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[California Seething] Fire, Seethe With Me

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The year was 1990. It was an amazing time to be alive or so Jesus Jones kept telling me. George Bush was bringing great wealth and prosperity to Americans named “Dana Carvey”, those individuals whose first REM album was Document referred to those individuals whose first REM album was Green as “fuckin’ poseurs” and They Might be Giants dropped the bombshell that ocean levels were rising because of their new album. Meanwhile, Generation X was on the way to being the first generation to do worse than their parents, Generation Y was on the way to being the first generation to wear bike helmets without getting the shit beat out of them (they actually got trophies for it) and the height of telecommunications technology was a phone shaped like a football that you got for free if you subscribed to Sports Illustrated. HowCal Seething- 110314- dom far we’ve come since then! Nowadays there’s nothing you can’t do with your smart phone- why, I just saw an ad for an app developed by Domino’s Pizza that uses voice recognition technology- so that you can order a pizza by simply speaking your order into the phone. Can you imagine that?? Ordering a pizza by talking on the phone- WILL WONDERS NEVER CEASE??? Next thing you know there’ll be an app where you can hear the exact time simply by dialing a number, or, even better, a messaging app that allows you to send “mail” using only your VOICE- or,- how’s this, a communications app that allows you to speak with any person in America simply by entering in a personalized 10 digit “number” for their “phone”  OH BRAVE NEW WORLD!!!! And, yeah, OK, all sarcasm aside- I do realize that the whole point of the Domino’s app is that you don’t actually have to talk to a real human being. Brilliant! That ought to make ordering a pizza every bit as easy as calling Time Warner for tech support. There’s nothing I love more than a hot cheese pizza topped with REPRESENTATIVE REPRESENTATIVE REPRESENTATIVE PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON PERSON!!!!! Or you could just avoid the Noid altogether and call Pizza Hut on your fucking football phone (AUTHOR’S NOTE: I don’t actually have a football phone. But OMYGOGOMYGODOMYGOD can you imagine how awesome it would be if I did? I would totally invite over everyone I know and wait for someone to call me so that I could just be like “hey- does anyone hear that? It seems like something is ringing. Sounds like…a phone…but I don’t see a phone anywhere! Just this cheap looking random Cal Seething- 110314- phoneoneplastic football statuette. And- hey- WAIT A SECOND- the ringing seems to be coming from the football. But how can that be?? What can be happening?????? Is it possible that this football is really……. A PHONE???? BOO-YAH! BA – BAM! Brain goes KER-BLAMO!!!! Also Pizza Hut is gross. Not cheddar chili Frito pizza gross- but gross nonetheless.

But there is no area in which there’s been as much progress since 1990 as the spread of human rights, except maybe the eradication of global poverty. GOTCHA!!!! Human rights & poverty- you silly Billy- it’s television! Cause it may have been the first year of the 90’s, but in TV terms 1990 was very much still the 80’s. And, yes, I do realize that technically 1990 was the last year of the 80’s not the first year of the 90’s- so you can just shut up Mr. I Correct People About the Most Insignificant Things in Order to Feel Better About Myself (Or Ms.). You can just go back to writing stern letters to the editor about the shocking decline in the quality of the crossword puzzle while you’re not being invited to happy hour. Yeah- that’s right. Not invited. You know how everybody got quiet when you walked into the break room but you’re positive the last thing you heard was “half price margaritas and riblets”. Yeah. Think about that the next time you respond to a company wide email to tell everyone how I misused “your”. Asshole.

In the 80’s the only serious theme that you could tackle in a television show was drug and alcohol addiction (Alex P. Keaton taking Cal-Seething--110314--alfspeed to be able to study harder, Sam Malone’s lifelong battle with alcohol, Alf’s rapacious hunger for cats) and that was reserved exclusively for pre-designated “very special episodes” personally approved by Nancy Reagan. And as a result, what we learned from watching 80’s TV was that as long as we stayed away from drugs, the worst problem we would ever face in our lives would be having dates with two stewardesses on the same night and trying to juggle both of them while trying to hide our heterosexuality from our landlords. But if we did smoke pot even once, we were fucked for life. So it was kind of a good-news bad- news situation for all of us when we grew up and discovered that casual drug use wouldn’t ruin our lives but subprime loans just might. If only they had aired that very special Growing Pains where Boner buys a $750k 5 bed, 4 bath 4000 square foot house with a pool in Henderson, NV using a 1% Interest Only ARM loan and then takes a HELOC to remodel the kitchen right before the economy tanks and Mike Seaver blames it all on Obama and fags and tells Boner not to worry cause the rapture is coming.

As far as diversity on TV- we had The Simpsons which featured a panoply of ethnically diverse characters voiced by white people and of course there was Cousin Balki. So while there may not have been any Asian or Latino characters on TV, the island of Mypos was well represented right alongside Latka’s home country, the planet of Melmac and little girl robots named Vicki. Oh- and- of course! How could I forget The Cosby Show with American’s favorite Jello and rape enthusiast. Ahhh….such an innocent time. Cal Seething- 110314- cosbyHow could we know he was using the patterns on his sweaters to hypnotize young women into submission when he couldn’t sneak a roofie into their pudding pops?

And of course any type of non-linear weirdness was strictly verboten. Every series was permitted one Christmas Carol or It’s A Wonderful Life themed Christmas dream episode and that was IT.

So….yeah- the year was 1990 and TV sucked. And it was against this brainless backdrop of banality that David Lynch introduced Twin Peaks to the American public much to the squealing delight of pretentious wierdos like me and my friends. Of course, being pretentious weirdos we didn’t so much “squeal with delight” as we did “cynically smirk with a hint of derision in our eyes and disaffected souls” but we were “happy”. And why shouldn’t we be? Twin Peaks was a gift for pretentious wierdos and there was no one weirder or more pretentious than us- we called ourselves the Art Fag Posse, we joined a Unitarian Youth Group because of their liberal view of dogma and tolerant perspective on blue hair. We smoked clove cigarettes and pretended to like them while we waited outside Albany’s only art house to go see The Cook the Thief His Wife and Her Lover which we then pretended to like as we spoke about it with animated tones in Albany’s only OFFICIAL café (Half Moon, Cal Seething- 110414-buttonbitchez) while drinking black coffee which we also pretended to like. We were the Capital Region’s cultural and intellectual elite and we had the buttons on our denim jackets to prove it  And Twin Peaks was our motherfucking show.  

