I'll admit it right now: when I was a kid, I did not like singer Tom Jones. No, for me he was for older ladies who inexplicably threw their undergarments at him as he wore toreador pants and growled and shook and hollered in ways that embarrassed my youthful psyche. I mean, OK, "What's New, Pussycat?" was cute and "It's Not Unusual" was jaunty and "Delilah" was dramatic, but...yeah, no, not for me when I had Paul McCartney and Dave Davies and Davy Jones and other such doe-eyed pale British boy youthfulness to swoon over.

Now I am myself one of those older ladies, although I believe I have only thrown undergarments maybe once towards someone and possibly that was because I was trying to get them in a hamper. Now, I really, really get that Tom Jones was and still is a MONSTER talent, and truly a gifted singer. He's definitely someone I would love to see in concert still, as his voice still sounds great and his performance skills are still...swivel-y. Back inna day, Tom had himself an ABC-TV variety show called "This Is Tom Jones," which ran from 1969 to 1971 and featured scores of some of the top entertainment acts of the day. Today, I am going to share with you three SUH-WEET duets from the show with Tom going head-to-head in a SOUL SMACKDOWN with Little Richard, Wilson Pickett, and Stevie Wonder! Who wins? WE DO! Please to enjoy!

Tom Jones and Little Richard Rock n' Roll Medley, air date 11/27/69

Tom Jones and Wilson Pickett "Barefootin'" "Midnight Hour" "Hey Jude," air date 10/30/69

Tom Jones and Stevie Wonder "A Place In The Sun" "Uptight" "It's Not Unusual" "Nothing's Too Good For My Baby," air date 4/25/69


September 1963 really is a long-ass time ago, and the sexual social norms that were in place then seem at times now to be strangely quaint or horribly repressive, depending on your worldview. Today, I thought I would provide a a small snarky revisit to the past for those who cannot recall the days when women were expected to procure a husband as soon as possible after high school, quitting any employment outside the home or college to raise multiple children-- period. The Pill was available to some women, but never to unmarried women, and in some states no contraceptives were legally allowed at all, and of course abortion was still illegal. To have a child out-of-wedlock was a deep shame, and girls and women were often secretly banished to distant "unwed mothers" institutions during their pregnancies, their babies taken away immediately and adopted out, never to be seen again. Those women who by fate or choice or different sexual identification didn't get married were automatically labeled a "spinster" or "butch" and were pitied or ridiculed. Women, therefore, were raised to believe that early marriage and motherhood was the ultimate end-game, which was made more palatable by the romantic, idealistic songs and movies poured into the collective social consciousness.

So in that light, I'm going to deconstruct the lyrics of the Crystals' "Then He Kissed Me," released in September of 1963, and written by Phil Spector, Ellie Greenwich, and Jeff Barry, and tell you what they really meant, because you couldn't say that on the radio, either.

Well, he walked up to me and he asked me if I wanted to dance. (A guy thought I had nice boobs and wanted to cop a feel)
He looked kinda nice and so I said I might take a chance. (I thought he looked like he might have a decent job and wouldn't hit me)
When he danced he held me tight (He copped a feel)
And when he walked me home that night (He couldn't get his dad's car that night)
All the stars were shining bright (The better to see you with, my dear)
And then he kissed me. (Because that's the only thing we could do in public)
Each time I saw him I couldn't wait to see him again. (I think I hooked a fish)
I wanted to let him know that he was more than a friend. (Lock and load)
I didn't know just what to do (I'm not that good-looking, charming, or rich)
So I whispered I love you (Flashing the Batsignal)
And he said that he loved me too (Signal recognized)
And then he kissed me. (Moving forward)
He kissed me in a way that I've never been kissed before, (Oral)
He kissed me in a way that I wanna be kissed forever more. (Oral)
I knew that he was mine so I gave him all the love that I had (Intercourse)
And one day he took me home to meet his mon and his dad. (Making sure he's not disowned)
Then he asked me to be his bride (Because I got pregnant)
And always be right by his side. (Diaper duty, laundry, dishes, floors, ironing, vacuuming x 60 years)
I felt so happy I almost cried (But really I'm freaked out because I'm just a kid)
And then he kissed me. (Game over)

Then he asked me to be his bride
And always be right by his side.
I felt so happy I almost cried
And then he kissed me.
And then he kissed me.
And then he kissed me.


