Anyone who's read my blog with any regularity knows that I'm a big TiVo aficionado. I'm a big television aficionado, and TiVo makes that much, much easier. When TV watching is stressful -- labeling tapes, being home at the right time, battling with the VCR, keeping up with schedules -- it loses some luster. When TiVo does it all for me, I am satisfied.

Lauren and I espoused the Joy of TiVo to our families so much that both her and my parents have purchased their own TiVos. And with TiVo's new pricing model (eliminating the "Product Lifetime Subscription" in favor of a cell-phone type model -- the phone is free, with a slightly higher monthly charge), I even motivated a coworker to purchase his second TiVo with the lifetime subscription while he still could.

And each one of these three TiVo purchases had one thing in common: I got "TiVo Reward Points" each time.

TiVo Reward Points are like currency. Only, currency that you can only use for silly TiVo things.

We are now the proud owners of a bright red TiVo remote. It sits in a drawer. We haven't put in batteries, and thus haven't programmed it to work with our TV. We already have two remotes, one for each TiVo. I consider this one a backup.

We're also proud owners of a delightful pair of TiVo slippers. They're extra-large, like my feet. And they even have little antennae sticking out. Cloth ones, of course.

And fret not, dear friends. With one more TiVo purchase that refers me, we'll get enough TiVo Reward Points for Lauren to get her small TiVo slippers, too.

This video has been making the rounds, and it amuses me. Live actors, re-enacting the opening credit sequence of The Simpsons.

Okay. But I'd be lying.

A blogger's kids re-recorded the song, and another blogger fit the kids (horrendous-yet-cute) rendition to the video: Watch.

Not to be outdone, another pair of kids and their dad made a shot for shot remake of the video: Watch that, too.

Parental discretion is advised.  The people in the movie I plan to link to use a certain bad word more than once.  Please be careful. 

But you know I love Lazy Sunday. I have found (from my delightful coworkers) a second response to it, this one by some Midwesterners.

I thought this article was crazy because it was about a dominatrix on trial for murder.  But it truly only gets crazier as it progresses.  You'll shake your head when you read about the guy being chopped up.  You'll shake it harder as you read about how the defense was that since no body was recovered, the supposed victim could still be alive.  And your head may fall off three paragraphs from the end.

Enjoy!

A coworker of mine got married last week. Lauren and I were in attendance, as were a bunch of my coworkers.

To protect anonymity, let's call the woman who got married "Moose."

This past week, Moose told several of us an amusing story regarding her grandfather-in-law. He's a sweet but rather elderly gentleman.

Apparently, as Moose strolled down the aisle in her elegant wedding dress, as her friends and family stood watching, well, that's when Grandpa said something.

As Moose tells it:

Everyone's quiet -- of course -- because I'm walking down the aisle. Then, he says in a loud voice, loud enough that even I heard:

"You can see downtown from here!"

When Moose told this story at work, nearly all of my coworkers mind misinterpreted what Moose was describing her grandfather-in-law as saying. I know I did. And so did other coworkers I retold the story to. And so did Lauren, when I told her.

In fact, I'm willing to bet that some of you still haven't realized what Grandpa actually meant.

He was commenting on the impressive view of Los Angeles.

You sickos.

Billy Ocean is white.

This may come as news to you if you're familiar with the tune "Get Into My Car," but have never seen the singer.  His sultry, dulcet baritone just doesn't sound white.  At all.

Update: Okay, he's not white. But that fact makes the post that follows no less amusing.

My lovely wife Lauren and I have often thought that "Get Into My Car" could, in theory, be performed quite well by Brian Fellows, a character of Tracy Morgan's on Saturday Night Live.

"Hey! You! Get into my car! I'm Brian Fellows!"

That's funny, if you know both the song and the skit.

Today, we're going to analyze some fo the lyrics to "Get Into My Car."  As deuce can attest to, Lauren and I do a great rendition of this song, especially when the DJ plays it at a friend's wedding.

Hey! You! Get into my car!
Who me?
Yes you! Get into my car!
Woooooooooh. Wah! Hey!

As soon as the conversational intro of this song is underway, you know you're in for pure musical poetry.  I mean, Wow.  Billy Ocean, you had me at "Woooooooh. Wah! Hey!"

Who's that lady
Coming down the road
Who's that lady
Who's that woman
Walking through my door
What's the score

Okay, Billy.  You've lost me.  Ironicaly, you lost me at "Woooooo. Wah! Hey!"

See, you don't know who the woman is, yet we all know that in just a few lines you're going to beg -- no, plead -- no, order this complete stranger to get into your car. That's just bad form.  Buy the girl a drink first, kid.

And what door did she walk through?  You're going to ask her to get into your car, right?  So it can't be the car door.  And it can't be your house's door, because who tells a woman who's already in his own house to get into his car instead?  No one, that's who.