But why did we love it so much? Why did the recent announcement by Showtime that they were bringing the show back after 25 years cause the nation to buckle and heave with a giant collective Gen X nerdgasm the size of which hadn’t been seen since JJ Abrams agreed to direct the next Star Wars movie and wouldn’t be seen again for a long, long time- or at least for about two weeks when the new Pee-Wee Herman movie was announced- and don’t pretend like you’re not super excited about that, cause I know you are (but what am I?) Anyhow- I wanted to go on a journey back to the early 90’s to remind myself the show’s appeal, so I built a time machine out of a Saturn, filled up a grotesquely oversized ceramic mug of coffee, put in my dubbed Jesus Jones tape (the one with C&C Music Factory on side B), took the football phone off the hook so no one would bother me and then I watched Twin Peaks on Netflix because it’s 20 fucking 14.

Welcome to Twin Peaks
Pop. 51201

Let’s start with the opening credits, shall we (it’s a very good place to start)?

All of the action has been slowed down a little and there is a slight brownish tint to the footage, like it was filmed through the bottom of a slightly used amber glass ashtray. We start with a bird (Bewick’s Wren for those that can’t be bothered to Google.) Then, an exterior shot of the mill. Plumes of white smoke gently puffing from the chimney like a new Pope is being announced only portending something much more eeeeeeevil, like maybe the election of eeeeeeevil Pope. Inside the mill, sparks fly as the blades on the enormous wood cutting wheelamabobs and thingamajigers (I was too lazy to Google this one) are sharpened in what may be the sexiest knife sharpening sequence ever filmed (though I’m no “bladie” so can’t be sure) Then, the music swells, lush, big and romantic like a large breasted hooker with sloppily applied lipstick and we’re in the road heading into town, a road hewn through towering Douglas firs (Sheriff Truman says what these are called in the first episode so no need to Google- hurray!) and we see the sign:

Cal Seething- 110314-twinpeakssign

The music lifts to a crescendo, the name of the show appears (Twin Peaks) followed by the names of the show’s stars. After Michael Ontkean and we dissolve to a shot of a waterfall as the music itself crests and falls. Then, right after Warren Frost we dissolve to a tracking shot of still, smooth water as the music tinkles on and the rest of the credits roll.

We learn three very important things from the sequence:

  1. Washington State is beautiful
  2. Washington State is creepy
  3. Washington State is wet

The town is tucked away among towering trees, isolated from the world by woods and water. The humble mill, symbol of the town’s economy, sharpens it’s teeth, ready for the kill, devouring virgin lumber with no mercy or remorse. The water looks calm Cal Seething-110314-jimmyand inviting, but just nearby it churns with danger. And oh oh oh, then there’s that bird and of course birds are just EW!

And of course all the trees are lush and green and there is water everywhere- it’s like moisture porn for the drought ridden. OK, OK, I get it – we’re all gonna run out of water and die while you folks in the Northwest laugh uproariously as you brush your teeth with the faucet running with gleeful impunity. But you can keep your plentiful reservoirs and green foliage- I’ll take the desert over the woods any day. After all, you never know what’s hiding in the woods. In fact my wife and I were just talking this morning about how we both loathe the woods (the family that hates together stays together.) You’ve got critters and bears and escaped mental patients with hooks for hands just waiting to hack you apart behind every tree. No wonder it was such a perfect place for Evil Bob to hang out just waiting to steal Leland Palmer’s soul and force him to kill his daughter (Shit! Sorry! SPOILER ALERT. I just ruined the entire show. Ahem. Yeah. My bad. Pobody’s nerfect!) The desert, on the other hand, is honest and plain. You know Cal Seething- 110314-bobexactly what’s coming for you- it’s like “Who knows what evil lurks out in the desert?? Wait- I do- it’s Evil Bob. Hey Bob! How’s it going out there? Hot enough for you? Heh heh heh. OK, take care. Don’t kill anyone I wouldn’t kill.”

But while I prefer the desert, I totally understand why Washington State is perfect for mysterious stories of the bizarre and inexplicable- like Twin Peaks or Twilight or the 2014 Seahawks. So what happens when you take a creepy little town like this and introduce the killing of a beautiful young woman? Television gold, baby! (No disrespect to crime victims, every life is precious, something something violence against women blah blah blah blah blah)

 

“She’s dead – wrapped in plastic” Cal Seething- 110314- dead
-Pete Martell

 

Laura Palmer had secrets. Honestly, though, I’m not sure when she found the time to keep them. She was a good student, cheerleader, and homecoming queen. She delivered meals to elderly shut-ins, gave private English lessons, tutored developmentally disabled adults and worked both as a salesgirl at the perfume counter of the local department store AND as a coke whore in a Canadian brothel- all of which while dating the captain of the football team and Mr. 90’s Sensitive Wussy James Dean (what is it about Washington State that turns guys who should be badass into brooding sensitive wussies or “Edward Cullen Syndrome” as the DSM V refers to it) and being menaced by the evil spirit that had taken possession of her father’s body and consumed his soul and would ultimately kill her (CRAP! No! I did it again. Alright- well, just pretend you didn’t read that either lalalalala I can’t hear you I can’t hear you)  It’s no wonder she was doing blow- she was busy! When was she supposed to sleep? It’s clear that Twin Peaks isn’t a gothic supernatural horror story about the mysterious evil that lurks in the woods of the northwest- but rather a cautionary tale about overscheduled kids. Think about that parents the next time you’re in the Honda Odyssey racing from flute lessons to soccer practice. Do you want your kid to end up blowing Mounties for 88 cents on the dollar (and it was way less back them) or washing up on the beach wrapped up like a plastic burrito from Chipolte? Do you??? Well, then maybe you ought to let her drop out of rhythmic gymnastics or take a little break from SAT prep. She can start back up with it when she turns 10.

Cal Seething- 110314- nadineI mean, why did Laura have to do everything in Twin Peaks? There were 50,200 other people in that town- what the hell were they doing all day?? Are they all just coma patients and sock puppets?? Were they all so busy cramming their cherry pie holes and inventing silent drape runners that they couldn’t deliver a fucking meal to an old person or pick up a goddman shift at the brothel?? Seriously, if you’re opening and closing your drapes so frequently that the noise from the runners is ruining your life- quieter drape runners are NOT THE ANSWER- like, if you’re shitting fire uncontrollably, you don’t need a low flow toilet. Not, if you’re opening and closing your drapes that much, you need to get yourself some therapy ASAP for your paralyzing OCD, even if the only therapist in town is obsessed with  Hawaii and wears 3-DCal Seething-110314-jacoby glasses all the time. I mean, I know he needed to wear those so he could see the depth in Sheryl Lee’s acting- but I don’t know if I could share my deepest darkest secrets with a man who’s ready to drop everything at any moment and watch Jaws 3.

