squidbag

At last, an explanation?

In this story from the UK's News Telegraph, two American neuroscientician-types assert that it was not the Red Baron's final confrontation with an Aussie air pilot that crashed his majestic crimson Fokker and ended his career, but instead a head wound from a year previous, (courtesy the RAF, natch) that altered his behavior, created a reckless fixation on his enemies, and ultimately affected his judgment enough that he wasn't paying attention at the crucial moment when he got outflanked and shot down.

On a related note, I have been obsessed for some time with the story of Phineas Gage, and recommend reading An Odd Kind of Fame, the comprehensive book about this railman whose personality was irrevocably altered when a huge rail spike was blown through his frontal lobe.  In short, Mr. Gage went from being a nice fellow to a total prick due to a huge fucking hole through his skull and brain.  Think about how a migraine affects your personality, and this was way worse.

Now, I wonder... does anyone recall when a heroic snackfood tried to take out the President of the United States, President Monkeyface?  He was watching a sporting event on television, instead of governing and such, when he choked on a pretzel, and fainted briefly, falling over and smacking his face on a piece of (now rounded off and padded for his safety) White House furniture.  Fainting is bad enough for your brain cells, but what about smashing your face on the coffee table?  Could this be analogous to Herr Von Richthofen's 4-inch skull groove, or Mr. Gage's spike path through his head?  In both historic cases, men are seen to be "fixated" often to the point of "obsession."  Sound like anyone we know?  Could it be that this pretzel was not so heroic after all?  Could it be that this pretzel has altered the course of human history by warping our President into a Saddam/Iraq-centered madman?  Maybe all of Clarke's posturing about how they were "gunning for Saddam from the beginning" is just a cover for a larger, darker story?  Once again, the Squidbag is on the case - and the case is ugly.

Further bulletins as events warrant - or until I suffer a grevious injury to my frontal lobes.

Three is the magic number.

Today we celebrated Max's third birthday.  It's two days ahead of schedule, but he didn't notice the difference.  He got to hang with his Uncle Brian and Aunt Kate, who he adores, and have cake and watermelon and broccoli (his menu choice) and go to Chuck E. Cheese's (again, his choice of destination).  On Max's first birthday, he got a BBQ over at Josh and Amy's house, and fell asleep before we could even get the cake cut.  On his second, Christie and I went nuts like Planter's and got a full petting zoo over at our new house, basically inviting her entire extended family over.  It was about three and half kinds of loud, and at least two new kinds of insane, but fun.  This year, C hit upon the idea of asking Max what he'd like, so he got Nashville, (where we were headed for his birthday anyway, even before Ivan and my crazy in-laws drove us here) and a Dora the Explorer chocolate cake, and the Guys, and pizza and whatnot.  It was a lot of fun, and I'm glad as hell right now that we weren't in Pensacola for it.

Over to the side is a new photo album with pics just from today - I'll be emailing Amy J specifically about it, hopefully she'll pass the good word along.

I was thinking a lot about other people today, like Colleen and Jon, whose little monkey should be coming along very, very soon - and the folks in Madtown, who I've been missing like crazy lately.  Folks like Rich and Nathan, who have given me very good feedback on this blog, which has been much appreciated.  The people in P'cola, like Mike, who sent me a snarky little email today, and Jonathan, who needs to take his lovely wife and move the hell out of there.  Of course, my mind's been on my grandfather quite a bit, as these are basically his last days on the planet.  My mom phoned me today to tell me he can no longer swallow, and they've suspended the prohibition on morphine (all these years later, and my teeth still hurt when I write it) and they're upping his dosage as he needs it, just keeping him comfortable, and one sometimes one believes, docile.  I came to the realization yesterday that I actually want for him to go ahead and die, which was a little shocking for me.  I know he doesn't want to be like this, and no one else likes seeing it, and he hurts and he's not going to get better, so there you are.  I also bring a lot of my own baggage to the table about not wanting to die like that in a hospital...needless to say, we are headed back to Chattanooga tomorrow.

Pensacola, despite God's blunder in not wiping it from the map, (more proof that there is no such thing) has not got all of it's power back on yet, and since no one wants to take a phone call from Ron or Carolyn right now, we don't really have any additional information.  Christie's principal is getting the school back on it's feet, so we may find ourselves back in the Cradle of Naval Aviation with no Pinnacle Signs power, no power for Max's daycare, and no power at home.  What a great fucking life!  I cannot wait, really, to sell that damned building, disentangle myself from these bloodsucking family connections, and begin to erase the mistake that was this horrible abortion of an experiment.

