Wednesday, December 03, 2003

What does this mean? My banner ad is empty, and in tiny letters at the bottom it says "this blank space is brought to you by my boyfriend. Google is now advertising blank space? Is my blog so inspiring that it strikes search engines mute? Or is it so lame that it can't be bothered anymore?

I have entered the land where nothing exists. The great void. My brain cells have trickled out of my head in the middle of the night and have gone to find better lodging. "We've had enough!" They seem to cry. "We're going to Vegas!" I hope they have fun. I won't need them today anyway because I'm going to do mindless things in my office today. Brain cells aren't necessary to operate a flamethrower, are they?

The void. The land where nothing exists. It's The Land of the Lost. Ooooh, I loved that show. It was Saturday morning TV from the 70s, for you youngsters our there. What on earth could be better than cheese-ball acting, Styrofoam boulders, and a high-school aged Bill Laimbeer in a Sleestak suit? Nothing! Even the theme song, complete with banjos, was awesome:

Marshall, Will and Holly
on a routine expedition
met the greatest earthquake ever known (scream: Aaaaaaaggghh!!)
High on the rapids
it struck their tiny raft,
and plunged them down a thousand feet below!

To the land of the lost (echo: Lost Lost Lost Lost Lost Lost)
To the land of the lost (echo: Lost Lost Lost Lost Lost Lost)
The the land of the lost!

Ah, those were the days. Speaking of insane childhood memories, I have another one on its way from LifeonHold's fantabulous boyfriend. While grading tests late into the evening on Monday, I was watching my local PBS station, and they were showing a big folk music concert. One of the groups that played was a trio called The Limelighters. These guys still sound amazing. When I was little, we had a Limelighter's record that I played all the time. Record? Oh, it's a big black vinyl thing with a hole in the middle. Hee! Anyway, the record was folk songs on a kid-sized level. One of my favorites was the narrative ballad Grace Darling who (in song) helped rescue a shipwrecked crew. The kids on the recording in the audience were the crew, and at just the right moment were supposed to yell, "Help! Help!"

I loved that song. I played it over and over and over again. I jumped on the couch and shouted, "Help! Help!" at the top of my lungs. None of which, by the way -- the jumping or the yelling -- was appreciated by the adult crowd. Did that stop me? Heck, no. It was the song. It was my part. I was the crew. I HAD to shout "Help! Help!"

And now, I'm an adult. I'm a mother. I'm a college instructor. But the minute Mr. Mail deliverer brings me my CD, I'm going to be five. I am excited beyond words. I hope my couch is ready.

Help! Help!
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