"Oh, champagne --I love it! It tastes like your footís asleep."
(Joan Davis in "George Whiteís Scandals," 1945)



Dr. John reports that in Sundayís (12/1/96) Arts section of the Phoenix Arizona Republic , there was an article about the group Asleep at the Wheel is entitled, "No bozos sleeping on this bus." There is no FST reference in the article text.


The L.A. Times suggested today that the Tick, that "400-pound blue crimefighter from Fox TV [is] at least as fascinating as Tom Cruise" and should be included in Barbara Walterís list of the 10 most fascinating people of 1996!


Bye now, everyone knows that Herbert Khaury is singing in his sweet high voice, higher up. He died "live in concert" in Minneapolis performing his 1968 hit "Tiptoe Through the Tulips." His wife Susan said "The last thing he heard was applause."

"Tiny" got his stage name from his agent in 1960 whoíd been booking midget acts, but no one knows for sure how old he really was at the time of his death. I had the great personal pleasure to have known Tiny and always found him to be as innocent and kind as his stage persona. He leaves us with this: "Death is never polite, even when we expect it. The only thing [to] pray for is the strength to go out without complaining." Or to go out on a high note . . .




From William T. Hornaday by way of Rich "I Wish I Was" Fish:

Vincent Van Gogh had a really large family. Hereís a listing of some of the lesser known ones: The grandfather who moved to Yugoslavia -- U. Gogh . . .The brother who liked violently colored clothing -- Hue Gogh . . . The sister who wore a mini skirt and liked to dance in bars -- Go Gogh . . . The real obnoxious brother -- Please Gogh . . . The brother who ate prunes -- Gotta Gogh . . . The uncle who worked at a convenience store -- Stop N Gogh . . . His dizzy aunt -- Verti Gogh . . . The cousin that moved to Illinois -- Chica Gogh . . . His magician uncle -- Wherediddy Gogh . . . The cousin who lived in Mexico -- Amee Gogh . . . Another cousin who lived in Mexico -- Grin Gogh . . . Nephew that drove a stage coach -- Wells FarGogh . . . Uncle who was constipated -- Cant Gogh . . . Cousin who was a good dancer -- Tan Gogh . . . Cousin who ran a fruit stand -- Man Gogh . . . Second cousin who moved to a small island somewhere -- Archie Pella Gogh . . . Grandfather who was an historian -- Longa Gogh . . . Nephew who wrote stories and learned to play the drums -- Ring Gogh . . . Third Cousin who liked to sing and gamble -- Bing Gogh.




This was passed on to Chris Knight from "People Magazine".

"You donít know. You donít care. It doesnít matter. Whatever." If youíre in Texas and about to make a long-distance call from a pay phone, that kind of indifference wonít get you very far -- at least not so far as AT&T, MCI or Sprint. What it will get you , depending on how you answer the operator who asks your choice of long-distance carrier, is either the "I Donít Know" telephone company or one of its corporate siblings: "I Donít Care," "It Doesnít Matter" or, yes, "Whatever."

The four telecoms are the brainchild of Dennis Dees of Kennedale, a suburb of Ft. Worth, and theyíre all part of KTNT -- yes, it does sound sort of like AT&T, doesnít it? -- which he founded in Sept. 1995. Research, says Dees, 38, shows that 97 percent of those who place long-distance calls through operators do name a carrier. That leaves 3 percent, a market chunk he estimates to be worth $15 million a year to an enterprising businessman, like, say, himself.

Although the big carriers seem vaguely horrified by Deeís ploy -- "Customers might as well say ĎI donít care how much I payí or ĎI donít care what kind of service I get,í" snorts Sprint spokesman Larry McDonnell -- his creative nomenclature doesnít break any laws.

"Weíre not charging the highest rates we could," says Dees. (But not the lowest either. A three-minute, operator-assisted call between Houston and Dallas costs $4.63 with AT&T; $7.64 with I Donít Care.) Buoyed by the possibility that the 3 percent market share might be more than just a Texas phenomenon, Dees is thinking of taking his companies national. "Iím the first to admit our names are a little strange," he says. "But I donít apologize for it."




In response to my mention of Franke Funk and Dame Margot Mundaneís local radio show, I have been contacted by their English Agent (no less), Ashley Starr-Blight, who informed me that the name of the show is not whatever I called it, but "Center Stage with Funk & Mundane." I should have known.

Last week, by the way, I happened to catch a broadcast dedicated to cabaret which opened with a number from a rare musical the timeless duo recorded (on shellac) for the Edison group. The then sprightly duo performed an audience participation number in a Manhattan review called "New Faces of 1912." called "On The Road". It featured towns they had visited in their early touring career and goes something like, "Margot: (singing) Weíre on the road, weíre on the road! Frank: (singing) So, weíd better pack some" mittens", cause weíre off to--"

Here, they apparently pushed some audience member up to the microphone because I heard (slightly off-mike) a tremulous: "Missouri?" To which F&M replied as one with gusto --"Minneapolis!"

I guess you had to be there.




(A "pc" carol from local Marv Woofman and/or Lee "Hatrick" Hetrick):

On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my potential-acquaintance-rape-survivor gave to me,

TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming.

ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be asked to play a note...)

TEN melanin-deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping,

NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression,

EIGHT economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk-products from enslaved Bovine-Americans,

SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands,

SIX enslaved fowl-Americans producing stolen nonhuman animal products,

FIVE golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration,

(NOTE: after member of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further animal-American enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)

FOUR hours of recorded whale songs,

THREE deconstructionist poets,

TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses

and a Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.




"Dear Diary," writes Wayne Newitt up in Washington.

Dec. 8: 5:00 P.M. itís starting to snow. The first of the season and the first one weíve seen in years. The wife and I took our hot buttered rums and sat by the picture window, watching the soft flakes drift down, clinging to the trees and covering the ground. It was beautiful.

Dec. 9: We awoke to a lovely blanket of crystal white snow covering the landscape. What a fantastic sight. Every tree and shrub covered with a beautiful white mantle. I shoveled snow for the first time in years and loved it. I did both our driveway and our sidewalk. Later a city snowplow came along and accidentally covered up our driveway with compacted snow from the street. The driver smiled and waved. I waved back and shoveled it again.

Dec. 10: It snowed an additional 5 inches last night and the temperature has dropped to around 11 degrees. Several limbs on the trees and shrubs snapped due to the weight of the snow. I shoveled our driveway again. Shortly afterwards, the snowplow came by and did his trick again. Much of the snow is now brownish gray.

Dec. 11: Warmed up during the day to create some slush, which soon became ice when the temperature dropped again. Bought snow tires for both cars. Fell on the driveway, $145.00 for a chiropractor, but nothing was broken. More snow and ice expected.

Dec. 12: Still cold. Sold the wifeís car and bought a 4x4 in order to get her to work. Slid into a guardrail and did a considerable amount of damage to the right rear quarter panel. Had another 8 inches of that white stuff last night. Both vehicles covered in salt and crud. More shoveling in store for me today. That darn snow plow came by twice today.

Dec. 13: Itís 2 degrees outside. More snow. Not a tree or shrub on our property that hasnít been damaged. Power was off most of the night. Tried to keep from freezing to death with candles and kerosene heater, which tipped over and nearly burned the house down. I managed to put the flames out, but suffered second degree burns on my and hands and lost all my eyelashes and eyebrows. Car slid on ice on the way to emergency room and was totaled.

Dec. 14: The &%$ white stuff keeps on coming down. Have to put on all the clothes we own just to get to the dang mail box. If I ever catch that creep that drives the snowplow, Iíll chew open his chest and rip out his heart. I think he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then comes down the street about 100 MPH and buries our driveway again. Power still off. Toilet froze and part of the roof has started to cave in.

Dec. 15: Six more inches of the %&# snow and sleet and ice and who knows what other kind of white crap fell last night. I wounded the snowplow creep with an ice ax but he got away. Wife left me. Car wonít start. I think Iím going snow-blind. I canít move my toes. Havenít seen the sun in weeks. More snow predicted. Wind chill factor -22 degrees. Iím moving back to Texas!

(Gee, Wayne, I know just how you feel. Itís in the low 60s here and drizzling!)




Wayne also claims that the following signs have actually been spotted across the olí U.S.A.(and one other olí place):

In a New York restaurant: "Customers who consider our waitresses uncivil ought to see the manager". . .On a long-established New Mexico dry cleaners: "38 years on the same spot". . . In a Los Angeles dance hall: "Good clean dancing every night but Sunday". . . In a Florida maternity ward: "No children allowed" . . . In a New York drugstore: "We dispense with accuracy.". . . In the offices of a loan company: "Ask about our plans for owning your home". . . In a New York medical building: "Mental Health Prevention Center" . . . On a N. Y. convalescent home: "For the sick and tired of the Episcopal Church". . . At a number of military bases: "Restricted to unauthorized personnel". . . On a display of "I love you only" valentine cards: "Now available in multi-packs". . . In the window of a Kentucky appliance store: "Donít kill your wife. Let our washing machine do the dirty work". . . In a Tacoma clothing store: "15 menís wool suits, $10. They wonít last an hour!" . . On a shopping mall marquee: "Archery Tournament -- Ears pierced" . . . Outside a country shop: "We buy junk and sell antiques". . . In the window of an Oregon store: "Why go elsewhere and be cheated when you can come here?" . . . In a Maine restaurant: "Open 7 days a week and weekends". . . In the vestry of a New England church: "Will the last person to leave please see that the perpetual light is extinguished" . . . In a Pennsylvania cemetery: "Persons are prohibited from picking flowers from any but their own graves". . . On the grounds of a public school: "No trespassing without permission". . . On a Tennessee highway: "When this sign is under water, this road is impassable" . . . Similarly, in front of a New Hampshire car wash: "If you canít read this, itís time to wash your car." . . And somewhere in England in an open field otherwise untouched by human presence, there is a sign that says "Do not throw stones at this sign."

Finally, on a Maine shop: "Our motto is to give our customers the lowest possible prices and workmanship."



And that goes for me, too -- ayuh.


Published 12/6/96


© 1996/2002 by Phil Proctor