If only Laura could be more like that nice Audrey Horne. She didn’t get bogged down with teenage distractions like boys and drugs and the helping the elderly (Kids today! What are you gonna do?), she just focused on the important things in her life like dancing by herself to Now That’s What David Lynch Calls Music…I Guess? (Volume 4) and learning how to tie a cherry stem in a knot in her mouth so she can nail her interview at the Canadian brothel (I can’t tell you how many countless hours I wasted in high school trying to teach myself that trick. Of course, nowadays, all I would have to do is watch this:

but things were much harder back in my day.). Even though she was saving herself for Billy Zane (and weren’t we all a little. Grrroowl.) Audrey defined sexiness for my whole generation of freakazoids. The Playboy Magazine spread with Sherilyn Fenn- clearly one of the highlights of my late adolescence (Remember when you had to buy a magazine to see Sherilyn Fenn naked. Nowadays, all you have to do is watch this:


Sherilyn Fenn Topless by eyecelebs

but things were much harder back in my day.)

Now if something tragic should befall your overscheduled teen daughter in Twin Peaks- there’s no reason to dance manically with her picture, kill a French dude, let your hair turn white, sing impromptu show tunes and send your niece back to MISSOULA, MONTANA!!!  (Leland Palmer’s five stages of grief) because the Twin Peaks Sherriff’s Department is on the case! Under the Cal Seething- 110414-tpsdearnest folksy leadership of Harry S. Truman, they’ve got Andy, who can’t control his crying when he’s confronted with death (sort of like I would be if I was a cop), lovably ditzy Lucy and, of course, and of course long haired wisdom dispensing Native American officer Chief Little Big Microaggression (That’s the word, right millenials? Microagression? For like when you say something like “You’re Jewish, you’re good with money” or “you’re Asian- can you help with my math homework” We had a name for that kind of racial attack, too. I think it was “compliment”)

So- yeah, the TPSD – not exactly inspiring much confidence. Fortunately, though, Special Agent Dale Cooper is on the case and he combines the deductive skills of Sherlock Holmes, the zen-mastery of Phil Jackson and Warrant’s passion for Cherry Pie into one black suited slick haired bon mot dropping super cop. Seriously, pretty much everything that falls out of Dale Cooper’s mouth like a stray cherry is solid gold. Especially the one sided monologues he records into his tape player for his unseen Ms. Moneypenny, Diane (So…if someone were to send you a petition to change “Siri” to “Diane” would you sign? I’m just asking for a friend.) Arguably Cooper’s most memorable scene is the famous dream with the red drapes and the dwarf. Now this scene has been much discussed, analyzed and lampooned by Scooby Doo – and while everyone talks about Laura Palmer and the dwarf, nobody talks about the most disturbing part – that when Cooper wakes up, he has a flap of hair sticking up at a 90 degree angle to Cal Seething- 110414- hairthe top of his head, like a killer wave for surfing lice. It is the most dramatic case of bedhead that medical science has ever seen. Vidal Sassoon is in a bidding war with Tresemme for the rights to examine his scalp when he dies. There are baby ducks on the Gulf Coast with less grease in their hair.  It’s nuts- you could draw a line from the tip of his hair to the top of his head and then use the Pythagorean theorem to measure it – and if the fact that I know this much about Twin Peaks hasn’t shown you that I’m an enormous nerd, than Pythagorean Theorem joke should for sure.

“One day my log will have something to say about this. My log saw something that night.”
-Log Lady

Cal Seething-110414-logladySo, yeah, I was an enormous nerd- a lot of us Twin Peaks fans were. And this was before being a nerd was celebrated, before the very word “nerd” was appropriated and used as a slightly self-effacing badge of honor by anyone with even a slightly above average interest in a particular subject area (E.G. “Ohmygodyouguys I’ve seen Bring in On like 10 million times. I am SUCH a cheerleading nerd.” No. You’re not a nerd. You’re literally the worst person ever. Even though that is a truly fine film – pre-Spiderman Kirsten Dunst is the best Kirsten Dunst.) Back when Twin Peaks came out nerds were still marginalized and persecuted. Revenge of the Nerds was a glorious dream not an economic reality (watching it now, it’s our Django Unchained.) We were given huge plastic eye glasses to identify us, rounded up from our homes and sent to Computer Camps. And on TV we were marginalized and reduced to a punchline- Fraiser Craines in a Sam Malone world.

Then, Twin Peaks came along and put freaks and weirdos in the spotlight with biggest nerd of all calling the shots. Suddenly, there was a genuine, bona fide, Newsweek certified pop culture phenomenon and we were right in the center of it because we GOT IT. Every week David Lynch threw down the gauntlet of weirdness and we. we few, we nerdy few, accepted the challenge time and time Cal Seething- 110414- horseagain. A lady who carries a log around and talks to it? SURE! A biker bar where they listen to Julee Cruise and fight in slow motion? WHY NOT? A dancing dwarf, giant with a bowtie, white horse in the living room, owls that AREN’T WHAT THEY SEEM and copious, uncontrollable, prodigious weeping FUCK YEAH- BRING IT ON!!!! This was our moment and we reveled in it. We shared cherry pie and coffee at viewing parties, made bets during Calculus class over who the killer would be (her dad. CRAP! I keep doing that!) and taught a generation of TV executives that they could create something smarter and cooler and weirder than they had ever dreamed possibleCal-Seething--110314--copro and that people would fucking watch. Of course, in 1990 a generation of TV executives also learned that they could create a rock musical police procedural and viewers would flee in disgust but, you know, can’t win em all.

“How’s Annie?”
-Dale Cooper

Like many great shows, Twin Peaks ended ignominiously with Dale Cooper spending two hours trying to find the right conference room in the Black Lodge before becoming possessed by the evil and terrifying Bob who then compelled Cooper to do the most evil and terrifying thing that David Lynch could conceive of and SQUEEZE A TUBE OF TOOTHPASTE FROM THE MIDDLE.

Oh the humanity!!!! What could be next? Drinking milk from the carton? Using the bathroom and leaving just one little square of toilet paper on the roll?? NOT CLEANING THE LINT FILTER?????? Mother fucker’s the devil. Oh, also he broke a mirror with his face and that’s kind of evil. I guess. Anyhow, the show ended and we all thought this would be the last time we would be visiting the little town of Twin Peaks on TV.

“That gum you like is going to come back in style”
The Man from Another Place (Dwarf)

And now, it’s almost 25 years later. Many of us have little nerds of our own that we can introduce to Twin Peaks. Others, like me, Cal-Seething--100714--punkyhave dogs that don’t give a shit. Hi Punky! Punky Punky Punky Punky! Who’s my little Punky Wunky??? Who’s my little Punky Wunky??? PUNKY!!!!

Ahem. Sorry about that. It looks like I’m gonna be retarded for the forseeable future.

Anyhow, like I was saying – we all thought we saw the last of Twin Peaks, until Showtime announced that they will be coming out with new episodes in 2016 – 25 years after the show went off the air. And while it’s gonna be a little depressing to see just how old they’ve all gotten I know that I can not wait to hear that theme music start up again, see that Bewick’s Wren and go over the waterfall into the madness

But as much as I’m looking forward to it- I know the show’s not really for me. It’s for that misunderstood teenager stuck somewhere out there in Suburbia who sees David Lynch’s vision of evil in a small town and knows in his bones that Lynch is talking to him.

