfection, I seriously don't know what does.

3. Studs - My face is turning red now. I know you watched this, and if you pretend you didn't, I'll know you are lying. It came on after Married With Children reruns in my area, but it played second fiddle to no show. Remember: superperv Mark DeCarlo hosted this dating show in which three skanks went on dates with two skeezes and they answered REALLY CLEVER innuendo- laden questions about their craaaazy escapades and then the matchy matchiest couple won a fabulous trip to a skankaskeezarific resort in Cabo. Amazing.

4. ABC Afterschool Specials - These little beauties truly were fear propaganda at its finest. I got quite an education from each and every heart-wrenching installment I watched, from My Dad Can't Be Crazy...Can He, to The Day My Kid Went Punk and who could forget the hold onto your nuts powerful The Hero Who Couldn't Read. I could diagnose every problem-laden pubescent kid in my path with the education I received from my afterschool specials. In fact, there's a couple things I've noticed that I've been meaning to ask you about yourself...

5. Crossroads: The Lionel Ritchie / Kenny Rogers edition - Okay, so here's a show that actually still airs and mygod, airs to death, but for some reason or other, CMT refuses to hear my cries at night to please oh please replay the Kenny/Lionel festival of love which my husband haphazardly deleted from my DVR ushering in my sadness then anger then questioning then bitterness then denial and then understanding and then finally sadness again. This showcase of heaven-sent melodic stylings of sweet Lionel coupled with Kenny's obvious sex appeal have brought me to tears more than once. Now, instead of being able to hear Kenny and Lionel charm me til I tingle with "Stuck on You," I am, well, stuck with my husband's version in which the words have unfortunately been altered, and now instead of hearing how mighty glad Lionel is that I stayed, I am regaled with a version in which my serenader romances me with "I'm mighty glad you shaved." Somehow, it's just not exactly the same.


6. Today's Special - I am a sucker for creep-fests that pose as children's shows. Looking back, this early 80's Nickelodeon contribution was one of the creepiest. From what I remember, it took place in a kickass department store and featured a talking but only in rhymes puppet mouse name Muffy, a crotchety old puppet security guard named Sam, a real life lovely storekeeper named Jodie and a mannequin with a magic hat who came to life and to whom I was inexplicably attracted. The gang hung in the store and ran into some drama here and there. All I know is, I loved me some Special. I'll order another, please.

7. Malibu Shores - You might not remember this. It was kind of blink-and-you'll miss it, but it featured Momma Michelle Phillips as a momma named Suki to Keri Russell and her older brother in the drama-laden setting of Malibu, CA. Again showing that if you have a zillion dollars and are bankrolling your television show, nepotism don't amount to a hilla frijoles - Aaron Spelling cast young ingenue numero dos Randy Spelling in a forgettable role as a character whose name I have forgotten. But, this one season drama fest exploring puking and drinking and beach parties and kids from the wrong sides of the tracks was right up my alley. It still is. I am all over the dvds whenever they come out. You should be too, if you have any idea what's good for you.


8. You Can't Do That On Television - I was sooooo into this show when I was a kid that if you produced any episode for me now, I could probably word for word it on that ass. This is the show that brought green slime to American culture (thank you Canada!), and I was obsessed. I was in love with Kevin Kubusheskie, I wanted to be Marjorie, I hated Lisa Ruddy, I thought Christine was cool and worldly, I thought Alanis was the weirdest name ever, I wanted to beat up Vanessa, the list goes on and on. I cannot praise this show enough. I just discovered this website dedicated to the show which I HIGHLY recommend you visit because, mygod, why wouldn't you?


9. The New Treasure Hunt - I would give my left pistachio to see this show again. I wanna share the premise with you, as I bet I won't find a reader out there who will be give me an Amen in the remembering department on this beaut. Here's the gist: there's a ginormous stack of presents on a stage, and, well, contestants open then and win the prizes inside, like a vaccum cleaner or a tennis bracelet. My sister and I loved when this show was on, and for years we forgot the name and would ask passersby if they remembered it, and no one ever ever did and we thought we were insane and my sister was finally committed and I sat and listened to Kenny and Lionel over and over and over while she was gone because of the anguish and at the same time overpowering love this program bequested us. That might have been slightly hyperbolic. I really only listened to Kenny over and over while she was gone. What a great show this was.

10. USA Up All Night - Wow. A little embarrassing. But, yeah. I was a preteen girl and I liked Rhonda Shear and even the crappier Gilbert Gottfried night of USA Up All Night and the cheesefestiest B Movies out there. Alright, if you must know, I loved most everything Rhonda or Elvira or Gilbert introduced, from Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night II to American Gothic to The Malibu Bikini Shop. Let's face it, it was boobies movies without the boobies. Or, fuzzied out boobies. It was a preteen boy's dream, I imagine. I seriously wonder what USA network numbskull cancelled this moneymaker. I guess internet porn took away the simpler times. I blame you, Al Gore. Great going.



Anyhoo, there's my list. My current tv has never even had the pleasure of seeing any of these ten shows o' wonderment. Somehow, my life seems a little lesser because of it.