Ah, but tomorrow is another day.  And today was a good one, the metaphorical port in the literal storm, and we finished the press packet designs for Brother Robbins.

Brother Robbins review

After having followed the progress of this band for some time, there is the expectation that every time a level of greatness is achieved, the bar will be moved by the members of Brother Robbins, and they will push higher and harder to make music with a message, something that is a joy for your ears and has a strong message that resonates with an audience.  With an eclectic, strong, and informed blend of musical traditions at their disposal, this duo stands tall to make their mark on the souls of their already devoted fans - who in turn, will go outand spread the word about Brother Robbins.  Blues, jazz, rock, roots, and folk are folded into a concoction that delights the senses and thrills the soul.  The new album, “Freedom,” is a special treat, capturing the passion of the live shows and bringing an ensemble cast of musicians to create versions of Robbins songs unlike any other.  If you can, I recommend seeing this duo live - the energy they bring to their live stage set is something to behold, and vitalizes audiences, whether they are the warm-up act or the main bill, they play like it’s the last night on Earth and their lives depended on it...  In short, no new act has impressed me like this in some time, so touched my spirit while pleasing my ear with the sweet sounds of creative musical motion - Listen for Brother Robbins to make a solid sound near you, and check out one of their shows as soon as you can; ‘til then, get the album.

Battalions

Good Morning.

I would, as the father of a two-year-old, (who will be three on Tuesday) support some Congressional legislation to keep cookies off of television until at least, what - noonish?  You can't have a kid waking up on a Saturday morning, watching Noggin, and asking for cookies 'cause that's what Miffy and her friends are having.  This is, however, a very pleasant way to wake up.  I actually fell asleep with Max snuggled up next to me last night (holding his new plastic two-headed dragons) at about eleven, and woke this morning at nine-thirty or so.  Max & I sat on the edge of the bed and watched some TV for a few minutes, and as soon as I finish this, I'm going to make breakfast.

The past couple of days, we've been in Chattanooga, because it looks like my maternal grandfather is dying.  He has advanced aggressive lymphoma, emphysema, luekemia, and a kidney infection.  Essentially, his body is shutting down.  He has lost a lot of weight, can't get out of bed, and his first question for the doctor yesterday morning was "How much longer is this going to take?"  So, he's ready to die.  It's heartbreaking to watch him this way, since for my whole childhood, he was this big, strong, happy, friendly guy.  He's the person who taught me to put dill on my eggs, and who once called my dad a 'sonofabitch' during an argument.  (So, yeah, he has his tough, fiery side, too.)  I always knew when my grandparents had come to stay at my mom's house growing up, because I would see my grandfather's Bloody Mary kit on the kitchen counter.  This was a black and chrome case, taller than it was wide, with bottles and shakers and stirrers and the component elements housed within.  I had gotten closer to both my grandparents again in recent years, and I think that's probably a good thing.  They're not expecting him to live through the weekend.

So, yeah, between the in-law misbehavior (and there's been more, surrounding my grandfather's situation) the car troubles (only $174, but we didn't have our car for a day, and it's always tense waiting to find out what's wrong) Hurricane Ivan, and the trips to Chattanooga and Pensacola back-and-forth, this has been kind of a challenging trip away from what I no longer think of as 'home.'  I came to the realization a couple of days ago ('cause I'm nearly thirty, and it's time for me to realize what the more mature people around me probably caught on to years ago) that I can never feel at home around Christie's parents.  It's going to take a geographical move, sometime within the next couple of years, to a less infuriating social gathering (in a State Capital) to fix this.

Anyway, I'm going to go make breakfast, get a shower, and try to do stuff before I have to go back to Chattanooga.

Free Range Topics

I'd like to begin today's formal post by saying a few words about Russ Meyer, who has just passed away.  I sincerely hope, that if there is a heaven, or even a series of meaningless electrical impulses that make us feel better in the few seconds before we die, that Russ gets to have a large and vividly-colored heaven populated by kick-ass women in go-go boots.  For those of you who don't know, Russ Meyer made titillating and strange movies featuring women with large breasts who kick ass, including Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! ("Pussycat" is widely regarded as a masterpiece.) He made a lot of really entertaining movies and a lot of money, and there was a time when I wanted to be Russ Meyer.  Mr. Meyer, the Squidbag salutes you!

