BEST SLEEP AID EVER - THE CONFERENCE CALL

All week there have been workers in the crawl space, workers on the roof, in the garage, making one hellacious racket, and thus the occasional naps on which daddy relies have been all but impossible what with all that hammering and drilling.

Until today. In my inbox was a note from the boss asking me to listen in on a conference call at noon. Which I could do from home easily enough, so I grabbed my notepad and pen and situated myself nicely on the couch under Beast's blanket with the phone, called the 800 number promptly at 11:59, then listened to the on-hold lite jazz as I waited patiently for the conference call to begin. Waiting...patiently...waiting...patiently...ooh, pretty music...

Thank you for participating in today's conference call. You may disconnect at any time.

RUT-ROH.

A flop-sweating cringe came over me the likes of which I hadn't experienced in more than 20 years, when I zoned out in a college Latin class only to come around at the very moment the professor asked me what a noun was and I hommina-hommina-hommina'd for what seemed an eternity before personplaceorthing fell out of my mouth, along with a little bead of drool that had been accumulating in the right corner of my mouth during my doze. (Even then, I could bring the sexy.)

Eventually I fumbled around and found the notepad on which I had scribbled a few things, and so if anybody asks there's evidence that I was lucid...okay, conscious at least...and taking notes for at least part of the call. Damned if I remember doing it, though.

So. Isn't a key idea behind the concept of a conference call that the participants should be awake for it? And if so, does it not hugely defeat the purpose to keep said participants waiting to being the call while under the spell of music that would make Kenny G go scanning the radio dial for some Sabbath, dude?

Anyway, tomorrow night Her Awesomeness and I are going to try reading bedtime stories to the kids via conference call.

(beep) Please continue to wait patiently while Mommy turns the page...(beep)...

HOLIDAY IN THE JONES HOUSEHOLD

Happy 57th birthday, Philip David Charles Collins:

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM

Come to think of it, I have been feeling a bit peckish:


The photos that accompany this Telegraph article might be a bit much for smaller kids - there's a bunch of seals who meet a rather sudden end on the business end of those teeth - but if there's a young shark fan in your family there's some serious WHOA factor here.

MORE THINGS ONLY PARENTS SAY

"Stop smearing ketchup on your butt."

"Use the sponge to clean the wall, not your tongue."

"The cat can lick himself just fine without your help."

"Stop sitting in the butter and put it on your pancake."

"You need PANTS when you go outside."

(That last one also falls under the heading of "things people say to Ted Kennedy.")

GUESS I'M JUST NO GOOD AT MARKETING

Otherwise I would totally have come up with a concept like Kool-Aid scented shoes for kids.

THE STRIPPEROSITY, IT IS STRONG IN GEORGIA

There's an endlessly-entertaining (and occasionally sad) searchable list of the state's baby-name database at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

There are 147 Georgia girls named Chanel, 31 named Cinnamon, 1,435 named Diamond

Gentlemen, now on the main stage, c'mon and put your hands together for the lovely...

And if your daughter's name sounds like it would fit nicely at the end of that previous sentence, get yourself down to the courthouse and pick out a nice Mildred or Ethel for her.

The thing that freaked me out the most about the list is that somebody in Georgia used the name Britney...for their son.

UPDATE: Poking around in that list sure is addicting. Here's what I found in the Georgia database.

1401 Jakes, 2 Elwoods.
17 Caesars, 18 Ceasars. (2 Neros.) (0 Caligulas.)
14 Ethels, 60 Mildreds, 99 Elmers, 93 Gladyses, 0 Hortenses.
87 Lesters. 230 Maddoxes (210 boys and 20 girls).
1 Adolf. 1 Stalin. 1 Saddam.
2 Toyotas, 24 Fords, 50 Chevys (40 boys, 10 girls), 0 Chryslers, 0 Hondas.
1 Samwise, no Frodos.

HOUSTON, WE HAVE POOPY

For the first time, the Beast has done his business in the big potty. Yes, we celebrated like the Giants in Green Bay. No, we did not photograph the blessed nugget for posterity. Yes, Her Awesomeness and I are looking longingly at the shelves in Beast's room now occupied by diapers and thinking Y'know, each one of those packages of diapers could by a halfway decent bottle of wine...

