Tag Archives: David Lynch

Happy Anniversary, Fresh Air and Sarcasm!

12 Jul


Well, it’s been two years or as my publicist would say: “FA&S enters third year of earth-moving, world-changing, mind-altering goodness!”

Side note: my publicist leans toward hyperbole.

Side side note: until recently, The Boy pronounced it “hyper-bowl.”  Like a trophy match for the most caffeinated kid.

Additional side note: I have no publicist.

Still, more than 115 published bits of sarcasm and, despite our efforts, we have yet to be sued by: David Sedaris, Dave Barry, Oprah Winfrey, David Lee Roth, Wolf Blitzer, my mother, Hellman’s Mayonnaise, Rand McNally, Alex Trebek, Lance Armstrong, Donald Trump, Judd Apatow, David Lynch, Karl Marx, Adam Sandler, Tom Arnold, The Drifters, Bono, Dire Straits, Priceline.com, Dane Cook, my mother, Taylor Swift, New Zealand, Nabisco, Bailey’s Irish Cream, a Kardashian, James Sacket, Cliff Bars, Eminem, Janeane Garafalo, yoga, Entenmann’s, Cyndi Lauper, Vitamix, The Girl Scouts of America, Santa or my mother.

That’s an impressive list which, to me, says two things: either everybody loves FA&S or everybody really likes FA&S and the love will eventually follow.  In the cases of Tom Arnold and David Lee Roth, however, I think that if they had the money, a lawsuit would only help revive their- oh, how I am loath to use this word here- careers.

Notice that I am eager to use the expression “I am loath” because, really, how often does one get the opportunity to actually be loath?  Answer: infrequently.  (Additional answers include: extraordinarily, only just, sporadically, seldom and, for our Spanish readers, rara vez because, really, how often does one get to use those words either?)

And words, after all, are the reason we are here.

I don’t mean that words are the reason that we, as a species, are here.  (Yea, right.  Millions of years ago caveman says to cavewoman: “go fix me a dirty martini” and BAM! three more of those later, a species is created.  PS: the martini was dirty due to early cave hygiene practices.)

What I mean is that we (okay, you) have read thus far because of something in the words (it’s either sarcasm dust or bits of organic compost imported from Oprah’s new hobby farm) and I thank you for your loyalty.  Sincerely.

But not too sincerely.  That would be wrong.

5 scenes from my life that David Lynch can use in a future project

7 Feb


When our Dad got really mad he would write words in the air.  Using proper punctuation, indentations and grammar, he crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s and the madder he got, the more swirly and expansive his cursive became.  When he was totally furious, his writing looked like the Preamble to the Constitution.  That’s when we hid.

When the nuns from my brother’s Catholic school called to tell my parents that he stole the “Body of Christ” wafers from the altar, my Dad sky-wrote a freaking novel.  Side note: who steals wafers that taste like neither body nor Christ?


My fifth grade teacher (Ms. Shannon) was young, skinny and pale.  I sat by her desk just so I could look at the tiny translucent blue veins on her eyelids.   Every day, from math through social studies, Ms. Shannon perched on her desk and, holding each Dorito by an edge, methodically licked off the zesty, red coating before throwing the chip into the trash.  By the end of the day, her wastebasket was full of naked tortilla chips.  I didn’t learn a thing that year.


My Aunt often begins a conversation while the television is on and the volume is off.  If she doesn’t like your answer she turns the volume up.  It’s like having the Neilson ratings right in the house and it’s an excellent way to ascertain your relative’s political leanings.  Say “I think my son’s friend is gay,” and the volume shoots to 14.  “My son’s friend is a girl,” 15.  Mention Obama and the TV shuts down as she whisks you to the garage to tell you how “it’s not nice to say things like that at a family party.”  She may even throw in a “your Uncle is old and we have no idea what this kind of talk can do to him” for effect.


I went to elementary school with Athena Kukalakis.  She had a trick knee and a sister named Jane.  Thanks to Athena Kukalakis, I learned that a randomly exploding joint is a get- out- of- class- free card, particularly when accompanied by a doctor’s note.  I also learned that naming your first kid after the Greek Goddess of Wisdom can create hostility between siblings; Athena and Jane often had fistfights right on the playground: I call it the Lesser Baldwin/Lesser Mandrell Syndrome.


We’ve all had: a neighbor who no one knew what he did for a living, a place where bad children were left, at night, with no food or water and a kid who rode his bike (without permission) at the front of town parades and never got in trouble.  To that end, I offer: Nutsy Kurkle, Draeger Woods and Billy Bike*.

* I know that Billy Bike sounds more Adam Sandler than David Lynch.  But you can’t change history.  (You can, however, use it in your blog.)

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