For today, as I scramble to pack to return to Seattle tonight, I offer you a very short video of Miss Nine's doll find at the thrift store. No, we didn't buy it. Yes, we probably should have.


Well, bless my dear similarly-twisted Young Couch Adult for passing this vintage 1984 kids' safety video clip on to me. "Strong Kids, Safe Kids" could not look more '80s (Mullets? The Fonz? Smurfs? Overalls?) but the AMAZINGNESS kicks in at around 1:22 into section of the film with a song, once you've heard it, you will never forget. Do NOT play this around anyone, because you will get fired or someone will spit-take hot coffee all over your neck and you'll have to go to the ER.

The video...

and the lyrics...

Is what boys have down in front. 
Is the word though it seems blunt. 
All boys have a penis, so no matter what you've heard
Remember that penis, is the proper word. 

Is what girls have down below. 
Vulva, when she's naked it will show. 
All girls have a vulva, so no matter what you've heard
Remember that vulva, is the proper word. 

Both boys and girls have breasts, each person recognizes. 
They're found upon our chests, and grow to different sizes. 

Our anus, is a useful thing indeed. 
The anus, gives relief in time of need. 
We all have an anus, so no matter what you've heard
Remember that anus, is the proper word. 

So don't be appalled, 'cause thats what they're called, and each of them's a proper word! 


Man, I've really had a great time here in Florida and I CANNOT GET ENOUGH thrift store visits in! Here's some more weird goodies for you!

Multicultural dance party! YOU CAN'T TOUCH THIS!


Happy Mother's Day, YOU OLD NAG!

Brandine and her Bleach Mullet.

Nothing says "genteel decorating" like brass Hitler figurines!

Signs point to...GAY.

Gilded kitty cup set: creepy or cool?

No doubt here: the Faceless Family is WAY creepy.

Marvel the Mustang! You can't hide from MEEEEE!

"Hey man, whassup how's it goin' how you doin'?"

"Hey man, feelin' a 'lil crabby is all..."


Albino Monkey is scary.

This seems wrong.

There is NO WAY AT ALL that you are getting any of this cake away from her.

Human Eye Horse is wary.

Liberace Cat!


Like to have your morning coffee in these? HMM?

Need an instant family?

Well. How about that. Hmm.

NOOOO! The Barry Sisters are following me!!!

Hot Band of 2012: Reggae Man Bassist, Anorexic Gold Guitarist, and '80s Mom Jeans Vocalist!

Hey, Matadors! I got your creamer right here!



Oh my...we've enjoyed some YUM food here in Florida, lemme tell you. And I'm just cruel enough to take photos of some of the items in order to make your stomach growl and explode your brain with foodpornlust. iPhotogs are me, MissNine, and Stacy B.  Please to enjoy!

Cookies from Mo's  Bagels & Deli...


A treasure trove of excellence I have found while vacationing here in Florida! We've had lots of fun hitting up several Fort Lauderdale and Miami area thrift and record resale shops all kinds of 'hoods and I am again delighted to share these INTERESTING old LP covers with you. Let's go!

Feliz Navidad, y'all! Translation: "Come To My House This Christmas." I WONDER WHAT FOR?


