something about my last post prompted me to look up one of my favorite TV shows from childhood: Hee Haw. my parents thought it was a terrible trashy low-class show (like we were the fucking Rockefellers, i guess) and didn't like us watching it, but oh, how i loved my Hee Haw.

i remember right after Hee Haw the Dukes of Hazzard came on, and that was great. that show was a bit misleading though. for example, until i was 16 years of age i actually believed there was a Hazzard County, Georgia. then my mother took me to Stone Mountain one year and we went in this big room with a large topographical map of the state all laid out on the floor. i looked and looked until finally i asked, "where's Hazzard County?" imagine my surprise. everyone laughed and thought i was such a dumbass. it was awful. it was like that scene in Pee Wee's Big Adventure when the tour lady says, "there's no basement in the Alamo!"

after Dukes of Hazzard came Falcon Crest and we knew we'd better have our asses in bed pronto.

also via Metafilter: name of new coffee shop causes uproar; deemed "shocking". let's not forget that in the early days of television, you couldn't show a toilet, and married couples were forbidden to be seen sleeping in anything but separate twin beds. and you couldn't say "pregnant" out loud. grow up, people.

bear in mind also that there's the very famous Bad Ass Cafe in the Temple Bar section of Dublin, where many of your favorite musicians got their start, but nobody hees and haws about that because we all know the Irish are eons ahead of everyone.

there's a thread going on at Metafilter (not that i'd ever actually read Metafilter-- i was looking for something else, kthx) about unsavoury relatives. black sheep. everyone's airing their dirty family laundry and getting it out in the open. what an excellent idea, i thought. let's begin.

apparently my great-great grandparents were both raging bisexuals. they both spent a great deal of their married life engaged in numerous affairs. this was in an era when arranged marriages were the dilly-o, so it's not like anyone expected them to be particularly devoted to one another from the start. but at least they had one thing in common. from what i understand they just partied and lived it up until their money ran out. somewhere along the line they found time to actually have sex with each other, and had a few kids, and so the DNA rolls on.

the biggest scandal on my mother's side is my grandmother's sister. we'll call her Auntie PMS. she stabbed her husband to death with a pitchfork because, according to her, he wanted to have sex and she didn't feel like it. Auntie PMS lived out the rest of her days-- quite comfortably, in fact-- in a mental institution. whenever my mother came home from college, my Gran would make her go visit Auntie. she hated going but soon found that she could amuse herself by getting Auntie to tell the entire story, again-- which she was more than happy to do.

"well," Auntie PMS would begin, with some excitement. "i was in the barn. he came up and grabbed me and said, 'gimme some pussy.' i said 'no, i'm on the rag and i don't feel like it.' he kept pestering me. he just wouldn't leave me alone. so i stuck him. i told him i didn't feel like it."

perhaps Auntie PMS's casual attitude to death came from her father, who built his own coffin in anticipation of his Big Day. this was not as uncommon as you might think. in those days finding a coffin that fit you and your budget was no easy task. no-one with any compassion or forethought would want to leave their family with the burden of scrounging up a made-to-order coffin at such short notice. after the coffin was finished, nobody could find a better place to store it, so they used it as a sideboard table in the parlor. every now and then Dad would strip off the doilies, open the lid and lay down inside it to check the fit. "how do i look, Minerva?" he would ask his wife. "you look lovely, dear," she would respond.

oh yeah, my great-great grandmother and one of my great-aunts were both named Minerva. let that speak for itself.

"hey guys, i've got a great idea! LET'S ALL SPEND CHRISTMAS TOGETHER!"

why does everyone in the original Broadway recording of Tommy have incredibly bad, increasingly fake-sounding English accents? this has bugged me for a while. i'm no linguistics expert or anything, but i've heard better accents in Community College theatre.

come to mention it, every single live cast performance of Tommy that i've seen has followed this trend. what's up with that? is it some inside joke? am i not getting it? am i the only one who notices these things? maybe the productions i saw cut their teeth on the original cast recording, and are just following what they think is proper interpretation. or something.

i think this is Pete Townshend's fault. i bet he personally selected the cast for the original Broadway show, and someone said, "but Pete, these people don't do very convincing English accents", and Pete said it was ok because the essential soul of a deaf, dumb and blind pinball wizard would radiate in the passion of the music and the performance, not mere accents. or something like that, because that's just like something he would say. something pinko like that. understand that i love Mr. Townshend deeply, but he's fucked up. seriously. i don't believe he diddles little kids, but he's a scary man. very scary.

anyway, it's annoying.

mysterious wackjob panel suggests babies should have the vote. parents would vote "on behalf" of their children until they reach 14. uh huh. (wink wink.)

wow, the New World Order must seriously think people are stupid. who would fall for this crap? er-- oh for Christ's sake, i'm just going to take a whole bunch of Nembutal and be done with it.

The new measures would encourage political discussion at home, as well as forcing politicians to do more to tackle children's needs, it says.

The idea of parents voting on their children's behalf could provoke some interesting spats around the kitchen table.

no it won't, because the kids won't give a shit. voting will no longer be a privilege but become just Something Else That Your Parents Take Care Of For You-- like tax credits and IRAs and child support checks. the parents won't give a shit either, as long as it works for them. my sister and i got a government check *and* child support every month, but i don't ever remember us all cozying up to the dinner table and Dad saying, "girls, today i spent your checks on crack cocaine and a plate of chalupas. any thoughts? do you think the money could be better spent on your orthodontics?" frankly we didn't give a fuck. like most kids we were more concerned about where our next scoop of Hamburger Helper-Without-the-Hamburger was coming from. ok, we weren't exactly like most kids. or particularly affluent. but hopefully you've gleaned what i'm trying to say.

Gillian Thomas, author of the Other People's Children report, says people are wrong when they think "children have never had it so good".

was that a joke? i didn't hear a laugh track.

i'm thinking of selling my television. i really don't want to see shit like this.

i think we should have a show called The Search For the Most Boring and Untalented Person in the Universe. oh wait-- that's American Idol.

ok, i'm outta here. see you on Sunday. listen to John Peel tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday. e-mail him and tell him i want to have his baby. or just get him to play more Miss Black America.

and then, FreeFilter. peace.

six more weeks of winter. massive bummer.

i dreamt that Matt came to visit for a while, and BF and i threw a party. there were so many people at the party that i didn't know everyone and the crowd was mingling throughout the house. i was in the living room playing with some Barbie dolls. i think i was rolling. suddenly a guy i recognized from high school sat down next to me and i thought "oh, fabulous." this guy always gave me trouble; he used to call me Gorilla and make fun of my eyebrows. but now he was acting very nice and friendly and wanted to play so i said, well ok. i held up the Barbies and asked, "which one should be me?" he picked one and said, "well certainly not this one; she's actually pretty." what a dick, i thought. just then Matt came by and told the guy to fuck off.

Matt and i decided we wanted to get freaky, so we went to get BF so the three of us could retire to the bedroom. but we couldn't find him. we kept meeting up and losing him in the crowd, or we would find him and he'd say, "ok, let me just smoke a bowl with these guys and i'll be right there." eventually we got tired of waiting, and went off to get freaky by ourselves.

(end of transmission)