Meanwhile, for all of us old fans- I’d just like to ask that you put your one remaining hand over your heart, smile maniacally into the mirror and repeat after me:

Through the darkness of future pastCal Seething- 110414-mike
The magician longs to see
One chants out between two worlds
FIRE, walk with me.

See you in 2016. I’ll meet you at the corner of Sparkwood and 21. Seriously, David – WHAT IS SO FASCINATING ABOUT THIS FUCKING STOP LIGHT???? Is jaywalking yet another of Bob’s nefarious crimes? I guess we’ll find out real soon.

Cal Seething- 110416- 2016

 

[Not Quite Ready for Some Football] – Mostly Uninformed Week 10 Picks

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Hey- how about that election on Tuesday? Yeah…that was….uhm…..yeah….so….hey- how about we just focus on football? That’s the American way! I bet more than 38% of registered voters set their fantasy line-ups this week. And, seriously millennials- only 13% of the vote??? You do know that sharing Facebook memes doesn’t count, right, and that you’ve got to go out there and fucking NFL-110614-ivotedvote??? Hell, I would think you’d love voting- you get to foist your uninformed opinion on the world and whether your team wins or loses you still get a little participation sticker. It’s like your whole entitled skateboard helmet wearing orange slice at halftime eating childhood all rolled up in a little booth. Not that it matters too much if you vote in California.  We just cast our vote for Foregone Conclusion and then go home to see which group of backwoods yokels ruined America this time (seriously, Iowa- the hog castrating lady??  I know it’s hard to accept cause the President’s black- but you do know the country’s doing pretty fucking well, right???) And speaking of backwoods yokels- this week’s Thur night game was a battle for bragging rights in Ohio between Cincinnati and Cleveland (Segue- Boom!) Now I know usually we only care about Ohio during presidential elections, but what happened in Ohio NFL-110614-lebronlast night was actually significant and meaningful (Just talking football, here. It’s still a horrible, pointless place to live. Especially since LeBron actually left his talents in South Beach.)

So what’s up with the rest of this week’s games? Well, here are my picks. Feel free to use them for gambling and entertainment purposes, just know that these are based on almost no research at all and that I’m wrong a lot of the time. The way this’ll work is that I’ll put a little (w) by the team that’s gonna win each game.

Thur Night Game:

Cincinnati (w) vs Cleveland – Wow- I was totally wrong about this one. I guess the Browns decided Cleveland needed a pick me up after watching the Cavs for three games.

Sunday Games:

Kansas City (w) vs Buffalo
Detroit (w) vs Miami – I’m most likely wrong about this. I never pick Detroit correctly. But I heard that Megatron was coming back and that’s gotta mean something cause he wouldn’t have an awesome nickname like Megatron if he wasn’t good at stuff. His nickname would be more like “Todd” or “Stubby” – something way less terrifying.
New Orleans (w) vs San Francisco
Pittsburgh (w) vs New York Jets- Yup. It’s true. The butt fumble is officially the “good old days”.
Atlanta vs Tampa Bay (w)– But seriously who cares?
Jacksonville vs Dallas (w)– This game is actually taking place in London. It’s part of Goodell’s strategy to squash British interest in NFL-110614-clockworkAmerican football by subjecting them to Dallas and Jacksonville. That’s some Clockwork Orange shit. Vidi well my droogies! That’s lovely lovely Tony Romo.
Baltimore (w) vs Tennessee
Denver (w) vs Oakland- Just how good is Peyton Manning? Weed is legal in Colorado he’s selling a Frito-pizza- dude is always thinking two steps ahead! (Has anyone actually tried that? Cause I’m ashamed of how much I want to. It’s like the Doritos Locos Tacos debacle all over again.)
Arizona (w) vs St. Louis- Older fans will remember that the Arizona Cardinals actually used to be the St. Louis Cardinals. Younger fans won’t give a crap.
Seattle (w) vs New York Giants
Green Bay (w) vs Chicago- A fascinating match up between spokesman for State Farm and the face of Douchebaggery. While theyNFL-110614-jay don’t agree on much, I think Packer fans and Bears fans would both agree that this is a classic historic rivalry best watched from Los Angeles. Brrr I hear it might be 60 this weekend. Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. I’m so thirsty…

Monday Night Game:

Philadelphia (w) vs Carolina- Man, it’s great to see Sanchez wearing green and playing again. If only Philly were in the AFC East, he might actually complete a pass to the Jets.

Alright- that’s all I’ve got. Good luck out there.

 

[California Seething] This Post Has Nothing Whatsoever to Do with Dogs

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Right, OK, where was I?

Oh yeah- that’s right- I was gonna write about the Simpsons before I went all Debbie Dead Dog on you people. So…yeah…the Cal-Seething--100714--punkySimpsons. Funny stuff, right? There’s Homer and Marge and, of course, Bart and Lisa and Punky. Hi Punky! Punky punky punky punky!!!! Can I rub your belly?? Can I rub your belly?? Rubbing. Rubbing. Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?? Punky doodles! Kisses Punky. Can you give kisses? Punky give kisses? Punky give kisses?? Oh thank you Punky for the kisses! Thank you for the kisses Punky Wunky. That Punky that funky Punky. Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?? It’s Punky!!!

Ahem. Excuse me. It appears I’ve adopted a small white dog named Punky and also turned into an idiot.

OK- let’s just get this guilt part out of the way. Yeah, we got a new dog a couple of weeks after we lost Lenny. No, we didn’t do it to replace him. Losing him sucked. It still sucks and it’s still weird that he’s not a part of our lives. Hell, I still have him as my desktop wallpaper on my laptop- and that’s only partially because I’m much much too lazy to change it. But much like I’ve said before that the only thing worse than doing theatre is not doing theatre, the only thing worse than losing a dog is not having a dog- so- we brought Punky into our lives. RESCUED her, in fact, from the POUND, where she would have DIED. Or worse yet- been Cal-Seething--100714-curledADOPTED by someone even more RETARDED than ME- like…uhm….and early 2000’s CELEBUTANTE or a JAMES BOND VILLAIN allergic to CATS. So…yeah. How you like them apples, fucko? Now who’s feeling guilty? Punky’s not feeling guilty. Does Punky like apples? Does Punky want to go outside? Does Punky wunky want to go outside for pee pee weepie? Punky go pee pee? Punky go pee pee???  Let’s go! Let’s go Punky! Let’s go pee pee!!! Let’s go pee pee with Punky!!! Pee pee Punky pee pee!