And then -- "What's the score?"  Are you driving around during the big game?  Or -- and I think this is considerably more likely -- are you looking for a cheap, easy rhyme?  Billy, you can do better.

I'll be the sun
Shining on you
Hey Cinderella
Step in your shoe

I will now improvise while typing, using your same meter, to see if I too can match metaphor and literary allusion in such a concise rhyme:

I'll be a truck
On deisel fuel
Hey Sleeping Beauty,
I'm watching you drool

Done and done.

I'll be your non-stop lover
Get it while you can

This, to me, seems contradictory.  Billy, if you are my non-stop lover, there's no rush for me to "get it while (I) can."  It's non-stop.  You are always my lover.  I can take my sweet little time.  You've made that abundantly clear -- and possible -- via the whole "non-stop" thing.  So, calm down.  I'm young.

Your non-stop miracle
I'm your man

You are free to be my non-stop lover.  And okay, my non-stop miracle too.  But you can't be my "non-stop humble guy," because you're too busy moonlighting as my "non-stop exhibitor of braggadocio."  But that's cool.

Get outta my dreams
Get into my car
Get outta my dream
(Get in the back seat baby)
Get into my car
Beep Beep, yeah
Get outta my mind
Get into my life
Ooooooh
Oh I said hey (Hey) you (You)
Get into my car

I have tried this pickup line at least two hundred times, with no success.  I always make the "Get in the back seat baby" section as passionate as possible, too.  Oh well.

Oh baby
Lady driver
Let me take your wheel
Smooth operator
Touch my bumper (Bumper)
Hey, let's make a deal

I believe we've revisited metaphor in this verse.  And let me just say, I don't know what "wheel" stands in for, and I hope to God I'm wrong about what you're using "bumper" to represent, but let me see if I too can write some lyrics with car parts as metaphors for body parts:

Oh baby
Lady driver
Your muffler's so good
Smooth operator
Look under my hood (My hood)
Hey, I knew you would.

Back to you, Billy.

Make it real
Like a road runner
Coming after you
Just like a hero
Outta the blue

So long, metaphor! We've entered the world of simile.  And boy are we glad to be here.  "Like a road runner coming after you," so please, Wile E Coyote, don't try to drop an anvil on me that backfires and then lands on you yourself instead.  Metaphorically speaking.

The song pretty much repeats for the remainder of the ditty...  With one addition below:

I'll be your non-stop lover
Get it while you can
Your non-stop miracle
I'm your man
Get outta my dreams
Get into my car
Get outta my dreams
Get in the back seat baby
Get into my car
Beep beep, yeah
Get outta my mind
Get into my life
Ooooh
Oh I said hey (Hey) you (You)
Get into my car

Oh baby, lets go!

I said open the door
(Get in the back)
Tread on the floor
(Get on the track)

I mean, c'mon Billy.  You want the chick in your car, but you insist she's gotta take the backseat.  Now you're telling her how to use the floor?  What's a girl got to do to get some respect with you?

Redeem yourself, Mr. Ocean.  Wow me with your lyrical prowress:

Yeah (Yeah) yeah (Yeah)
Yeah (Yeah) yeah (Yeah)

Let's go!!

Oooh, wooow, yeah

Well-played.

I'll be the sun
Shining on you
Hey Cinderella
Step in your shoe
I'll be your non-stop lover
Get it while you can
Your non-stop miracle
I'm your man

Get outta my... get outta my...
Woooooooooh (KEY-CHANGE!)
Get out my dreams

Repeat chorus 5,000,000 times.

If you read my blog regularly, get a life.

No, that's not what I was going to say!  I meant to say, if you read my blog regularly, you probably know that my wife and I watch a lot of television.  We don't watch "filler" or junk -- we watch shows that really, truly entertain us.

One of those shows is 24.  (Although we own the first season on DVD, that's the only season we've never seen...)   We've thoroughly enjoyed the second, third, and fourth seasons, but let me say this: The two-hour season premiere of 24 last night was the Best. 24. Ever.  I mean, wow.

So as not to ruin anything for those of you who haven't yet seen the episodes from last night, I'll use invisible text to sum up the episode (highlight the next space to read it): [Holy freakin' cow man!]

Other highlights of the weekend included several games in my continuing season of Madden 2004.  (For the uninformed, former football coach and current blowhard announcer John Madden has his name attached to the best NFL video game series on the planet.)  I'm playing through a season as the Eagles, and we're currently 8 and 1.  It's a nice change from reality.  I must say that playing a game of Madden almost feels like an actual sport, given the tension, energy, and mental athletics that go into playing.

Spoken like a true lazy couch potato.

And as if hours of physical video game playing and a heart-pounding 24 weren't enough for one measly weekend, we also had a few friends over for drinking and board games, which -- along with peanut butter & chocolate and me & Lauren and honey & mustard -- is one of my favorite combinations.