We can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel!

RULES FROM A TEXAS GENTLEMAN

Gentlemen, if you get to meet the amazing Lyle Lovett at next month's acoustic show with John Hiatt at UPAC, please do thank him for this piece in Esquire on manhood and chivalry:

The first rule of manhood is that they are in charge. Give it up. Realize they're smarter and better looking. We don't have a chance. You have to do everything you can to help yourself.

The rest of it is even better - and naturally I fall short on many, many counts. The show's on the 17th at UPAC in Kingston. Tix (if they're still available) and info via Ticketmaster and Bardavon.org.

COULD WE HAVE ONE FREAKIN' DAY WITHOUT DRAMA?

12:01am.

Noodle wakes up howling. "I CAN'T FIND MY UNICORN!"

The rest of the day should be just grand.

STINK, STANK, STUNK

The good thing about having mold-remediation people spraying moldicidal schmutz into ever nook and cranny beneath your house is that the smell of it covers the litter-box stank wonderfully for a day or two. Noodle said it smelled like a dirty diaper, though. And she'd be the one with the fresher olfactory system.

THE WORLD'S UGLIEST YACHT?

Yeesh:


All that money and they build something that looks like the hat that girl from the Thompson Twins used to wear. The one that made her look like Duckman.

FRIED

Will try to be busier with posting later on today, but would you look at this schedule. After the show it's back up north to greet the mold-remediators and wish them a happy day yanking nasties out of the crawl space, plus the electrician will be by to set things up for the sump pump and the garage door and the generator hookup, and maybe even finally the doorbell will work so that the Jehovah's Witnesses won't freeze out there.

Meanwhile, the Beast and Her Awesomeness will be spending the day in beautiful Albany (motto: At Least It's Not Troy).

WHO TO THE WHAT TO THE WHERE, HONEY?

Whoopee, there's nothing like Albany in January, as Mr. Waits and Mr. Nicholson can attest.

Her Awesomeness is taking the Beast to the GP today and to the pediatric urologist at Albany Med tomorrow to get his whizzination situation looked at. Stupid us, we thought we were shot of that place since the Noodle's unpronounceable kidney ailment appears to have settled down somewhat and we only have to get her checked out every six months.

And since Wednesday's to be a festive road trip as well as a doctor's visit, Beast will be seeking out a good pizza joint in Albany, not too far from the hospital. Suggestions?

I wonder if it has dawned on other residents of the Northern Dutchess area that thanks to the magic of the DOT decreeing interminable traffic signals for every Route 9 curb-cut in sight, it now easily takes less time to drive from (say) Red Hook or Rhinebeck to Albany than it does to drive from Red Hook or Rhinebeck to Poughkeepsie or Wappingers. 9G to the Rip van Winkle to the Thruway and zip, you're there...or even 9 to 9H back to 9 to 90, if you want your itinerary to be more rustic and sound more like a track off the White Album.

Also today is the Noodle's first-ever ballet recital. I figure in about seven hours we'll be wobbly in the knees from the sheer force of cuteness exuded by a gaggle of four-year-old girls in tutus.

After that comes the electrician and the mold-remediation guys and the roofer and the garage-door guy, and probably a blizzard - because there's just not enough on our plate.

WALKING THE GREEN MOHEL? LET'S HOPE NOT

The Beast has been irritable of late, and with good reason. Despite our finest hygienic efforts, the Beast's little beast is infected - and if the medicine and follow-up visits to the pediatric urologist don't have the hoped-for result, it could be snipsville for the little fella. Which we were trying to avoid these past two years or so, seeing as there's no religious reason for us to circumcise the Beast and we'd just as soon let it be his choice down the road.

And twelve years or so from now he'll be so happy we shared all this.

GIANTS 23, PACKERS 20 (OT)

Aside from actually beating the Patriots in a couple of weeks, the only thing better than this would be if the Giants could have humiliated the Cowboys for a second straight week just on general principles.

Still, if Lawrence Tynes had missed another field goal last night the Jets probably would have signed him next year.

HEY BULLDOG...WELCOME BACK TO THE TOP 10

Watch it, shih-tzu - there's a proper dog on its way back up the charts, says the American Kennel Club.