Next, I'd like to thank the US State Department for getting rid of that big meanie and threat to my personal American way of life, Cat Stevens, or as he is now known, International Terrorist Muslim Guy.  His name shows up on a "terrorist watchlist" and we have the plane he's on land in Maine, presumably on the grounds that we could lose Maine and not miss it.  (What's in Maine, really?  Stephen King, and the Bush's Summer home?)  Personally, I've wanted him gone since I realized I couldn't buy any of the fucking music from Harold and Maude on CD anywhere.  (Thanks, Benja!)

Today has not been the best day for the Squidbag, inasmuch as I should never have gotten up this morning.  Yesterday, I returned to Nashville from my first visual inspection of Pensacola.  I went there on Monday, to find that the trees start looking really bad on I-65 South of Montgomery, and by the time you get to Flomaton at the border, most of the signs are screwed up, no gas stations have any canopies anywhere, and all the power lines are down.  Driving down 29 toward downtown in P'cola, we saw a lot of Army guys with M16s directing traffic, and lots of wreckage.  My building at 1517 W. Garden Street was totally fine.  (Thanks to Anthony over at the PNJ and Jon at Harrelson for checking, though!) The light in parking lot is gone, and there's no power, but since the lawyer three doors down got an oak through the front of his building - I'm not complaining.  My house was largely okay, though we may need a new roof and a new fence.  I heard a guy on TK101 talking about the phenom of property rates going up 30 to 50% after a hurricane, and now I guess I know why.  If you've got a place, it made it through the storm, and now it's got a new roof, and possibly new windows, trees, and fences.  This part of the journey was mostly okay.

My in-laws were in rare form, however.  When we got there, (I was traveling with my brother-in-law) tensions about everything all got laid out on the table, and there were arguments to be had about everything from why my brother-in-law doesn't have religion ("What's your rock?") to the stuff in my recent blog posts.  (Not that they read the blog, of course, it's just that it was finally time to talk about that stuff that was in there.)  It was one of those times when you realize you don't need to be in a place any longer, and you just get the fuck out.  Aside from brief forays into real melancholy (complete with crying) and casual racism, the apex of the trip, conversationally, would have to have been when they insisted that Pensacola was the best and most Christian community to live in, and that no other community has banded together to help people out like it has.  Ever, in human history.  We tried examples dating back to New York, circa 9/11, and were shot down.  So, apparently, Pensacola is the peak of human civilization.

Shit.

On our way back we had a speedometer problem, and today I found out that my grandfather on my mom's side is very sick.  We are headed to Chattanooga in the morning to check in on him and see what the situation is.  With all of this, plus Max's birthday celebration still waiting to be had here, I don't really know when we will be leaving the Nashville area.

Maybe never, you fuckers.

Scoop

Faithful readers, we here at the Squidbag have managed to procure a scoop.  Tonight, CBS News will release the following letter from their president, Andrew Heyward.  In spite of the fact that all of blog people are just "guys in pajamas," we here at the Squidbag feel that this is the sort of information that our readers will want, even though we know that we could take all of our readers out for breakfast with about thirty dollars and still have quarters and shit left over.

TO: CBS News viewers, the world, and those arguing with Dan Rather

FROM: Andy Heyward, Big Cheese of CBS News

RE: Sources and controversies surrounding the recent Bush military "service" record

The editors and journalists at CBS News have recently come under fire for the documents we used as evidence to criticize the President for his lack of military service during the Vietnam war.  There have been repeated allegations about forgery, and the veracity of these documents is still in question.  Dan Rather, in his infinite wisdom, urged the viewership of CBS to ignore the documents, and latch onto the fact that the President is the Devil, to no avail.  Even the quality of the forgeries in question has been raised as an issue, and that's where CBS must come to the plate and defend its sources.

CBS uses only the finest master forgers in crafting its papertrails, including Jacues DeFleur, 45-year veteran who cracked the filigree pattern on the old-style 100 dollar bills, and Mike "Monocular" Gill, who is responsible for the copy of the Declaration of Independence currently housed in Washington.  These two men have taken great offense at the attacks on the quality of their work, and they demand a retraction from the American media, and the Republican Party.