 

Oh God. I hate myself. Seriously I never want to stop punching myself in the face. The teddy bears won’t even talk to me anymore- but can Cal-Seething--100714-bearyou blame me for acting this way? Just look at her. And she’s so damn affectionate. She licks my face! She snuggles up to me! She pees with excitement when I come home from work- no one has EVER been that happy to see me. Hell, I’m lucky to get a “sup” or “hey man” or “internet’s down”- but urinating on the carpet with wild abandon??? I never dreamed I could be so lucky (sniff). Sure, they used to urinate with glee when I’d show up at the Powerhouse- but only because I came to fix the toilet. But I don’t need a plunger to unclog Punky’s heart- she’s just pleased as punch that I walked through the door.  I mean, Lenny of blessed memory had many wonderful qualities- but enthusiastic greetings wasn’t one of them. Living with Lenny was like living with an unemployed, stoner roommate- like Zach Galifianakis with more acting chops and less hair. I’d come home after a hard day at work, he’d be lying in bed undressed and we’d sort of grunt hello at each other and he’d go back to scratching himself. Then I would go into the kitchen and he would amble in, bleary eyed all like “dude- are you making dog food? Cause I’ll totally have some.” I swear- if he had thumbs, we’d have gotten him a bong and an X-Box and a SUNY Albany diploma. He was a drink the milk from the carton and put it back in the fridge with a super-tiny amount kind of dog.

With Punky, though, there’s much of a sense of occasion to my  homecoming. Hell every time I come home from work, I’m like a soldier coming home from Afghanistan for a surprise reunion with his family at halftime of a Dallas Cowboys game in a particularly manipulative Budweiser ad- assuming, of course, I come from a family of midgets  who lick each other compulsively and have incredibly poor bladder control. And we all Cal Seething-100714-duggarknow there’s no such family cause if there were they’d have a show on TLC right between I Turned My Wife Into a Cum Guzzling Fetus Factory for Jesus and Here Comes Diabetes! BTW- I realize that it’s a big misogynistic for me to assume that Jim Bob “turned” Michelle into a Cum Guzzling Fetus Factory. For more misogynistic opinions about the Duggars- check out my hip new misogyny blog  “the Gyst”- recently called “a refreshing alternative to Jezebel” by DouchebagDudeBros.com and Stephen A. Smith. Be sure to read Roger Godell’s latest post “I made everything pink- what more do you gals want?” and our Unwanted Advice Column for women- “Ask A Straight White Guy” – this week’s tip “just giggle and take it as a compliment”.

Ooooooh! Does Punky want belly rubs? Does. Punky Want. Belly. Rubby Rub Rubs???? Belly rubs for Punkyyyyyy. Belly rubs for PunkyRubPunkydoodles.

Oh God. Somebody shoot me.

So- at this point, you might be asking- wasn’t this supposed to be about the Simpsons? Yes. Yes it was. But let me tell you how we got Punky instead. PUNKY!!!!

It was a couple of weeks ago on a Friday and we had pretty much decided that we had found a dog who met all our criteria: medium sized, male dog, mix of poodle & cocker spaniel (the poodle is the baby laxative of dog breeds- you can use it to cut a pure breed and still sell it for the same price. Supposedly it’s because poodles really smart and don’t shed, but we all know it’s cause every word’s funnier with the addition to “poo” – go on – try it “weiniepoo”, “cockapoo” “pit poo”- you can’t go wrong! )- not a terrier, so he wouldn’t be too spastic. His name was Willie and he was temporarily residing at the East Valley Animal Shelter in Van Nuys. We weren’t totally sure we wanted another dog yet- but we figured- hey- we’d go check him out. We had tickets to see La Cal Seething- 100714-traviataTraviata that night at LA Opera, an anniversary gift from me to my wife- but we figured- we’d leave work around 1 PM, head out to Van Nuys, check out Willie, grab lunch and have plenty of time to go home, change and have a nice, romantic, anniversary dinner and arrive at the opera in a leisurely fashion. If we did decide to adopt him, he would still have to be neutered- so we wouldn’t be able to pick him up until Saturday and therefore we wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him while we’re at the opera. Perfect! Kismet! Everything was falling into place.

So we got in the car and headed for Van Nuys with a sense of adventure and excitement (no one in history has ever said that before) but, as the Old Testament says “Fortune rarely smiles on a Jets fan.” When I called the East Valley Shelter to check if Willie was still available, I was told he’d been adopted just moments before. All of the air went out of the car. We were aimlessly and doglessly drifting towards Beverly Hills. When the dog we weren’t sure we wanted became the dog we that we couldn’t have, we knew for certain that we couldn’t go back home to an empty house. After a bit of searching on the iPad- and perhaps a slight loosening of our criteria (maybe doesn’t have to be medium sized? maybe doesn’t have to be male? maybe just has to be available?) we found that there were a bunch of possible dogs in the South LA Shelter. By then it was around 2:30 – so we figured- ok, great- we skip lunch, drive down, get there by 3:30, check out some dogs and still have plenty of time for a nice, romantic dinner before the opera.

We made it down to the South LA Shelter, conveniently located at the corner of “I’m not a Racist” and “Yikes! Close the Windows” around 4 PM and began walking among the cages, trying not to think about the fact that we were window shopping on Death Row. We found a few dogs that struck our fancy- one in particular was part dalmatian part poodle (dalmapoo- see-always funny!) I went looking for a staff member who might be able to help us meet the dogs we were interested in. Turns out all of the staff were ensconced behind a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only- Do Not Enter” as a safety precaution against helping the public. It was Cal Seething- 100714-selmathere that I met Mona- who had all the grace, charm and governmental customer service acumen of a Latina Selma Bouvier (and sort of the hair, too). Mona pulled out the dalmapoo who was even less enthusiastic about meeting us than she was.  There was another dog  we were interested in who wasn’t available yet, and so we came to a cage with a grey-white little fluffball with matted, tangled fur and a Chihuahua so absurdly eager to please, he should have been wearing a little bow tie and saying “Yo quero ha-cha-cha!!! Eh?? Eh??? Is this thing on?” We wanted to see the fluffball, but the Chihuahua came too. At this point, Mona, realized she had a couple of pigeons in her shelter, and so she switched gears from inconvenienced bureaucrat to used dog salesman – (from Selma to Gil.)