1. Labrador Retriever
2. Yorkshire Terrier
3. German Shepherd
4. Golden Retriever
5. Beagle
6. Boxer
7. Dachshund
8. Poodle
9. Shih Tzu
10. Bulldog

Not that the house currently has room for any sort of canine. Noodle and the Beast would love it, but the cats have veto power. Still, bulldogs always make me smile. And they also make me crave a steak, a cigar, and some gin.

WILL THE LAST WAL-MART CUSTOMER WITH DISPOSABLE INCOME PLEASE TURN OUT THE LIGHT?

I'm racking my brain trying to think of a circumstance where a Wal-Mart shopper might want to read the hyper-wealthy-targeted Robb Report, but I'm coming up snake eyes. And so is Wal-Mart:

Condé Nast lost space on Wal-Mart's racks for upscale parenting magazine Cookie, the urbane and sophisticated The New Yorker and the glitzy oversized W. Self magazine made the cut, but some slower-selling special interest spin-offs got the ax.

Several titles owned by Swedish publishing giant Bonnier, which less than a year ago paid $220 million for 16 Time Inc. titles, are being left behind. Among them: Parenting, Ski, Skiing, Yachting and Salt Water Sportsman.

Yachting? At Wal-Mart?!

YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO TO THE MOUNTAIN TOP FOR MARTIN LUTHER KING DAY SAVINGS, FOLKS!

I have a dream...of 40 percent off replacement windows!

KEZK's Kris Kelly will be at Champion Windows, Siding, and Patio Rooms for their Martin Luther King Day Sale. Martin Luther King Day Sale runs January 19th-21st with incredible savings like...

As the good Doctor might say...oy.

I thought that MLK Day ads were merely the stuff of parody, but now you can start to see that I am very wrong. Extremely wrong. (Torrid plus sizes?! Thou dost oversell and provide too much of the information.)

It shouldn't surprise a jaded radio guy like me that we're starting to see more King Day ads, but still. The cheese level is so high I'm starting to get chest pains just reading the ads.

It's only a matter of time before Gandhi impersonators start doing plugs for our local Indian restaurants, except maybe that's too high-end for the target demo considering how many college students still can't even spell Gandhi, let alone tell the difference between him and Ben Kingsley.

YOUR WEEKEND ERRANDS ARE ABOUT TO TAKE A LOT LONGER

How does New York plan to fill in a $4.5 billion dollar budget gap and pay for all the goodies Governor Spitzer's been promising hither and yon? Simple. Lotteries. Buttloads of new lotteries.

Wall Street analysts advising the Spitzer administration say any investor who pays $4 billion to operate the lottery will likely have to look beyond the bodegas and convenience stores to higher market venues and a bigger share of middle class players. That could mean lottery games in suburban chain stores like Target...

Doesn't it just figure? Our stops at Target, the one retailer whose checkout lines aren't a tedious death march past ill-trained clerks and malfunctioning scanners, are now going to be gummed up with the same kind of hairy-backed troglodytes who currently jam up your morning coffee stop pondering their scratch-off ticket portfolios.

BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE

So maybe you ought to just stay in the subway and look at all the amazing art.

I have this odd fascination with the black-and-white numbered tiles, like the 81 in this picture:

If anybody knows whether or not these tiles are still made and where I could get a hold of some, the email address is over on the right.

QUOTH THE STRANGER, "WHAT KIND OF A HORSE**** CALL IS THAT, BLUE?"

January 19, and thus time for the annual ritual in Baltimore:

Undeterred by controversy, a mysterious visitor paid his annual tribute at the grave of Edgar Allan Poe early Saturday, placing three red roses and a half-filled bottle of cognac before stealing away into the darkness.

My money's on the mysterious stranger being Earl Weaver.

NOT ALL THE WEIRD STUFF HAPPENS AT MY HOUSE

There's these people in Accord, who found some old guy on their roof trying to steal phone service.

Responding deputies arrested Depuy after discovering that he had spliced into the victim's phone line and ran his own phone line from the residence to his camp in the woods. Dpuy lives in a makeshift camp in the woods behind the residence.

