200 Laps: a small village in Finland, or...?



     I think it’s safe to hazard a guess that, regardless of the outcome at The Old Brickyard this Sunday, our Miss Moose will not be sharing a bottle of milk on the podium with Sparky. In the interest of keeping the streets safe until Tuesday at least (and probably the sidewalks and the lobbies of public buildings as well), I have allowed Sparky to share his thoughts about the Memorial Day weekend with the world at large. I preface his remarks by saying that this is all very much against my better judgement.

Uncle Fun

Memorial Day

By Sparky (me)

Memorial Day is held the last Monday in May, or th’ first Monday goin’ backwards frum June, whichever comes first. It wuz invented by Abraham Lincoln during th’ Gettysburg Address…

 …an’ perfected by Thomas Edison in his laburtory in Menlo Park, New Jersey.

It comemerates th’ contrabyooshuns made to America by Memorial Stadium, which wuz th’ home’a th’ Baltimore Orioles when they wuz good, an’ not crappy like they iz now.

One’a th’ famous things that happens on Memorial Day Weekend iz th’ Indianapolis 500, which is a car race for racing cars, an’ iz held ta celebrate th’ years when th’ Colts of th’ NFL won at least half their games.

Th’ Colts usedta play at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, but found th’ commute frum Indianapolis too far, so they got George Lucas ta invent Lucas Oil stadium fer them outta edible oil products at his Industrial Light and Magic laburtory in Menlo Park, New Jersey.



This wuz back when th’ Colts had th’ first famous woman football player, Donna Meechee.

While she wuz workin’ her way thru collidge by inventin’ th’ telephone at her laburtory on th’ back lot of Warner Brothers (moved from Menlo Park, New Jersey)…

…she also won the Highest Man trophy, which iz givun annuyally to th’ winner of th’ collidge football player flagpole-sittin’ champeenship. When she retieyured, th’ Colts found their long-distunce bills got too big, so that wuz another reason they moved.

   Once again, I apologize for Sparky’s complete and utter disregard of his lack of knowledge of history. I also apologize to any veterans, patriots, or other members of the human race who may have been offended by my wayward protégé’s misrepresentation of the actual and solemn meaning of Memorial Day. I will try my utmost to keep him from posting anything on Veterans’ Day.

Some further points of clarification:

   I think the Baltimore Colts player Sparky is referring to is Alan Ameche, and not his cousin, Don Ameche, who portrayed Alexander Graham Bell on film, but otherwise has nothing to do with the telephone (other than, presumably, owning and using them).

   I’d assume the ‘Highest Man Trophy’ is the Heisman Trophy, but I know better than to make assumptions when dealing with A: anything Sparky passes off as unvarnished truth; and B: college students.

   The Indianapolis 500 has little to do directly with the Indianapolis Colts (although I’m sure some representatives of the team will be in attendance). It’s celebrating its 100^th anniversary this year. I’d say it’s come a long way since the days of Barney Oldfield and Eddie Rickenbacker, but of course, it hasn’t. It keeps going around and around in the same place. (Feel free not to laugh at that one, virtual friends. Auto racing humour is a bit of an acquired taste.)

   Continuing with the subject of Indianapolis, something those of you who live in the vicinity of the Indiana capital (or are planning to be there) might want to look into toward the end of August is a show our friend Cousins is bringing to the IndyFringe Festival. Here’s a little advance blurb to whet your appetite:

   What do the plays of William Shakespeare, The Gettysburg Address, Woodstock, and that argument the couple next to you in the restaurant always seems to be in the middle of have in common? Well, nothing really—except that someone was there to see them…and that someone is you—THE AUDIENCE. Since the dawn of time, audiences have been bringing a little something extra to performances of all kinds…especially when they haven’t managed to slip past the box office without paying. Yet, no-one has thought of a way to help the audience be even better at whatever it is they do than they already are.