And it was there, in the small square of patchy grass which was balding like Dylan McKay before he first left the show and then mysteriously came back with more hair that we first encountered Punky (not yet called Punky). She was pretty but she was a mess- a Pasadena Rose Princess turning tricks on Hollywood Blvd (are there still hookers on Hollywood Blvd- and if so- where do they park??) but when I got down on all fours and looked into her eyes and she gave me that curious flat smile of hers- well- I knew for sure that she was coming home with us. And she knew for sure that I was a crazy person who had just gotten down on his hands and knees on grass so utterly covered in piss it would make Port Authority blush just to get to know her better. And Mona- well, Mona knew for sure that there would be one less dog stuck at the shelter that night and it wouldn’t be the Chihuahua (“that’s ok folks- I’ll be here all week! Unless somebody adopts me….anybody…..take this dog- please????”). PunkyEric

Right, so now it’s 4:50. The shelter’s closing in 10 minutes and we’ve got a dog we like- great! Except- crap! La Fucking Traviata! (Verdi’s original name for it) Fuck! If we leave her at the shelter, she might not still be available in the morning but we can’t adopt her and then leave her home alone all night- I mean, sure we could leave her home alone all night if we wanted to come home to find our place entirely covered with urine and feces but we weren’t feeling that nostalgic for Port Authority so we were at an impasse until our salvation arrived in the form of an announcement over the loudspeaker “Chameleon is Down! The Computer System is Down!” Surely this means we won’t be able to adopt Punky (not yet called Punky) tonight and they’ll have to let us come back tomorrow to get her. Hurray for incompetent IT departments!!! (are there really any other kind?) The opera is saved! Fortune is finally smiling upon us! Could the firing of Rex Ryan be far behind? And then a very stressed out looking woman in a lab coat (like Doctor Without Borders level stressed out), Doctor Whateverhernameis, came out confirmed that, in fact, we wouldn’t be able to adopt Punky (not yet called Punky) with the computer system down and that she would be willing to make an exception to the standard shelter policy and hold Punky (again, not yet called Punky) over night so we could pick her up the next day- and would that be ok with us?  “FUCK YEAH!” we thought “Sure, I suppose, if we must” we said. We struggled mightily to hide our inner glee behind a mask of inconvenienced disappointment and headed for our car as fast as our little legs would carry us. And, then, just when we thought we were out:

“Chameleon is online! The computer system is up!” CRAP!! This is just like that Patriots – Chiefs game- too good to be true! Mona, whom at this point had made it her life’s mission to make sure that we weren’t getting out of there without that motherfucking dog grabbed us by the elbows and yanked us into the office. A medical history was produced, forms were printed, the shelter workers were moving with an urgency never seen by bureaucrats in a situation where neither cake nor collective bargaining are involved. Wait wait wait- here’s another announcement: “CHAMELEON IS DOWN!” Woo-Hoo!! “CHAMELEON IS BACK!” Doh! And before we knew it, and before their totally useless computer system could collapse again (why would you name a computer system after a creature that never looks the same way twice?), Mona was shoving Punky (not yet called Punky) into my arms wrapped in a flee ridden pink sheet (“just in case she pukes in the car”- oh boy! something to look forward to!) and we were on our way out of the shelter, headed north with a filthy, small white dog wrapped in a filthy pink sheet at 4:57 with absolutely no idea what we were going to do with her for the night.

It was at this point that I texted our dog sitter with what is hands down the bougiest electronic message of all time since Richie Cal Seething- 100714-richieRich Tweeted “Consuela got the caviar but forgot toast points. Who’s got two thumbs and is eating Beluga like a bitch with a spork? #thisguy #thuglife” My message was: “So….we just adopted a small white dog. Have opera tickets tonight. Could we please leave her with you for a couple of hours?” And, Donna, being awesome and also thrilled to have her best clients back texted back “Sure :) Can’t wait to meet her” Great! The First Worldiest of all First world problems- solved! So…it’s 5:15 PM- plenty of time to get up to Donna’s, drop of Punky (still not named Punky), pick up a few essentials for her, stop for a quick dinner and make it to the opera on time!

Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. We got to Donna’s around 6:30. Dropped off Punky (whom at this point we were thinking maybe we’d call Dolly?), hit the pet store and then, at 7:10 PM- we headed towards Downtown for the opera, cramming a leisurely, romantic pre-opera dinner from Jack in the Box into our grease holes in the car as we crawled through traffic heading downtown on Washington Blvd like a soldier bleeding to death crawling to the First Aid station through the desert who is stuck in a huge line of other soldiers who are bleeding to death trying to get to the First Aid station because one asshole soldier who’s bleeding to death in a Prius is trying to turn left. Finally, we made it to the opera at 7:57, took out a quick second mortgage to pay for valet parking, ran inside not even stopping to pee and collapsed into our seats just in time to wait around for the opera to start ten minutes late. After a beautiful and extremely restful performance of La Traviata (SPOILER ALERT: Everybody’s sad and the nice hooker dies) we rushed back to Donna’s, picked up Punky (Roxie? Moxie? Tallulah? Sam?) took her home and passed out around midnight only to wake up the next day with a filthy, adorable, tiny little fluff ball licking our faces so that, Cal Seething- 100714- bartmuch like Bart when he wakes up to find he joined the Junior Campers, we were wondering just what the fuck we had done the night before. We were pretty sure, though, that we were gonna call her Punky.

So- yeah, that’s how we set out to adopt an an available male, medium sized, cockapoo and ended up with a female, tiny terrierpoo (huh. that one doesn’t work so much) who was met absolutely none of our criteria except “available”.  And in need of a good home. And adorable. And ours. And that’s why the Simpsons is the greatest show on television. Got it? Does Punky get it? Does Punky like the Simpsons? Punkydoodles like the Simpsons? Punky Wunky like the Simpsons? Yes she does. Yes she does. Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good wittle girl?? Who’s a goodie-woodie wittle girl?? Punky!

Please. I’m begging you. Shoot me now. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand myself like this. The next post, I promise, will be all about the Simpsons and nothing about Punky. Although- wait a second- did Showtime just announce they were doing a new EricPunkyJetsseason of Twin Peaks episodes??? Holy crap!! I’m excited as as Dale Cooper having that first cup of coffee in the morning. I’m as excited as Pete finding a fish in the percolator. I’M SO EXCITED I COULD…..uh oh….oopsie….gotta go. Now I know when Punky feels when I get home. Is Punky excited?? Is Punky excited????? IS PUNKY EXCITED???? Yes. Yes she is.Now we’re both wet. Oh well. Who needs dignity anyhow when I’ve got PUNKY??? Clearly not me. Just look at the Jets shirt. It’s totally not me. Dignity was always more of a Lenny thing.Cal-Seething--091514--lenny

See what I mean?

 

 

[California Seething] Lenny Holiday Letter 2012- Screw the Golden Years

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In 2012 I turned 40 (which, in people years, equals “40”) and Lenny turned 12 (which, in people years, is either “77” or “61” or “84”  depending on which Yahoo Answer you trust  but any way you slice it, it’s “fucking old”.) It was time for him to enter the “Golden Years”- so named by his Vet because she purchased a solid gold yacht and named it “Lenny’s Blood and Bile Acid Tests” (replacing her previous yacht “That Mysterious Lump on Sparky’s Paw”). It was the beginning of a long journey, our final adventure together. It was a journey that came with a new vocabulary “biopsy”, “sarcoma”, “debulking”, “radiation”, “palliativeCal Seething- 092414-raft care”. Words meant to be spoken in reassuring tones under a fluorescent light while you’re screaming inside. Words you stitch together and form into a raft to carry you across the river from the unthinkable to the inevitable.