And apparently it's his property - there's just no house on it. This should come as a relief to all those locals who've been complaining that all the country properties are being bought up by soulless hedge-fund master-of-the-universe types. There's still eccentrics in them thar hills.

HEY MORON, IT'S NO-NAME-CALLING WEEK

Next week, actually. This week you can lay into each other with whatever's at your disposal. Use all the tricks: dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes and... satire.

But it's different and a whole lot rougher if you're a middle-schooler, which is whom No Name-Calling Week is targeting with their efforts, and it's a worthy effort even if their efforts wander over into eye-rolling PSA territory from time to time and their officials speak Press Release Jargon instead of plain English:

"No Name-Calling Week offers schools an opportunity to engage students about the importance of treating one another with respect. Unfortunately, far too many students experience the negative impact of name-calling, bullying and harassment. Through proactive educational interventions like No Name-Calling Week, schools can make a difference in the safety of all of their students."

Eyes. Glaze. Over.

Still, best wishes to them - it would have been many playground butt-kickings for yours truly if the bullies hadn't mistakenly believed that my dad (one of their teachers) had been grandfathered out of the school district's corporal-punishment ban because he had been in the Navy and was still allowed to administer whuppin's. This was complete nonsense, and my dad never did have to administer any corporal punishments in 30-odd years, but it's not like 12-year-old asthmatic loser yours truly was going to speak up.

Now, for an effort that stands a better chance of working: Canadian schools are targeting the very same group (middle schoolers) to pledge not to smoke until their high school graduation...and the group behind the effort is putting five grand up for the students who can do it.

I predict a generation of Canadians with longer lifespans and a Ricklesian gift for abuse.

1921-2008

John McHale, the first president of the late great Montreal Expos, has died at age 86. Funeral services will be interrupted by a pallbearers' strike, and will then resume in Puerto Rico when none of the Canadian mourners show up.

Kidding aside, I really do miss the Expos, and McHale was a big reason for their thriving in Montreal. And they did thrive, kids. Until that damnable strike. I regret never having made it to Stade Olympique for a game until '99, although the then-future Her Awesomeness and I did get walk-up seventh-row seats behind the plate.

I can't get behind the Expos' incarnation in DC; after all, Montreal in August is much more pleasant than DC in August...or July, or June, or September, or pretty much any month that doesn't have cherry blossoms in it.

A ROAD TRIP - TO SCOTLAND?

Another one for the "let's do this when the kids are old enough" files: today's London Times has provided a most useful list of the UK's top 10 fish and chip shops, led by Townhead Fish & Chips in Biggar, Scotland. Just check out this excerpt from the menu:

Regulars

Half Chicken
Special Fish
Plain Fish
Fried Pizza
King Rib
Smoked Sausage
Chicken Nuggets (8 Pieces)
Steak Pie
Chipsteak
Cheese ‘n’ Burger
Scotch Pie
Sausage
Hamburger
Haggis
Black Pudding
Spam Fritters
Fishcakes
White Pudding

Those spam fritters really must be something to rate a placement right after the haggis and black pudding; however, a deeper reading of the article suggests I stick this in the "let's do this when we can afford to put a cardiologist and a thoracic surgeon on retainer when we get back" file.


I wonder if there's anybody down at that chip shop swears he's Elvis.

CUE JOHN FACENDA

Giants fans have been spending this week obsessively checking the Weather Channel for the long-range forecast for the NFC title game at Green Bay - as of right now it's calling for tailgate-party Sunday highs of 6 degrees. Which means it'll be colder come game time, which is around 5:30 Green Bay time.

Excellent.

ESPN is running a great feature on what you need to know about foul-weather football. If your team plays in a dome or someplace down south like Miami or Dallas or Arizona or San Diego, you can skip that link. This one's strictly for the menfolk.

And of course we have the politicos from New York and Wisconsin exchanging pre-game bets. Which is problematic for the Wisconsinites when they're betting against Bloomberg and Schumer and bratwurst is treif. It's a good thing they like their fatty food in Wisconsin and have plenty of plan B's.