The theme for today is "ham-fisted", not for any good reason other than that it rings of a certain era of Americana, one where fat distorted faces stuffed with cigars and too-small cheap suits pushed brooms around sidewalks. W.C. Fields without the humor or...charm. Ham fisted, naturally leads to "fried brain sandwiches" written in chalk on boards outside midwest taverns on Tuesdays, which were, and are, slow days for restaurants and bars. What to do what to do what to do? Tuesday's special a 10¢ slab of cranial stuff that once coursed with thoughts like "moo," "oink," and "baa," dipped in milk, egg and seasoned flour and deep-fried to a crispy brown and served between two slices of gummy white bread with pickles. A beer goes good with that. Down by the river, and my dad says "they used to sell out of them, they couldn't make enough". Taverns with German names, places where you really aren't welcome unless they know your family, Hamms Beer hard plastic illuminated sign hanging over the sidewalk, where the broom does its work, and the fat Dick Tracy face surveys the street north and south and smells the sweet soil. The water courses always always moving, since this place was covered in a mile of hard, clear ice dragging boulders down under its belly, digging a path for a river, a river where "mark twain" was, if I recall, twelve feet if water, where it was safe to travel, even if your brother will follow in your footsteps and die a horrible death when the boiler of his own boat explodes and burns him, and you will carry the scar with you even though his will be short -lived, at best.

Ham fisted, a fist like a canned ham, straight off the shelf of a grocery store where at one time you could smoke while you did your shopping, and if you were clever and didn't have enough for the food and the cigarettes, you would pick a pack off the rack on the way in, break them open, walk around picking up your sale items, and at some point the pack just ended up in your top pocket, somehow. Then you made your way back home to the trailer on the edge of town, part of a Mortville-esque complex of residences on a slight hill, the trailer were you lost your innocence to the sad, sweet, tall girl who worked on the college paper with you. She told you stories about being molested, and she cut her hair to try and keep you, and you still feel bad about it. Next to the trailer, but down an incline to the north was the place where the cretins assembled palettes every day, happily, and who would, when you cranked up your distorted Silvertone guitar and wailed, cheered and raised their fists as if somebody was really doing something special up there behind that cheap window. I didn't have a problem with it, not one at all.

There is, was (what the fuck do I know what's there now? I'm getting some of this wrong, you know it and so do I) a creek that runs east and west a little south of the trailer, and a beautiful empty field leading to it from the asphalt slab serving as the Mortville parking lot. One day, one early fall afternoon, a wolverine appeared on the far side of the field, bounding across in a powerful, strong, wild movement that was like a tap on the shoulder, saying "get your head out of your ass and look at this." It most certainly wasn't ham fisted. Nobody saw it but me, and behind it all a great, vast, inscrutable emptiness, eating up your questions and your answers and that other girl, a preacher's daughter that you did really love and that didn't love you.

Ham fisted, my great-grandfather making cigars in a hotel room in Ackley, Iowa, staring at the camera in a way that suggests a photo wasn't what he had in mind, at all, you fucking pest. Begot my grandfather, patent medicine salesman left home at 14 did not want to make cigars, begot my father, eighth of ten children and brutalized by a sadistic older brother and saddled with "Bulgy" for a nickname. Begot me, nervous child chewing on pencils and erasers and the metal from the erasers but whose grandparents, in some sort of great fit of mysterious delusion, allowed their grandson to bring home a brand-new copy of the brand new Black Sabbath album "Master of Reality", which he and the little girl across the street danced to in front of the metal fold-down console stereo, and she who would also be molested by Jet Theaville, a teenager from down the street, and who loved "Venus" by The Shocking Blue. Ham fisted, yes, Sabbath were ham fisted, but it was the best ham you ever tasted, and it felt like being stoned even though you wouldn't know until much later what that...meat...meant and even now that feeling, that overwhelming organic sensation of intoxication is evoked by the molten grassy foam unleashed by the speakers when "Into The Void" blasts into overdrive. Ham fisted.


Part 1: The Initial Information

Hello World,
   I'm Ethan Budowsky and I am the guest poster on Popthomology today. Marianne is staying with us in Florida and got a chance to watch as the Miami Heat won the 2012 NBA Championship title and a young Heat fan (Me) went absolutely crazy. First of all, I'd like to say that no matter what the doubters, haters, naysayers, whatever you want to call them said, I always knew that the day LeBron, D-Wade (Dwayne Wade), CB (Chris Bosh), and the rest of the Heat won the title was coming this year. So last night the coronation of Miami's three kings finally came and me being the young, passionate, crazy sports fan I am had to embrace it. When the Florida Marlins won the World Series (the first South Florida title in my lifetime) I was 4 and when the Heat won in '06 I was not in Miami at the time. So this being the first time I'm really gonna remember a title I wanted to do everything I could to just go nuts. But before we get to last night, I'll give some inside info on the series.