   Until now, that is. Join eclectic comedian and Canadian radio footnote Rick Cousins as he drops a crash course called THE BEST AUDIENCE EVER at your feet. In less than an hour, you’ll learn all the tricks of the trade you’ll need to survive anything The Theatre of The Past, The Present and The Future cares to throw at you. With the help of the five-star director of The Last Straight Man In Theatre from the 2010 IndyFringe (and his five-star wife), Alison Cousins, Rick will take you on a whirlwind tour of everything you never thought you had to be told about what you’re actually doing when you shuffle in your seats, hoping that nobody hears you unwrapping another lozenge.

THE BEST AUDIENCE EVER opens at the IndyFringe festival this coming August. Watch for dates and times in the upcoming IndyFringe program, and at http://www.indyfringe.org/

(And as soon as you know, tell Rick—he doesn’t want to miss a show.)

   One more thing you ought to know before we leave you to mentally digest all that information (and misinformation, courtesy of Sparky). If you scroll w-a-a-a-a-a-a-y down to the bottom of the page, you’ll find permanent links to some fine folks whose paths have crossed that of Our Man Cousins without any of them requiring too much time in professional counseling afterward.  We’ll include fun and facts about one or other of them every now and then.

   In the meantime, here’s a link to the IndyFringe festival, to bring you up to speed, as it were.

IndyFringe Festival

   And so, in keeping with the theme of the day…ladies and gentlemen—start your search engines—!

Uncle Fun









May...or May not...

     I’ll open today’s remarks with a word of gratitude, followed by a word of apology. Thanks are in order to all of you who have been paying close attention to developments in this virtual space since its inception. That said, it appears I am not among that number. A sharp-eyed reader pointed out that, in my remarks concerning the late lamented non-end of the world, I originally gave the purported date for Kingdom Come as JUNE 21^st of this year, and not May 21^st. It seems that Harold Camping and I share at least one thing—if a flair for chronological inexactitude is something you could ever share with anybody else. You couldn’t have it at the same time as anybody else, that’s one thing for sure.

   Having disposed of the mea culpas, a few words of exculpation are in order. I throw myself on the mercy of the Court of Public Opinion by simply, and humbly, saying this:

Sparky was around while I was writing.



   Trying to maintain one’s full and unbroken concentration with Sparky in the vicinity is a challenge somewhat akin to playing ping-pong in a wind tunnel, while suspended upside down in a straightjacket and holding a slightly-undercooked flapjack in one’s teeth in place of a paddle…only closer to verging on the impossible. To give you an idea of what I was up against while composing our initial posting last weekend, I offer into evidence the following transcription of events as they transpired (it is fortunate indeed that the Cousins chap lives in a town full of members of the diplomatic corps who have abandoned lodgings with implanted audio surveillance equipment just waiting to be discovered by a lucky new tenant):

UNCLE FUN: [thinking out loud , while typing] “…I step on cracks with wild abandon, welcome black cats of all colours, and in general scoff at all things that bespeak a superstitious mindset. However, we thought it prudent—”

SPARKY: Uncle Fun—Uncle Fun—Uncle Fun—?

UNCLE FUN: Yes, yes, and yes. There’s only one of me, you know.

SPARKY: What wuz th’ name’a that ship?

UNCLE FUN: What ship?

SPARKY: That ship—you know, the one th’ Pilgurims sailed on…you know, when they sailed ta Plymouth Rock?

UNCLE FUN: You mean the Mayflower?

SPARKY: Yeh—that’s it—th’ Mayflower.

UNCLE FUN: [thinking out loud, while typing again] “…we thought it prudent to delay our debut in this space until after 6 PM—”

SPARKY: Uh…wuzzen there another ship?

UNCLE FUN: What?

SPARKY: You know—another ship…after th’ Mayflower. There wuz another ship fulla Pilgurims what followed th’ Mayflower right after it.

UNCLE FUN: Yes, I believe there was another… [back to composing] “…until after 6 PM on the—”

SPARKY: Th’ Juneflower…?

UNCLE FUN: --the what?

SPARKY: Th’ Juneflower. If th’ Mayflower came first, an’ another ship followed it, wooden it’a bin called—

UNCLE FUN: No, no—the ship you’re thinking of was called the Speedwell, if I remember correctly. And it never made the full voyage. It kept springing leaks.

SPARKY: Oh…thanks.