Meanwhile, here's Giuliani giving a Packers fan the brushoff. Congrats to him for finally figuring out the right way to handle this after his rooting-for-the-Sawx fiasco of last fall, but the really smart move would have been to sign the hat

GO BEARS! LOVE, BARACK OBAMA

THE SCARIER SIDE OF SEARS

Boot-quaking time. It's the 1973 fall and winter catalogue. Terrifying pictures of what your parents attempted to wear follow.

30 YEARS AGO TODAY

The mighty Shatner, January 15, 1978. Presented without comment (other than a hat tip to Fark, that is):

THE HONEYMOON RESUMES

If anybody's looking for me later today, I'll be over in the corner blubbering. What a story!

When Anna Kozlov caught sight of the elderly man clambering out of a car in her home village of Borovlyanka in Siberia, she stopped dead in her tracks, convinced her eyes were playing tricks. There, in front of her, was Boris, the man she had fallen in love with and married 60 years earlier. The last time she had seen him was three days after their wedding...

I'm telling you right now before you read the whole thing, go get the Kleenex if you're prone to crying.

I MUST HAVE MISSED THAT WHEN I WAS A LAD

Back in the day in Rhinebeck it took considerable tinkering with the Channel Master to pick up the PBS station in New York City, so the young Brian never did get to see the first episodes of "Sesame Street". Wow, what I missed, says Daddytypes:

The early seasons of Sesame Street have the kind of raw feeling where an actor's personal animus about women working could slip through. It's an unpredictability that's kind of fascinating, but as a parent, it's also annoying and unreliable.

Read it all; it gets...odder. But seeing as the Beast and the Noodle have skipped most of Sesame Street and jumped straight into the Muppet Show without much in the way of previous Muppetrination, I can only guess as to what they might think of the Street circa 1969.

Plug: The Muppet Show - Season One (Special Edition)

STILL TINKERING

Just relaxed the rules for the comments section; here's hoping it doesn't become a spammed-up mess.

(Please observe the usual rules for decorum, etc.)

FOLLOWUP: WHEW, WE'RE NOT THE ONLY ONES

As noted below, my kids like showing me boogers. But at least they don't get put on a tourist pamphlet while they're mining. I feel much better now.

ER, ABOUT THE NAME OF THE BLOG

It started while potty-training the Beast.

As is customary, when he's done his business in the potty we slather on the praise with extreme enthusiasm, complete with Tiger Woods fist-pumps and end-zone celebrations worthy of Chad Johnson (or as worthy as they can be in a 40-square-foot bathroom). So far so good, but the Beast has deduced that since we're so delighted with his potty-related ventures, he can show us anything he extracts from within himself and we'll also react with over-the-top delight. And thus...

Behold: the nose goblin.

Not wanting to send our little fella mixed messages, and believing him too young for a nuanced explanation of eliminative procedures of the north end vis-a-vis eliminative procedures of the south end, I made the mistake of telling the Beast "that's a lovely booger".

(paulharvey)And now you know the REST of the story...(/paulharvey)

Encouraged by my fatherly approval, the Beast now presents -all- of his nostrilaceous product to us for appraisal. And sometimes his older sister the Noodle joins in the fun as well.

All about class, that's us.

THE FRENCH-TAUNTER SCENE FROM "MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL", AS PERFORMED BY A BABOON AND SOME LIONS

I don't think Marlin Perkins ever showed us anything like this:



The funniest bit is the last 30 seconds or so.

WHATEVER TIGER WANTS, TIGER GETS

Say b'bye to the Barclays, Westchester:

...on-site interest at Westchester has usually fallen short of expectations, and the '07 Barclays seemed to magnify that and other weaknesses. Previously played in June, moving the tournament to the back end of summer led to discolored, substandard greens. A number of players fond of the classic-style layout lamented the conditions, and what used to be a favored tour stop had become more of a chore than a challenge.

Bummer. One of the best places to watch a golf tournament anywhere in the world was the 7th green at Westchester, but that's reportedly not how Tiger saw it.

YOUR FAVORITE BAND IS JUICING

The national steroids investigation being conducted by the Albany County DA's office has branched out, from sports to entertainment:

The names of R&B music star Mary J. Blige, along with rap artists 50 Cent, Timbaland and Wyclef Jean, and award-winning author and producer Tyler Perry, have emerged in an Albany-based investigation of steroids trafficking that has already rocked the professional sports world...

