Don’t Say We Didn’t Warn You II

Rats. Missed the anniversary of Uncle Bobby’s passing

Um. Pardon me? You didn’t really just say you don’t know Uncle Bobby, did you? Tsk. Here you go.

As you might imagine, Bimbo the Birthday Clown had a profound effect on everyone he touched (this show is one of my earliest TV memories; that song has haunted me worse than anything Neil Sedaka ever wrote), but it was Uncle Bobby who made the show. Here’s the thing: watch the clip. The show was on every day, and every day they did the Bimbo the Birthday Clown segment. Every day they rolled out the clown with a pre-stuffed pouch full of viewer mail and went through the whole same ritual, albeit with a different special guest each day, some civilian who couldn’t possibly be expected to know what they were doing. Uncle Bobby would guide them to their marks, present, adjust and prompt them as required, all while mumbling random bonhomie-ish phrases to keep everyone at ease.

We missed Uncle Bobby’s anniversary. That’s too bad. But this is your notice for this Thursday, baby. It’s Maxim Gorky!


I, Curmudgeon

If I can offer some advice, go down and press ‘play’ right now, and then you can read while the song deals with its rising action.

I see them every day around this time of year, as I head home through the Legislature grounds. That’s a nice place for getting your photograph taken, eh? You bet it is, and that fact is not lost on high school grads, either. They actually sort of make me smile as I navigate my way through what seems like kilometers of taffeta and stretch Hummer limousines. Probably a little bit drunk already, and maybe they’re in for some serious puking later, but that’s later. For the moment, they’re well-scrubbed and full of life. Gotta love ’em.

High school grads, if I may address you directly for a moment – Congratulations, and if you had any brains at all in those lovely heads of yours, this would be your grad theme song. It’s not, I know. That’s okay.

When was the last time you thought about…

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That’s Edmonton For You

Check out the City of Edmonton, going all Medici on our asses. They make Cadence Weapon the city’s Poet Laureate, they commission a bunch of songs ostensibly pertaining to sustainability from Person of Note Trevor Anderson, who subsequently put his rolodex to work in the ultimate realization of the project. It’s called That’s Edmonton For You, which does not fail to elicit first a double-take, then a smirk from everyone who hears or reads the name for the first time. Interesting.

Should I list all of the contributors individually? Screw that, when you can just go see for yourself, but take my word, they’re all blue chippers. You’ll be amazed. Also, it takes me a minimum of six months to decide how I feel about any given piece of music about which I am asked, from the date I am asked, so why bother waiting for the likes of me when you can also listen for yourself.

Good ol’ Co-host Tom’s rolodex has also been put to work, and we’ve invited Trevor to come visit us on the radio show tomorrow afternoon, to explain what the deal is with this That’s Edmonton For You thing, plug the free live concert in Louise McKinney Park, this Sunday, June 14, and endure all of the fun we can make of a name like That’s Edmonton For You, which could be a lot. Will he or won’t he? The only way to find out is to tune in tomorrow from 3 to 5.

Fill in the blank: As ________ as a Morrissey tattoo.


some guys have all the luck

some guys have all the luck

To be completely honest, I misunderstood the situation at first. I saw the other photo, the one of Morrissey kind of obscuring the guy as he autographed his arm. For a time, I thought the guy had actually gotten Morrissey to give him a tattoo. Yes, it’s entirely clear to me now, that that would mean the guy would have had to not only engineer an opportunity to be near the same coat rack as Morrissey, but also have with him a tattoo tool and ink and the wherewithal to ask Morrissey to take the time out of his day to tattoo some freak in a hallway. Yes, it took an especially long time for the sheer preposterous unlikelihood of that scenario to click with me.

Youre going to do what?

"You're going to do what?"

But yes, I prefer my original, misunderstood version of the story. Actually, the version I prefer the most is the one where the supplicant approaches Morrissey with freshly shaven head, requesting that Moz tattoo the lyrics to Bigmouth Strikes Again into his skull. And that he gets in free to all subsequent Morrissey gigs.

For those keeping score, the correct answer to the fill in the blank question is ‘celibacy affirming.’ But whatever you thought of was probably pretty good, too.

Q: What’s it for?

A: What’s with all the questions?

Reading is nice.

Wells Tower. If this man was not actually born to be a writer, then his fate was most certainly sealed upon receiving his name. One cannot help but be intrigued by the title of his first collection of short stories, Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned, but hey, why let it stop at intrigue when you can just up and read the title story about “reluctant Vikings,” and find out for yourself? Okay, okay lazybones, if you can’t or won’t read for yourself, is it possible for you to at least listen to the man himself read it aloud? Or watch the (very) short animated version? But for God’s sake, do something.

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