UNCLE FUN: Nothing a Google search or a collect call to the New York Public Library couldn’t have told you. [back to composing, again] “…until after 6 PM on the 21^st of—”

SPARKY: Uncle Fun—?

UNCLE FUN: …yes…?

SPARKY: There’s a big bug bangin’ up against th’ screen window.

UNCLE FUN: Gracious me…is CNN aware of this? [back to composing, yet again] “…on the 21^st of—”

SPARKY: Yabbut—

UNCLE FUN: Yes…but…WHAT…precisely…?

SPARKY: Well, whutzit called?

UNCLE FUN: What’s what called?

SPARKY: Th’ bug. Whutzit called?

UNCLE FUN: How should I know? Ask it for ID. If it only gives you its rank and serial number, call it ‘Rumplestiltskin’ or ‘Mr. Mxyzptlk’, for all I care.

SPARKY: No, no…it’s a type’a bug. It’s gotta name. What is it? S’named after a month…what izzit…a January bug…a Febuary bug…a March bug…

UNCLE FUN: [ever more impatient] A June bug. It’s called a ‘June bug’.

SPARKY: Thanks.

UNCLE FUN: Don’t mention it. [returns to composing once more] “…we thought it prudent to delay our debut in this space until after 6 PM on the 21^st of—”

SPARKY: Uncle Fun—?

UNCLE FUN: What now…?

SPARKY: That lady from the TV.

[Nine seconds of silence ensue, culminated by Uncle Fun fixing Sparky with a steely gaze.]

UNCLE FUN: What lady from what TV? Be specific.

SPARKY: You know—th’one whut usedta be in all th’ads.

[Seven more seconds of silence.]

UNCLE FUN: I’m glad you narrowed it down.

SPARKY: You know, the ads fer th’ denture paste an’ th’ adult diaper pants. Whut wuz her name agin? It’s “Alison” sumpin,’ izzenit?

UNCLE FUN: June Allyson. ‘June Allyson’ is the woman you’re thinking of.

SPARKY: Right…wuzzen she in movies, too?

UNCLE FUN: That’s my understanding of her claim to fame outside the realm of geriatric periodontal prosthetic adhesives and incontinence aids, yes.

SPARKY: …wuz she ever in that chorus line whut wuz on TV…you know, way back—with Dean Martin maybe it wuz…whut wuz they called…the Liz Taylor Dancers—no—the Rod Taylor Dancers—the Chuck Taylor Dancers…(did they wear high-tops?)…

UNCLE FUN: The JUNE Taylor Dancers. And June Allyson wasn’t in the June Taylor Dancers, nor was she in ‘June Bride’, ‘June Moon’, ‘Henry and June’, or ‘Elvis and June: A Love Story’…and she wasn’t the first ‘Miss June’ in Playboy, the June Player of the Month in Major League Baseball, or Employee of the Month for June at ‘June and June’s June Emporium and June-Related Curio Shop’, at the corner of June Street and June Avenue in Juneville, South Carolina…or anything else featuring the word ‘June’ that you can think of. I don’t know what your fixation with the month of June is, but if you don’t clam up and let me finish what I’m writing, you may not be around to witness this year’s edition of it.

SPARKY: Oh…sorry. [a pause for thought] June not findin' I’m good comp’ny? Get it? “June not finding…”

UNCLE FUN: [sigh.] I wonder if our hosts the Cousinses have bought another bottle of antacids yet…

   The defense rests. For all those who remain skeptical about the power of subliminal suggestion and other methods of brainwashing, Sparky is available to spend as much time at your humble abode as you can stand him for.

SPARKY: June never know whut might pop inta yer head, huh?

UNCLE FUN: [Argh.] Have you ever considered a career in advertising? BP is still looking for a leg-up in the public relations department.

   (While I go lie down with a cold compress across my forehead, you can hear another example of what it’s like to deal with Sparky by clicking on the link below.)

How Not To Do It #1

Uncle Fun

So maybe we ARE amused...a little...