What, no Carrot Top?

IS IT BECAUSE HE TOOK OUT ONE OF THOSE SILLY CARDS?

In the UK, prime minister Gordon Brown is getting behind an effort to let hospitals take organs from the deceased without their consent.

MAN: Hello. Uhh, can we have your liver?
MR. BROWN: My what?
MAN: Your liver. It's a large, ehh, glandular organ in your abdomen.

There goes life, imitating Monty Python again.

IT'S LIKE A COUNTRY SONG PLAYED BACKWARDS

January 2: long-haul trucker stops at I-84 rest area for a cup of coffee, loses his faithful traveling companion and eventually has to press on without him.

January 10: trucker's route takes him back to the same rest area, and guess who's waiting?

No, not Larry Craig. (He's at the really nasty rest area down on 684.)

Woof woof.

DARWIN GETS ONE IN HIS WHEELHOUSE

...and misses.

Metro-North Railroad representatives say a man riding on top of a train was badly burned by a potent shock from its power lines.

Even money says he sues.

ASIA: THE REUNION

May 6, 1982 was a special day for nerds like me, because that's when Asia in all its utterly uncool prog-pop magnificence played the Mid-Hudson Civic Center.


And now after 25 years they're back with their original lineup of Geoff Downes, John Wetton, Steve Howe and Carl Palmer, and with a new album too. Roger Dean is back to do the cover and everything. I can feel my teenage acne and social awkwardness returning even as I type!

Eww.

Says here they're playing the Paramount Center in Peekskill in April, but that's as close as they're coming unless you feel like roadtripping it to Mohegan Sun. And me, it looks like my 2008 concert budget is going to be splurged on taking my wife to next month's Lyle Lovett/John Hiatt show in Kingston, and any future prog spending goes to the five-man Genesis reunion, whenever that might happen.

1919-2008

Do I really have to comment on Hillary in this blog? Well, okay...



Something I did not know: Sir Edmund's name was right there in the phone book, and at least one schoolboy is known to have called him up for help with his homework. Imagine your son ringing up Derek Jeter for help hitting the curveball.

Plenty more on Sir Edmund Hillary in the Telegraph obituary. And more on the other Hillary some other time.

HON, WE'RE GONNA NEED A BIGGER GARAGE

In England, an ex-serviceman's club is roughly equivalent to our American Legion or VFW halls...and in Chiddingfold, Surrey, the ex-servicemen's club is shutting down, which is sad not only for the old veterans, but also for the local musicians who rehearsed there over the years.

You may be familiar with them.

At any rate, I know that the Hudson Valley is a bit of a schlep from Surrey, but yours truly stands ready to make my garage and/or back porch available for a rehearsal space should Messrs. Clapton, Banks, Collins and/or Rutherford require it. The garage ceiling is high enough where a small light show may even be possible.

TRENDY HAS A SHELF LIFE, MOM

Babycenter.com has released its list of the top 100 baby names of 2007. Mind you, it's a list of people who stop by babycenter.com, so it's self-selecting and not fully representative like a Census Bureau list would be, but it's the hand we're dealt at the moment.

And it looks safe to say that the nation is well and truly "-aden"ed out.

For the boys we have Aiden, Jayden, Caden and Brayden in the top 15, not to mention the bounty of increasingly ridiculous spinoffs and alternate spellings that will be driving schoolteachers around the bend until the next trendy batch of names makes its way into the demographic pipeline.

For the baby girls, it appears that moms are choosing between Grey's Anatomy characters, the 400-odd alternate spellings of "Caitlin", and...well...how to be delicate about this?

Strippers.

When you first work in radio, one of the things you don't expect to learn about are the customs and intricacies of the adult-entertainment industry - but the knowledge comes to you, willingly or no, even if your own particular show is as pure and wholesome as Pat Boone playing a pastors' convention in Branson. If you work in radio news as I do, you will have the knowledge inflicted upon you at a most inopportune time, because Mess With The News Guy is a time-honored morning DJ pastime. It often happens in the form of the DJ having their special guest Miss Cinnamon Rose perform her Dance of the Seven Riding Crops while the newsman is trying to get through a story on Condoleezza Rice's trip to Libya.