Additionally, as Mr. Rather has pointed out, it doesn't matter if the evidence in question is real or not, when there is such a predomination of conventional wisdom on the issue of the President's extreme nastiness.  I mean, come on folks - you know he drank and whored around when he was supposed to be flying planes and whatnot, snorting coke off of the tits of exotic dancers and using his "I used to be a cheerleader" pick-up line, right?  You know he skipped his physical exam because of a bothersome greenish issue from 'little Georgie.'  We are not foolish people, and that is why we did not elect him the first time out.

I urge the people of this country to see through the smokescreen of "evidence veracity" and accept the simple truth that Bush is bad, and must go.  Have a heart, folks.  1015 American soldiers dead, a region de-stabilized to the point of fractious civil war, the worst economy in memory, a horrible soaring deficit, a WMD conspiracy, rampant hypocrisy, and the out-and-out daily lies - we fucking had to do something, didn't we?  Who can blame us?  Short of trapping him into a violent game of "monkey in the middle," what's left for us in the media?  We've repeatedly told you all of the terrible truths about this man, and you people keep listening to the administration's lines about "everything is fine, the economy's turning around, the war's moving right along..."  Bullshit!  Yes, we were desperate.  Who wouldn't be?

Regardless, CBS will keep pursuing the destruction of the Bush administration under the banner of journalistic integrity.  We hope that you will tune in next week to our investigation of a piece of graffiti found in a Virginia bathroom, reading "For a good sucking, call Cheney: 202-456-1414."

Oh, and Gov. Arnold used to rent out his ass in Austria, too.

Sincerely,

Andy

So that's it, gentle readers.  I exhort you not to judge them too harshly.  I mean, "truth."  What is that, anyway?

Rectal Explosion at the UT Game

The title of this entry comes from a phenomenon I like to refer to as "TVentropy."  TVentropy occurs when you are switching channels rapidly or walking from televisioned room to televisioned room, and the competing content creates sentences you would never otherwise hear.  So, this evening, during the Vols/Gators game, (during which Tennessee edged out the Gators by 2 points) I heard,

"Tonight has been a night for second chances.  This is really - "

" - dangerous, and this man was trying to stretch his rectum to carry even more explosives."

I don't know what the second program was, and I don't want to know.

I suppose Siegfried and Roy are a couple - but I don't know that they've ever said.  Today, Peggy came home with People Magazine, which Jonathan used to call "the magazine America reads on the toilet," and I of course snatched it right up and read the whole article about Roy Horn's face, and his tiger, Montecore, who "tried to save his life."  Yeah, right, buddy.  Anyway, like most of the world, I have always assumed that the two German guys in the spangled spandex who play with big cats are a gay couple - but once again, the truth is elusive, like a toddler in a supermarket.  (I also read the whole thing about Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck maybe getting together, and I'm not sure why I care, but inexplicably, I do.  They will make beautiful superhero kids.)

Thanks to Matt for pointing this out, and to Doonesbury for getting this together this quickly.  The man has serious timing, I tell ya.

Hurricane Ivan has now come and gone, leaving a little clean-up in its wake for us, and major disaster (a DC comics character) for others.  The cricket outside the basement window where my small family has been sleeping has either moved inside or those voice lessons are really paying off, and tonight, Bobby Guy made a kickin' gumbo with shrimp and oysters, and even Max ate a whole bowl.  (Bobby is like Josh - they love food and cooking food, and they never make anything I don't like.)  Either tomorrow or the next day, I am trekking my ass back to P'cola, to pick up some paperwork, see what can be done around my house, (even if it just means taking fotos for the insurance guys) and get some more clothes.  The prediction is that we're going to be without power for another couple of weeks, and C's principal will be emailing her (from St. Augustine, natch) to let her know when school is back in session for her.  So - we get as much work as we can underway, and we come back to the Nash.

We were planning on having Max's birthday here anyway, because this is where he said he wanted to go when we asked him what he wanted to do for his 3rd.  We'd be doing that next weekend.  Here.  So there's really no point in going back right away.

I'd like to take this opportunity to plug my boys in Chi-town, Vini & the Demons.  With a serious commitment to the blues and a solid sound, their debut album does it for me everytime.  I mention it because it's high on my list of "fuck, I have to drive back to Pensacola and then back here.  What am I going to listen to?"  So, yeah, check out Vini and the Demons at this website here, and buy their fucking album.  It's killer good, you deserve more music in your life, you soulless bastard, and they deserve to get crazy paid for the sweet blues sounds they make.