  Greetings, Loyal Subjects of the Kingdom of the Internet:

   Today is Victoria Day. For those of you in far-flung corners of the globe on which the sun of the British Empire has never risen (or has long since set), Victoria Day is a quaint British North American custom, celebrated in much of what is now called (for want of a better term) Canada on the Monday nearest to the 24^th of May, and is intended to commemorate the birthday of the reigning King or Queen of England (like thoroughbred racehorses, British monarchs all share the same birthday, for ease of recordkeeping).  In keeping with the spirit of the observance, I shall be attending a garden party at Rideau Hall, the residence of The Right Honourable Governor-General, the Queen’s representative in Canada (assuming that ladder is still where I left it at the back wall). For those of you unaware of the function of the office, the Governor-General of Canada works much like a governor on a car engine, preventing Canada from moving at too great a rate of speed into the future. To keep from standing on ceremony any more than is absolutely necessary, I leave the task of furnishing a brief encapsulation of the significance of the occasion in the capable hands of my adjutant, Sparky.

  Yours Vice-Regally by proxy,

Uncle Fun

Queen Victoria Day ruled Englund fer mosta th’ Nineteenth Sentry. She did it fer so long that nobuddy calls them The Victoria Days, they calls them The Victorian Years. She wuz originally a member of th House of Hangover, which becuz she wuz a teetotaler she cooden b’long to, so she married Eddie Albert.

He wuz one of th’ Sax-Coburgers, which meant that he could play Charlie Bird Parker solos while eatin’ a Big Mac. In th’ summers, Queen Victoria Day an’ Prince Eddie Albert would move frum Buckingham Palace (which is named fer a famous English pig what wuz in th’rodeo)…

…to their country home, Green Acres. When they stayed there, they wuz oftin visited by the Prime Minster, Benjamin Disraeli. He usedta rent a room frum them, so now we know where the Disraeli Border wuz in th’ years b’fore 1967.

One’ a the endooring mysteries of Queen Victoria Day’s time at Green Acres is why Mr. Haney never got ta be Prime Minster.

Pat Buttram, who played Mr. Haney, wuz also in a cartoon movie as th’ Sherriff a’ Nottingham (which is named after a famous English pig who wuz a Boy Scout), so there you have it fer his creedenshuls fer high office.



Another famous resident of Green Acres did get ta be Prime Minster much later. His name wuz Arnold Ziffel.

After she got older, Queen Victoria Day died. Some of Victoria Day’s most famous offsprings include such noted Days as Doris, Christmas, Dooms, Pay, an’ th’ most memurable of her children, who usedta deliver th’ mail fer th’ Communist Party, an’ wuz known as Red Letter Day. In fact, she had so many kids that she inspired the sayin’ “Mother told me there’d be days like this”.

Whut Queen Victoria Day iz best known fer is inventin’ th’ automobeel, which wuz known then as th’ Crown Victoria. She wuz also known as th’ Empress of India on accounta how much she rezembuld an ocean liner. She wuz not amused a lot.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to that garden party after all.

Uncle Fun

I definitely shouldn’t have come with you. I’m certainly not holding the ladder next time. While I straighten Sparky out on a few basic facts…

…why don’t you guys listen to this, which at least has a little to do with Queen Victoria…well, vaguely. It’s something that Cousins individual did for CBC Radio a few years back.

Queen Victoria chooses a capital for Canada

I think there should be more stuff like this on the CBC, but what do I know?

DISCLAIMER

The opinions expressed by our Miss Moose are those of a strong-willed, hard-headed young tomboy with nothing but the best intentions, and the interests of her friends at heart. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation is, has always been, and will always be, a noble guardian of its nation’s heritage, culture, and identity, as well as being the outstanding publicly-funded broadcaster in the Americas north of the United States border. Were I not a figment of someone’s imagination, I should consider it a signal honour to enjoy the freedoms which accompany Canadian citizenship…among them, the freedom to go someplace warmer when winter arrives.

Uncle Fun





Trial and Error

   Happy Sunday, Fellow Citizens of Cyberspace:

The technical glitch concerning our ability to post sound files to this little techno-treehouse appears to have been resolved…in theory. If all goes well, you ought to be able to click on the link below and find out just what goes on in the mind of someone who would let us set up our virtual lemonade stand on the Internet on his behalf:

Rick Cousins' Trial

If this one works without a hitch, expect to hear more clips in the near future.