Part 2: The Finals 

   Coming into The Finals I had the Heat winning in 7 but also said if they won Game 2 in OKC there was a very good chance that the Heat could win all 3 at home and take the title in game 5. Even after a tough loss in Game 1 there was never a doubt in my mind that the Heat would pull it out. Then when the Heat won game 2 like they did in a grind it out fight to finish leave everything on the court style game, I knew that the series was over. The Thunder looked tired, too young, soft, and they didn't look like the better team even though everyone thought they were. So going back to Miami I thought pretty strongly in my head and heart that the Heat had the momentum; they're the better team and that after last year's heartbreaking, bone crushing, forcing LeBron not to come out of his room for 2 weeks loss to Dallas Mavericks that the experience of losing would eventually be the main factor that pushed them to the title. So the Heat win games 3 & 4 at home and game 5, possibly the clinching game, is just around the corner. Going into the game I just knew that in about 24 hours the Heat were going to be Champions, and I knew it was going to be a blow out. 

Part 3: The Coronation

   It's Tuesday June 21st. The time is 9:00 PM EST. But 9:00 PM EST on this date is something different. It is the beginning of domination, one of the best nights of my life, and of course the crowning of "The King" (Lebron) "Flash" (D-Wade) and "Boshasarus" (Bosh, give the nickname credits to my brother.) The game starts and right away LBJ steals the ball and gets on the break and throws it down WITH AUTHORITY over Thabo Sefolosha of the Thunder. I stood up and woke up MissNine as I screamed "GIVE US OUR RINGS! IT'S OVER!" The game wears on and the Heat look stronger and stronger and the Thunder look younger and younger, softer and softer, and of course more and more inexperienced. Considering the fact that a crippled Mike Miller (a Florida Gator, WOO) who looks like he should be in an assisted living home had more points than the Thunder's other star Russel Westbrook just shows that all along the Heat were just the better team. The game keeps going on and the Thunder just looked pooped and worn out. The Heat on the other hand, kept going and going and going even at one point when it was obvious that the game was in the Heat's hands, LBJ turned to his teammates and moved his hands like he was cranking the gas on a motorcycle, saying to them, "keep grinding, keep working, don't give in yet." Finally Spoelstra empties the bench, taking out the 3 kings and the waterworks gears start cranking for the Thunder bench, Spoelstra, the executives, Lebron, the rest of the Heat, and a 13 year old young man sitting in his living room in a 2011 Eastern Conference Finals Champions shirt who knew even when the Heat were down 3-2 in Boston going into game 6, down 1-0 heading into game 2 against the Thunder in OKC, that this was the year that the Heat get crowned. So the final buzzer sounds and Mike Breen calls out "The Miami Heat are the 2012 NBA Champions!" and people in Hialeah, FL take out their wooden spoons, pots, pans, and whistles and take to the streets. And what does Ethan Budowsky do? He screams "buzzer! the buzzer!" and before you know it he's out the door running down the street screaming, probably waking some neighbors up, and then finally he's back. He's laying on the ground in disbelief not speaking, just sitting their crying tears of complete joy, not wanting to talk to anyone, just wanting to sit there and cry and cry and cry. Oh, and of course wanting to go down to Miami to be in the streets and celebrate. Because the truth is, that's where he belongs.

So for those still reading this long post (I've got a lot to say) now you know what happens when a young man embraces his first championship title. 


Lucky me while I am here in Florida to get to attend not just ONE show by the groovy Jacuzzi Boys, but TWO! The show at Miami's Ricochet Lounge was RAMPED and AMPED from the bar patrons already hyped on a Miami Heat win and Ladies' Night drink specials, and was further fueled by a JBs hometown crowd and no space at all between the band and the crowd. Because of general wild abandon, your intrepid visiting photographer, me, ended up shooting most of the set crouching next to the drums, which were on a small riser stage. This broke one of my general rules, which is "try to be inconspicuous," but honestly, it was all so nutty and fun I don't think anyone even cared.