So, yeah.  If you want to come here for Max's birthday, let us know.  If you want to get in touch with us while we're here, it's 615-383-7112.  There's some Nash folk I need to get in touch with, like Benja and Shannon, but I haven't yet.  Also, I feel like I have unfinished conversations with EP and Matt, though I'm unsure why.  Oh, and Fink?  I'm looking for you.  Thanks again, Rich, Nate, JB, Josh - everyone who's been wishing us well and contributing comments.  And to the poster who left the semi-humorous, quasi-religious rant complete with racial slurs?  I deleted it, as I will anything that doesn't correctly identify its sender.  Fuck a bunch of anonymity.

Very Little To Do.

Obviously, you're thinking: "These posts are getting to be really close together."

And that's true.  You'll be glad to learn, upon completing this passage, that it is not because I have any more to say - it's just because I am in Nashville, bumming around the house of the some of the nicest people it has ever been my good fortune to know - Peggy & Bobby Guy.  See, I have very few responsibilities at present, since I am near neither home nor hearth nor industry, and I have just awakened from a nap (A NAP!) in front of the cable TV's most recent blaring of Lethal Weapon.  On a couch I have been sleeping on for like, shit, thirteen or fourteen years or something.  Damn, that couch might be the most consistent landmark in my life.  (I had to go ask if it was the same couch, and it is.)  Ah, explosions and gunfire on TV; lulls me right to sleep everytime.  I like to think that this is not the result of American apathy at work, or a serious genetic flaw, rather, just the knowledge that the noisy violence is someone else's problem, and they'll deal with it.  Really, it's probably just that I was reared on action/adventure movies.

So, we got our first news from the Cradle of Naval Aviation since the landfall of Ivan today.  Last night, while exhaustion finally got me (after a late-night visit to my mother's house) Christie stayed up and dried her eyeballs on the Weather Channel until about 4 in the morning.  When the real morning rolled around, we found from her folks that they were okay with no damage, just a small leak between the dining room and the garage.  Our house is also apparently fine, though we did lose some of the privacy fence in the back, and we now have an excuse to chop down those two monster cedars at the end of the driveway that block the view and nearly get me killed once a week by oncoming cars.  I am still waiting to hear about the fate of the building on 1517 W. Garden Street, and if someone reading this blog actually is in Pensacola and has power (however unlikely that is) please post a comment and tell me WTF is up with my building.  It's the yellow stucco number that is hopefully NOT floating down W. Garden.

Today, instead of spending the day worrying, I preceeded the aforementioned napping with a trip to the Kid's Science Museum here, just me and Max.  We looked at dinosaurs, walked through the bloodstream, did physics experiments, moved faux construction equipment around, and watched the whole skyline of downtown Nashville vanish in a haze of misty rain and grey clouds.  Ivan has come to get me.  And, based on the license plates in the parking lot of the museum, everyone else there.  Lots of Floridas, Alabamas, Louisianas, and even a few panicky Georgians.

On my way back home, Max tapped out in the car (always a gift) and I managed to get a good mad-on for the President again.  The Executive Intelligence Report, released forever ago in terms of the true speed of information (July), states that the best possible result for Iraq will be a tenuous hold on stability that's dicier than even our economy, and that, of course, is generous.  Really, they're expecting a major civil war between the Kurds, Sunnis and Shiites, now that we've rushed in with guns and destabilized the fucking government, replacing it with the puppet show featuring Iyad Allawi and Clarabell.  I'm so glad that we were able, with a concerted effort of guns, money and lives, to bring the chaos to the Middle East that it's needed for so long.  On the same day I hear this, I hear that the Iraqi Insurgent Abduction Team has moved from streetside sweepaways to office building smash-and-grabs to full-blown home fucking invasions, kidnapping two Americans and an Englishman.  Let's not forget, of course, about the French and the Italians still under wraps, the videos that turn up every day of beheadings and shootings, and the scores of Iraqis who have been disappeared in the ensuing havoc that filled the Saddam-shaped vacuum.  The punchline:  Today at a campaign stop in Minnesota, President Monkeyface talked about a long-term future in Iraq this way: "We're going to help 'em get their elections, and get 'em on the path to stability and democracy - as quickly as possible..."  He then went on to divert the crowd's attention by talking about the honor of soldiers at war and by pulling three doves and a rabbit from his left hip pocket.  How is it that the two candidates running for the highest office in the land can be in a statistical dead heat when one of them fucking just lies to us all the goddamn time?  What are we, a handful of fucking retards?  I'm just glad my kid was asleep when I heard that story.