If not, well…back to the old drawing board.

Uncle Fun

This is the way the world ends--not with a wham but a blogger...

  Allow me to commence our correspondence with you, Gentle Web-Surfer, with an apology for the skepticism evinced by my compatriot Sparky’s doxy in the onesie. Our Miss Moose, I do regret to say, is of a pragmatic turn of mind, and sees problems where solutions really would do better. It has been my experience that by far the most efficacious way of finding solutions to life’s problems is to act as though the problems had already gotten bored of waiting for you to find a solution to them, and had simply gone away. In time, that is exactly what they’ll do. So saying, I shall consider the matter closed, and move on to the business at hand.

   In the weeks and months (and, dare I say, the centuries) to come, we will be sharing with you some of the less execrable and actionable output from a fellow who has been known to go by the name of Cousins. This much he has in common with the overwhelming bulk of the general public, who go by his name without so much as batting an eye. And who could blame them? Batting eyes is not only dangerous, but difficult—they’re much smaller than baseballs, and don’t retain their shape after they’re hit. If I have one piece of advice for any of you, it is simply this: never bat anybody’s eyes, unless they’re your own. And if you must bat your own eyes, be sure you’re wearing goggles. It’s safer that way…not to mention easier on the bat.

   With that digression out of the way, all I have to add is one further regret. We had endeavoured to make our entrée into cyberspace this past Friday the Thirteenth, but circumstances intervened. It’s not that we’re superstitious…and by ‘we’, what I really mean is ‘yours truly’. I can’t speak for Sparky or his distaff encumbrance, but I, for one, haven’t a superstitious bone in my body. Many’s the time that walking under a ladder has kept me from the far worse fate of arduous manual labour that so often accompanies walking up one. I step on cracks with wild abandon, welcome black cats of all colours, and in general scoff at all things that bespeak a superstitious mindset. However, we thought it prudent to delay our debut in this space until after 6 PM on the 21^st of May, A.D. 2011, on the off-chance that certain prognostications concerning the world’s imminent demise proved accurate. After all, there’s no sense wasting effort, if your efforts are only going to be seen for a matter of seconds before everything goes BOOM.

   So here we are, which means the world will be with us for a good while yet, so we might as well get used to it, and enjoy the ride. And as for all the poppycock that has been cooked up concerning the world coming to an end in the year 2012, I’d just like to remind you: have you seen a Mayan astronomer lately? Their world came to an end long, long ago. They’re just jealous of everyone who outlived them.

  And so, all that remains for me to say is welcome once again to our world, and please enjoy this first of what we hope will be many offerings to make whatever time we have left on this mortal coil a little more on the bearable side.

(Signed)
Uncle Fun
  

  

A CLARIFICATION BY SPARKY

   If any of you who’s reedin’ this is a Mayun astromoner, I’m yer friend. I don’t mind what that th’ world is gonna end t’wards th’ end’a next yeer, s’long as it don’t mean I gotta pay back Moose th’ five bucks what I owe her b’fore then. So don’ put no Mayun space curse on us, er whatever it is you do.  An’ I ain’t soopertishus, neither.  A fella has one rabbit’s foot, an’ folks hang a label on him. Kin I help it if my left toes has gots fur on ‘em?

 
 

A REBUTTAL BY MOOSE

   I don’t like waiting to have my say, but at least this way I get the last word. You’d do well to believe half of what those other two are saying, and take half of that with a grain of salt. Better yet, take the half left over from that half, and pour an entire bag of salt on that. I really don’t know why I hang around with these guys—I suspect it’s because I’m waiting for the day when I catch Sparky off-guard, and he finally lets me comb his hair.

   As for all this ‘superstition’ stuff, I keep an open mind. But I would like my five bucks back.

   By the way, ‘Moose’ is not my real name, but it would take too long to explain why I’m stuck with it.

  

EPILOGUE: A SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

   We had intended to tantalize your tympanic membranes by ending this posting with some audio for your delectation, but a few off-duty imps from the dark reaches of Tartarus chose to frustrate our ambitions out of spite for the world not coming to an end. Please accept our humble apologies, and watch this space for further developments...