I hope you enjoy the photos I wrangled, some here and more on Flickr. Many, many thanks to the ever-gracious Jacuzzi Boys for yet another incredible night 'o fun!


I was sad to miss the return of the Dandy Warhols to the Showbox at the Market last Sunday night as I am in Flo-da at present, but am way happy to have had ace Seattle photographer Alex Crick stand in for me and Popthomology! Thank you Alex and Dandies!

You can purchase the Dandy Warhols' excellent new album, "This Machine" right HERE and please to enjoy Alex's photos NOW!


Oh fun fun fun fun times -- another thrift store run! We spent a quick few minutes combing through for goodies to share with you today, and here's the proof!

This painting of Grandma Somebody is five bucks, and it's SO coming home with me. I'm not kidding.



You know, I definitely keep rock n' roll hours as a matter of course anyway, but it has definitely been awhile since my concert evening out included vodka cranberries, guys and girls pole dancing in the VIP section, a smoke machine, smokers smoking like machines, PBRs, tequila shots, a new camera, sweaty hugs and kisses, club dancing, a guy trying and failing do some groovy act with lighted ropes because he kept getting them tangled up, new friends, old friends, a rock photography show, humidity, and a post-show diner breakfast, all of which led to me arriving back at my vacation homebase of Hollywood, Florida at 5 IN THE AYE-EHM. I celebrated by sleeping in until 2PM and placing my smoky clothes and shoes in the far corner of my hosts' house.

Why did this happen? Because I went to see the Jacuzzi Boys at the New Times Broward-Palm Beach's "County Grind" at the Green Room in Fort Lauderdale! I love these guys, who give garage punk a quirky-cool-beachy spin. The Green Room crowd loved them too, moshed with great verve, and we were all treated to several new songs, beer thrown in the air, a beach ball thrown in the air, and tons of fun. Here's some photos from the very very very first usage of my new Canon 5D Mark III!


I am always interested in out-of-the-box thinking and new ways to look at old problems, so I was excited to attend the "Better Block" urban design exhibit In the F.A.T. Arts District in Fort Lauderdale, Florida this afternoon. A little explanation of what the "Better Block" project is, from their site:
The “Better Block” project is a demonstration tool that revisions an area to show the potential to create a great walkable, vibrant neighborhood center. The project acts as a living charrette so that communities can actively engage in the “complete streets” buildout process and develop pop-up businesses to show the potential for revitalized economic activity in an area. Better Blocks are now being performed throughout the country, and have helped cities rapidly implement infrastructure and policy changes.
Cool pop-up stores, galleries, food trucks and more were installed into the block today (like Radio-Active Records, Public Image Vintage, Samsara Folk Art) in partnership with with city and the FAU School of Urban & Regional Planning) showing in such a vibrant way how smart design and commerce can collaborate to bring life back to neglected parts of our cities. Do check out "Better Block" and attend an installation if you can. Participating in these kinds of events helps to show investors and city planners that people care about where they live! Here's some photos from the day.


MissNine and I got into Miami this morning at the STUNNING hour of 6:45AM after our redeye flight from Seattle, were greeted heartily by our hosts, went and got delicious bagels, then I went and SLEPT BIGTIME. When I achieved general consciousness again towards the end of the day, we went to Hollywood Beach for a TGIF potluck. The Atlantic Ocean was bath-warm, the breeze tropical-soft and the company delightful. I took photos for you.


My lovely daughter and I fly off this evening to Miami for TWO WEEKS! I know we'll have a great time and I'm looking forward to bringing you more Florida FUN FUN FUN here (no zombies, though). For today's post, I bring you a few snared sketches from MissNine's school artwork she brought home a couple of days ago.

Maybe while we are in Florida, we will see a boxfish...