As is the nature of these journeys, it wasn’t always pretty and it wasn’t always fun. This may come as a shock to you, but Lenny was a terrible patient. I spent most of his last few months trying to find new and elaborate ways to coax him into taking his pills by hiding them in different types of food (seriously- I baked a five tier wedding cake to give that dog some fucking Predinsone).  I can say with absolute certainty that there will never again be a dog as adept at eating the hot-dog around a pill and spitting the pill out whole as if to say “uhm, excuse me, garcon, there’s a pill in my hot dog. Could you please notify the maître d? This would NEVER happen at Le Cirque.” Cause, of course, Lenny had no idea what was going on. His eye would be gushing blood like he was starring in an all dog production of Oedipus and he would greet us at the door with a big smile on his face like “hey guys, what’s up? Anyone for tennis? A cocktail perhaps? I’ve got fresh squeezed blood!” That was one of the funny things about that dog- no matter how much his appetite diminished he always had room for yummy yummy eye blood licked off his cone of shame. Huh. That’s not funny at all- it’s profoundly disturbing. Oh Lenny.

No matter how rough things got, though, every day we had with him was a gift- right up until the end when we gave him the gift of peace. But this is still 2012- and the end was a couple of years off. There were still trips to be taken, children to bark at Cal Seething- 092414- lennyfloorand…well…other people to bark at, too. And that’s how I like to remember him now. Lying with his head flat on the ground. Face squished up to achieve maximum patheti-weticusness. First raising one eyebrow, then another. Barking at someone he’s too lazy to get up and look at- just assuming the recipient of his barking is an “evil doer” cause it’s easier than getting up and finding out the truth (John McCain would be so proud). Or emitting a heavy sigh of existential despair at the sheer weight of the world on his little doggy shoulders pushing his wrinkled face into the floor (John Paul Sartre would be so proud).

13 years. Gone just like that. I miss him so much.

OK- well, thanks for the intro Cap’n Buzzkill- now here’s the 2012 Holiday Letter.Cal Seething- 092414-lennyantlers

And here are all the other letters so far:
2005 letter
2006 letter
2007 letter

2008/09 letters
2011 letter

 

[California Seething] Lenny Holiday Letters 2011- LennyLeaks (But Not Like You Think)

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In 2011 Lenny would be held back no longer. He was inspired by the WikiLeaks story, the courage and Cary Elwes hair of Cal Seething-092214-julianJulian Assange, and…oh…you know…the other one….somebody Manning- you know the one- can’t be trusted with anything, turns important stuff over to the enemy…Eli! That’s the one (or “Elizabeth” as she prefers to be known.) Anyhow, inspired by this band of treacherous fame whores  truth seeking heroes, Lenny decided to share all the dark and sinister secrets of the Sims household. Unfortunately, our deep dark secrets are so unbelievably lame that the NSA keeps emailing us to liven things up “Come on already. YOU’RE KILLING US. How many motherfucking Emoji can two grown people actually text each other??? Smile, kissey face, chicken, monkey – USE YOUR WORDS!!! You’re like a couple of Sanrio loving Korean school girls. And how hard is it to make a decision about what to have for dinner?? Pasta – scrambled eggs, pasta – scrambled eggs-MAKE UP YOUR MINDS!! I swear to god you guys are worse than the Merkels. Just please please please stop texting each other so we can go back to the more important business of fighting Terror around the world by finding pictures of famous naked chicks online. iHeart iCloud!

Very Best Regards,
The NSA Cal-Seething-122313-lessamu

Still, Lenny decided to share our lame ass secrets in the 2011 Holiday Letter – and now you can read it and realize just how pathetic we are. #Sigh Cal-Seething--122313-ConfesCal-Seething--092214-chickeCal-Seething--092214-monkey

 2011 Holiday Letter

And get caught up on the other letters:

2005 Letter
2006 Letter
2007 Letter
2008 / 09 Letters

 

 

[California Seething] Lenny’s 2008 (and 2009) Holiday Letters- Keep Mope Alive

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Ohmygodyouguys- do you remember “Hope”?? Ha! How crazy was that?? Remember how we thought that once Obama was elected everything would be all rainbows and unicorns and Oprah leaning on white dudes?? We were soooo Cal Seething-092014-oprahsilly! Just thinking about it now is like looking at pictures from sophomore year of high school where I’m rocking the mullet and the pornstache and a shitty tie dye I made myself at Camp Givah that looks less like a series of brilliantly mind-blowing psychedelic spirals and more like I found some dude on the street was shot five times in the chest and then puked on himself and I thought “hey- cool shirt” and took it off him. I mean- don’t get me wrong- Obama hasn’t been a bad president- he’s expanded access to health care, championed equality and he’s almost as good at picking the right middle eastern rebels to arm as he is at filling out his March Madness bracket. The problem was the we voted for a messiah, and just elected a president, and that never works. #ReadyForHillary #IGuessifIMust #Sigh.

Lauren and I got swept up in all the hope and change mishigos- new president, new jobs, new house. Lenny wasn’t having any of it though. You can read all about that is his 2008 Holiday Letterplus our first few terrible missteps on the long painful road of home renovation. #Sigh.

Speaking of Hope- I was really Hoping to get one of these written per day, but of course, I’ve failed at that – so here’s the 2009 Cal-Seething--092014-kirkHoliday Letter as well. In this one, Lenny was so inspired by Kirk Douglas’ one man show Before I Forget that he wrote his own show I Forgot Who You Were the Minute Your Left the Room- which I think any of the house guests who Lenny growled at every single time they came out of the bathroom like they were an army of invading huns he’d never seen before will relate to (ironically, when the Huns did invade, he was lovely.)

So yeah- we’ve got 2008 and 2009 covered and we didn’t do one in 2010 cause fuck that year, so the next one up will be 2011. Enjoy!