Anyway, Kate & Brian are here now from playing the Rock the Vote thing in Kentucky - so I'm going to go hang with them and eat pizza.

Press Coverage...

My son gets very little press coverage. 

You know, and I was expecting a whole lot more.  I was really impressed with him initially, when - on the day he was born - he was in the newspaper.  He was all over the Internet, and everywhere I went, people seemed to have Max on the brain, the tip of their tongues, just right there at their fingertips.  These days, though, it seems as though no one anywhere is giving him any ink, which I think is unfair.  I mean, I picked up the paper this morning - the Nashville Tennessean - and I checked it out - nothing!  I would assume that none of the other papers is paying any attention to what Max is up to, either.  They're full of bullshit about President Monkeyface and John Kerry - even a lot of stuff about someone named Ivan!  What kind of country are we living in when some Russian is on people's minds more than my son?!?

So, I'm thinking he needs to hold a press conference.  And do it now.  Normally, in the average path of a person's life, they really only hold press conferences when they're about to start a war, lose the Heavyweight Championship, or based on today's events, when they are about to start a comfortable and long prison term in someplace like the Danforth Minimum Security Tennis Club and Golf Course.  So, I'm thinking we subvert the process and jump in there early; get this kid a press conference before his name recognition drops to zilcho.  I love him, and I know he's got a killer fan club, so I think it's time for his devoted followers to throw in and show their support for the kid!  Press conference - coming up: Watch for it!

Evac & Alien Hat

So...with a category whatever it turns out to be hurricane headed our way, we evacuated to Nashville.  As of Monday afternoon, Escambia County schools were closed for the week, and Christie's school followed suit.  The Sheriff's Office evacuated everything from Garden Street to the water at 6am Tuesday, and guess what that means?  I got friggin' evacuated from my building.  So, after moving everything in it to high ground and sandbagging the doors, Christie talked me into taking an unplanned vacation.  Yesterday, we boarded up our windows at the house, cooked food and packed the car, and after spending 5 hours at my in-laws' house helping them board up their windows (mostly running the saw and schlepping 4x8s around the house - they have a lot of windows) we hit the road and drove all night to the Nash.  We arrived at 4 o'clock this morning, two cups of coffee later.

I have my resale certificate, articles of incorporation and computer with me.

Max is sitting and watching Peter Pan, glad of the opportunity to see his Uncle Brian and Aunt Kate again.  We are going to be able to see Brother Robbins, Brian & Kate's band while we're here, sounds like maybe three times, one of them at a Rock the Vote thing up in Bowling Green, KY.  Let me take a minute to tell you about Brother Robbins.  After much work and toil, this summer the debut album from Brother Robbins - Freedom - was released, and it's solidly fantastic.  It's a kind of folkish rock album with a definite opinion and something to say, and I'll see if Brian will let me post some sound bites from it, and then you can buy them from me if you want them.  Anyway, I'm glad of the opportunity to see them play a few times, so a fringe benefit has already become evident.

I really appreciate all the response to my blog, and I love the comments people have made.  I try to respond to the comments with more comments, so check the 'thread,' as it were.  I'd like to take this opportunity though to especially acknowledge Nate and Evan's wishes for the weathering of Ivan, as they seemed particularly thoughtful and kind.  Thanks, guys!  Oh, and Ev, if our house gets blown away, we're definitely moving to Demon Central - I'll have to reconstruct my comic book collection, and Chicago seems as good a place as any to start.  Max could do worse than a solid blues influence.

Finally, I just have this to share:  Last weekend, Christie and I were doing grocery shopping, when we found ourselves on the plastic wrap/garbage bags/kitchen stuff aisle.  Christie turned and said, "We always forget this stuff - we need some of this, right?"  To which my response was, gesturing toward the aluminium foil, "Yeah, we need to get some more...you know, the alien hat."

Apparently, there is something profoundly wrong with my brains.