I truly wish I could recall the name of the guy who wrote my very very favorite critical description of a rock n' roll record, or possibly of any one thing ever described by man. In a review of Led Zeppelin's 4th album ("ZOSO") in 1971, this marvelous writer hit the nail on the head in one decisive blow when comparing the album's opening track, the now instantly-familiar "Black Dog," to "the sound of a chicken trying to take flight." BAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That is so perfect that I still to this day can't even handle the truth. Of course, I love the song for this very thing, which is particularly peculiar to the style of guitarist Jimmy Page: it sounds like it is at all times two or three notes away from falling completely apart in a cacophony of tangled strings and failed timing, yet it somehow stays cohesive and massive.

Today I thought I would share with you some other musical tries at "Black Dog" from the infinite Well Of Aural Pleasure that is YouTube. Please to enjoy!

I bet you didn't wake up today thinking, "Man, I am SO UP for a cover of 'Black Dog" with accordion and some three-stringed Japanese shamisens!" If you did, we should become closer pals.

Monsters of Shamisen

And if you wanted to hear how the song sounds sung in Japanese, I can provide that. It is very earnest. I think this guy says, "Eeyore" over and over a few times, which is EVEN BETTER.

Japanese Zep

These Canadians are...trying. I dunno...the plaid Bermuda shorts just throw me off somehow.


Well. Hmm. This '80s version can't seem to decide what it wants to be. It's played punk fast, yet still meanders, by a black dude in pimp gear, and adds Prince-style synths. I'm deciding it's awful.

Parker (featuring Mitch Mitchell)

We'll let Dread Zeppelin take the end video!




'Tis the season, for MissNine and Mr14, to be finishing up the last week of the school year and to continue the grand student tradition of getting your peers and teachers to sign your school yearbook for fond remembrance. This got me thinking to my own school days. I attended Oconomowoc (WI.) Junior High for 7th, 8th, and 9th grades in the mid-'70s. I have a ton of memories from those days; sadly, few are academic in nature. No, the things I recall are more like getting hung up by my painter pant loops on a locker, shooting spitwads in Study Hall, furtively smoking borrowed cigarettes around a far corner of the school building (always with one kid on lookout duty) and then stashing the pack in my socks, and editing the school newspaper by myself in a tiny supply closet while blaring the radio and SMOKING again. I never once got into trouble because I looked like a smart nerdy girl. No one suspects the SNG. Anyway, I  hauled out the old Jr. High yearbooks today and I thought I would share some of the autographs I procured in those years. Names are excluded to protect the former young teenagers who could not possibly at that time conceive that the SNG would, far into the future, blog their musings on something magical called "The Internet."

Some indelicate language follows, along with some sweetness.


"To a really nice kid (for a drummer)."

"Don't get to bombed, fried, etc. but if you do, call me!"

"To Marianne, the most horide [sic] friend that I have"

"To a weirdo-o of a kid. But a pretty nice one at that. See you this summer."

"To a pretty good drummer"

"To a cute girl who has fits, to a cute girl who has no tits"

""To a chick who tried so hard for Tom all year long"


"To a good-looking drummer"

"To the made [sic] picture taker"

"Get Lost"

"To an ugly kid (not really)"

"I don't hardly know you but you seem to be really nice. See ya around"

"Fuck Off"


"Missed ya this year, more time than not you were out of school!"

"To a good kid who never comes to school. Have a great summer. Hang in there."

"I'm sure your face isn't that desturbed [sic]"

"To Mary who fell from the chior [sic] room"

"To a really low-voiced person"

"To a real rowdie, don't get into any more accidents, o.k."

"To somebody who can never type and to one of my good friends. Have a great summer with the guys"

"You helped me many times. I owe you one."


"To the Bulldog Bulletin editor, you should write a book on your love life someday"

"To a cool kid who likes typing, I think"

"To Marianne, too bad you didn't feel like going wild over XXXXX, he would've loved it"

"I love you! XXXXXXXXXXXX!!!! Just kidding!"