2008 Holiday Letter
2009 Holiday Letter
And, in case you missed them- here are the other ones so far:

2005 Letter
2006 Letter
2007 Letter

 

 

 

 

[California Seething] Lenny Holiday Letter 2007 Being and Nothingness in Orange County

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In 2007 The Sopranos ended. A whole lot of other important stuff happened, too, I mean, I think it did, it must have right? Surely SOMETHING else must have happened that year- but who gives a crap- THE SOPRANOS ENDED. And what a finale it was – filled to the brim with SHOCKING revelations. Tony likes Journey- SHOCKER!! Meadow can’t parallel park- SHOCKER!! Evidently there’s some place in New Jersey with really delicious onion rings that they’ve been going to all this time AND WE NEVER HAD ANY IDEA!!! Cal Seething- 091814- sopranosSHOCKER!!!!! And – the biggest revelation of all- DAVID CHASE IS A DOUCHEBAG WHO WANTS TO RUIN OUR LIVES!!!! Seriously, I’m still not over it. We just deleted the episode from our DVR like last year, and honestly, it’s only because we got a new DVR box from DirecTV and it was their new “seriously, that was six years ago you have to get over it” package. And, I’m not the only one- when David Chase randomly said in an interview a couple of weeks ago that Tony Soprano wasn’t killed it was major news. I mean, it was a slow news day because there were no new NFL players accused of domestic violence and Jameis Winston didn’t rape anybody or swear in public (Go on- guess which of those things he was actually punished for? Go on- guess- it’ll  be fun… and then incredibly depressing), so clearly there was nothing else to talk about, but clearly I’m not the only one who still isn’t over it. WHY, DAVID, WHY??? Why couldn’t you give us a satisfying ending? Why couldn’t you give us closure? WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH A DICK ALL THE TIME???? James Gandolfini had to die for your sins- I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY. (He is!)

On the personal front- we took a magical trip to Paris to celebrate Lauren’s mother’s 60th birthday (she also came) and Lenny took a magical trip to Orange County to mope on somebody else’s carpet. So one of us went on a profound journey of cultural and philosophical discovery and one of us lay around scratching himself and eating stuff. Go on- guess which one is which- it’ll be fun…and then slightly sad and pathetic. Hey- what was I supposed to do- I was itchy and the food was magnifique (French for “amazeballs”) and Lenny loves Sartre. Read all about his existential journey in the 2007 Holiday Letter.

And, in case you missed them- here are the 2005 Letter and 2006 Letter

Happy Holidays (they’re not really that happy).

[California Seething]- Lenny Sims Holiday Letter 2006- Oh The Places I Didn’t Go

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Ahhh, 2006. I have mixed feelings about this year. On the one hand, in 2006 Pluto was demoted from “planet” to “dwarf planet” which called into question why I ever bother learning anything EVER. I mean, what’s the damn point of knowing stuff if it’s just gonna keep changing all the time?? It’s like Eastern Europe- one day there’s the Soviet Union and everything makes sense- and then- boom- the Berlin Wall falls, the USSR splits and next thing you know there’s a Slovakia AND a Solvenia. Is this the world I grew up with? Is this the world I signed up for? IS THIS THE WORLD ROCKY IV MSDROFO EC001FOUGHT FOR??? HELL NO. Fuck Slovakia, fuck Slovenia and fuck all this “dwarf planet” bullshit. Call me when Putin gets the band back together and the astrophysicists of the world get their heads out of Uranus and make Pluto official again. (NOTE FOR GEN-X’ers: Yeah, Milenials have no idea what you’re talking about. The USSR fell 23 years ago- a whole generation of useless idiot entitled piece of shit interns have been born and did nothing and were murdered by me since then- get over it. Also they all think “dwarf planet” is racist but that doesn’t really matter cause they think every goddman thing is racist. Seriously- just watch them lose their shit when you say “black hole”.)

So- yeah- the Pluto thing sucked- but, on the bright side- Zinedine Zidane headbutted that Italian dude in the chest after he talked shit about Zidane’s mother which, I think we can all agree was the greatest moment in the history of soccer, France, Italy, all human endeavor and mother jokes – just take a look at this:

Awesome, right?? Now THAT’S how you get a brain injury playing football.

Anyhow, 2006 was also a busy year for the Sims family. We visited family around the country, went wine tasting around California and celebrated our anniversary in Tijuana- and Lenny went nowhere! Which was fine with him because he doesn’t really like family. Or wine. Or Mexico. Or anything.

He did like writing the holiday letter, though- and here is the 2006 edition.

And it you missed it- here’s the 2005 Holiday Letter from yesterday. Enjoy!

[California Seething]- Special Edition- The Complete Holiday Letters of Lenny Sims- 2005 Edition

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As some of you may know, we recently said goodbye to the furriest member of the Sims family not counting my disturbingly large Cal-Seething--091514--teddycollection of teddy bears that will never be spoken of again. Well, second furriest, I suppose, if I’m in one of my Hassidic Portland Hipster waging Jihad on his way to the Duck Dynasty convention modes. (NOTE FOR GEN-X’ERS: Unibomber is NO LONGER  a relevant reference point. 9 out of 10 millenials don’t know who that is and the one who does thinks he’s one of the McDonaldland characters- like the Hamburgler with a manifesto. NOTE FOR GEN-X’ERS: Yeah- they don’t know who the McDonaldland characters are either. Nice try) It’s wonderful how groups of men from such different backgrounds and with such different ideologies can all rally together around the cause of justifying sheer laziness as some kind of deliberate fashion statement. It just proves that no matter where men come from or what they believe in- they would all rather behead journalists or play Sex Pistols covers on the banjo with their bucktoothed Wannabe Deschannel  girlfriend or even (shudder) study Talmud (G-d forbid) than groom themselves or trim their goddamn toenails or, I don’t know, CLEAN A MOTHERFUCKING BATHROOM FOR A CHANGE. Personally, I avoid responsibility with blogging – Allahu Akbar, dude-bros!

Now, that’s exactly the sort of idiotic behavior that Lenny simply had no patience for. He was an irascible fellow- like Andy Rooney,Cal Seething-091514-andy if Andy Rooney barked at delivery people and compulsively licked the spot where his balls used to be- so- exactly like Andy Rooney (#dementia #knowthesigns)- only not as wrinkly, and lots more loveable, and generally not absolutely terrible in every way (may he rest in peace.) The point is, like Andy Rooney, he had a talent for pointing out the foibles of humanity- and, since he never did get that segment on 60 Minutes (I don’t even think they watched the tapes), he shared his uniquely ornery perspective in his annual Religiously Neutral Holiday Letter.

Since his passing, many of you have reached out to share your condolences and let us know how much you’ll miss his holiday letters. And so, in tribute to a friend with whom I shared a third of my life, half my breakfast, three quarters of the available floor space in my house and all of my heart- I’ll be sharing all of his holiday letters- starting with the first one from 2005. I hope you’ll enjoy reading these as much as we enjoyed having Lenny look at us with disappointment, rest his head on the floor and wonder just what exactly our damn problem was. God, I miss him. Oh great. Now I’m sad. WHERE’S THAT TEDDY BEAR???

Cal-Seething--091514--teddy

Ahhhh. That’s the stuff. Anyhow- here’s the 2005 Holiday Letter- enjoy!

I’ll be adding all the letters here, as they are published:

2006 letter

2007 letter

 2008/09 letters

2011 letter

2012 letter