Today is Friday the 13th
a poem by Lex Friedman

Today is the thirteenth -- and Friday
Also known as "I-Hope-I-Don't-Die" Day
I suppose many folks won't know why they
Have such a fear of this wry day

My blog reaches all of the globe
So I'll don my Scholarly Robe
And teach your big frontal lobe
About why you're a paraskevidekatriaphobe.

(That's the word for those who have fear
Of each Friday 13 of the year...
Each of whom will be frightened to hear
There's another to come in months near.)

Friday has a bad reputation
It was then Eve gave into temptation
And when Jesus's life met cessation
And when Sol's temple met devasation.

So, Fridays are biblically cursed
It seems that those days are the worst
And since we've solved that problem first,
There's just one puzzle left to be nursed.

To wit: Why's the thirteenth unlucky?
Why is that number thought of as sucky?
From Maine to Rome to Kentucky
To face 13, you've gotta be plucky.

13 has a bad history
And the reason is not quite a mystery
But the reasons why are numerous and plentiful and relate to various religions having 12 stages of life or 12 gods and thus thinking that a thirteenth anything is somewhat unlucky, but this is rather hard to rhyme, particuarly with the word "history," so please try to go with me on this one

So, both "Friday" and "13" have a stigma
Which is now no longer an enigma
Since I've cleared it up while simultaneously painting myself into an all-too-familiar end-rhyme corner named Shmigma.

I know I've blogged about this before, but it's my blog, and I'll blog about what I want to blog about, so there!

I have gray hairs.  I don't have a lot; I'm not salt and pepper.  Yet.

But there's a gray hair in the front, and a couple on the side. 

All told, probably fewer than ten.  Probably closer to five. 

Unless the entire back of my head has grayed and no one has told me.  Checking... Nope, that doesn't seem to be the case.

I have decided that officially I Don't Care about going gray.  That is, I won't allow it to bring me down.  I don't feel a need to dye my hair.  Yet.

No, I don't think I would ever get to that point, unless I go completely gray before I'm 30.  That'd be rough.

But it does seem strange to be graying -- even if only just slightly -- at 25.  Graying is for old people.  And old, in my book, is defined as "older than Lex Friedman."

See, this year for Hannukah, one of my gifts to Lauren was a Nintendo GameCube.  (No, this was not a bowling ball engraved with the name Homer. Lauren and I both enjoy casual video gaming. We always go with older systems -- and always Nintendo -- because the used games are considerably cheaper, and we don't feel the need to break the bank on our video gaming fun.)

But video games -- those make me feel young.  When Lauren-as-Luigi frees his mansion from its ghosts, or I as Donovan McNabb make a game-saving 12-yard touchdown scramble, or when the two of us zip around Rainbow Road in Mario Kart -- I feel young.  At heart.

Mostly.

Except sometimes, I feel like an old gray-haired guy refusing to grow up.

That's when I decide to cheer up.  So I eat an entire bag of cheetos and make fart noises with my mouth.

A must-read article by Deep Thoughts creator Jack Handey.

You know already from earlier blog posts that I'm crazy about the SNL digital video short "Lazy Sunday," which I saw as it aired live on the show.

I didn't realize until today that the New York Times had done a write-up on the song.

I was going to share 2006 new links for 2006, but that seemed like overkill... So, instead, I'll share two.

#1: Who's the funniest Supreme Court Justice? [New York Times]

#2: Does money make us happy?

Didja miss me?  I know you did.

The vay-cay was great.  Our first and last days in Jersey were very, bitterly cold, but the days in between were actually pretty mild.  But we all know the best part about seeing family for the holidays:

PRESENTS!

Hahaha.

But seriously, I am getting boatloads of presents.  From my sisters, my parents, my in-laws, and -- of course -- my wife.  We're a family that enjoys gift-giving.  Of course, I've gotten Bull[censored], Bull[censored], and more Bull[censored] -- but that's because I asked for it :)

I am drowning -- in a good way -- in new DVDs and books.  Me likey!

My vacation is almost over. Lauren and I will fly back to LA early, early tomorrow (6:30am Eastern, which is 3:30am Pacific), and then once we're back in LA, I'll actually be going in for a full day's work at Grab HQ. That should be fun! If the site falls down tomorrow, I blame me.

In OTHER news... Remember two blog posts ago, when I wrote about "Lazy Sunday," the Chronicles of Narnia-themed rap on SNL? It's available free on iTunes, and now Slate says the video actually means something for rap.

As it turns out, Slate's wrong. But it's still a good article.

We can't be TOO sad about returning to Los Angeles, though, because it does mean one very, very exciting thing:

CHARLIE! We haven't seem the little guy in nearly a week and a half, and we are (all, Charlie included!) looking forward to the big reunion!