"This summer we have to get drunk on some more peppermint schnapps"

"To a turkey"

"Mary is the one with the ticklest spot wear [sic] there should not be"

"Howdy to just about the funniest chick in 8-3 and I hope a lifetime friend! Have fun, I'll see ya around! (ed. note: We did remain friends!)

"Hi from the geeks?"

"Marianne, you are the greatest clown I known [sic]. We al love you and always stay the same."

"It was fun at parties, bring more booze!"

"Don't get injured anymore this year. I'm out of get well cards!"

"Thanks for introducing me to the Beatles more."

"Boy, did you scare the ____ out of me when you fell and chipped your teeth, hope you won't fall again this summer."

"DEAR MaryANN, Have a great summer with XXX. Teach him all you [sic] trick, take it easy, don't get too involved with him. Hang on to him don't let him go he's the only man you got. So long I'm going to get out of here before you kick ME."


"Mary, you play the drums good and are a good dancer"

"To a real funny kid I don't know"

"Your [sic] lots of fun to be with."

"To a real farout country western girl who is always fun to be with"

"Mare, you are totally insane!! I love you!!!

"To a nice kid who does a lot of crazy things and helps me out a lot and who is pretty funny looking"

"To a best friend, no matter what next year we'll raise hell! This year was great and next year we will make great & summer PARTIE!!"

"To Marianne, One of the only people who truly understands me."

"I hope you got over the lovers' weeps"

"Marian, I hope you don't go with XXXXX"

"Keep PARTYING!!!"

"Marianne, you country singer, you come in times of need, you ought to become a nun"


"To a pleasant, young child of the forest and springtime!"

"Peter Frampton fans RULE!"

"(arrow pointing to Assistant Principal) THAT BASTARD!"

"Mouth, thanks for waking me up a 5 o'clock on the camping trip! Really, best of luck, and think positive!"

"Marianne, I'm glad you don't hate me anymore. You're a sweet kid who is full of laughter all the time!"

"I hope you see XXXXX this summer because you are in love with him"

"Remember Ted Nugent!! Your smiling face brightens my life! PS. Can't wait until Honors Geometry, we're gonna have fun!!"

"To Mary-Anne, I'll surely see ya this summer. If I don't, go nuts."

"To an allright [sic] musician. Hang in there."

"I haven't seen you much this year but my FAVORITE, BEST, and MOST SUPER time of the whole year was talking to you during the kite-flying competition."

"It was a blast this year. If you weren't here everything would of fell apart so I'm glad you were around."

"Hi Marianne, You are a very creative person with a very mature attitude on life. Please exert your talents and try the hardest you can and you will achieve anything in life you want. Best of luck to you at Senior High, and a fun-lovin' summer." (ed. note: this was from a teacher, and it made me burst out into tears and then I ran to the bathroom to get my cool back)

"To the best and most reliable Newspaper Club editor ever! Thanx for all your help and enthusiasm!"

"I love you hunny Please be with me every day this summer, your romance man"

"Marianne, you're one of the neatest and nicest people I've ever met. I especially like you because you like the Beatles (like me)."

"To a very nice person who can sing and bowl"

"You're a good kid. Keep up on the guitar."

(Spot the future blogger...)



Yee haw! I got to once again spend part of my Saturday doing something I love to do: goin' to da thrift store! This time I hit up a big Goodwill in Bellevue, WA. that I had never been to before. Man, it was busy, with a really wide range of folks scopin' out the joint like me. It's an area of town that hosts lots of new immigrants so there were Chinese families looking at bikes, two dudes from Africa looking at suitcases, a teen Thai girl eyeing up the skinny jeans, a Korean mother and daughter looking at the "designer clothes" section, a elderly Russian woman with redder hair than mine (which I didn't think was possible) talking on a cell phone to someone about glassware, along with the usual few hipsters, antique-ers, and regular folk. I am 100% SURE I was the only red-and-blond haired woman wearing pink and purple glasses, a vintage orange Ultrasuede dress, carrying a tiny Coach purse with a bee on it, taking iPhone photos of Swedish LPs from the '70s.