Bottom line, there are men to turn to when it comes to avoiding saddling your baby daughter with a name that'll be big trouble 18 years or so down the road.

I am one of those men.

And for the moms who chose names like Savannah (#37) or Trinity (#95) for their daughters I can only urge you to get down to the courthouse and pick out a Mary or a Susan or even a Mildred before it's too late.

Dads, you're not off the hook here either. Chris Rock may have said your only job is to keep her off the pole, but that job starts when the baby is on the way. If the mom-to-be comes to you saying "I want to choose something unique", that's line-in-the-sand time - because while mom was looking around for a "unique" name, so were many other young ladies looking for unique names to use on stage down at that tawdry little joint out by the airport.

And this is where you come in, dad.

You doubt my theories? Ponder this factoid: for much of the late 90's and as recently as four years ago, one of the top 30 most popular baby girl's names was...Britney.

I rest my case.

ONE-HIT WONDER OF THE WEEK

Sniff 'n' the Tears, with "Driver's Seat". Three chords and that's it. Pure pop sweetness, circa 1979. My theory? They'd have been much bigger except that's a horrible name for a band.

ENGLAND DISCOVERS THE BREAD BOWL

You can find those Golden Arches most anywhere in the world where the roads are paved, and the French long ago tried to chase off culinary Americanisms...but somehow, the mighty bread bowl, that staple of Super Bowl parties, poker nights and baby showers has never crossed the Atlantic to England. Until now.

David Williams, the managing director of Butt Foods, which has developed the idea, admits: "Our banks, our investors all thought we were crackers. But we've now proved them wrong."

Yeah, Butt Foods. Talk about your branding headaches. I could've sworn with a name like that they'd have been around since the 1500s, but they were birthed in 1990. Points to them for not falling for the branding craze - over here their company would have been named eStarch or Bredilent or some such idiocy.

So how does one serve jellied sheep's lungs in a bread bowl?

IT'S NOT QUITE BEING CLOTHESLINED AT LOWE'S BY A CRABBY OLD MAN, BUT IT'LL DO

I know I can't be the only one who thinks bloody-minded thoughts when some kid zooms around the store in their idiotic Heelys with nary a supervisory parental figure to be found. Good news, all: they caught one. The next Thomas Crown he ain't.

Me, if it were my store I'd allow my customers to give any kids on Heelys the what's-happening-Luther treatment, but something tells me that'd open me up to a world of litigiousness.

Anyway, that's some fine police work, Lou.

KENNEDY BRIDGE? ER, AH...

Our public officials have nimbly stepped into the breach created by the writers' strike, because when you talk about naming a bridge after a Kennedy, the subsequent jokes do tend to write themselves.

A MILLION TICKETS

...is how many the state police handed out in 2007. None of these tickets went to the Darwin's-waiting-room inhabitants who went screaming by you zigzagging in their ricers on Route 9 this afternoon.

And apparently not enough of the tickets went to Jim Leyritz to get his attention, either.

IT'S NOT A REAL BLOG UNLESS YOU PONTIFICATE ABOUT SOMEBODY'S LIST

Okay, okay, okay. Top 50 fishing lures of all time. Have at it.

IN WHICH WE WAX INSENSITIVE

Gephyrophobia is the debilitating fear of bridges, which I'd guess more than a few northern Dutchess and Kingston-area residents feel any time they have to cross over the Kingston-Rhinecliff bridge. Amazing view, but looking to the left or right can be a bit queasy-making, especially if the wind's blowing. Still, if you want to get across the river there's no alternative to the bridge until that long-hoped-for Saugerties-Tivoli ferry starts up. Which brings us to the curious case of a Staten Islander named Jan Steers, who's lived with gephyrophobia for 13 years.

To re-state: she's scared to death of bridges, and lives on Staten Island.

Which strikes me as very much like being scared of the color green while living next to a golf course. But I'm trying to be the better man here, and so I will wish her all the best as she attempts to battle her phobia, even though the ghost of Sam Kinison is on my left shoulder in a little devil suit, doing his "we have deserts in America" routine about Ethiopians.

Buried in the Times article is this useful piece of information:

...the New York Thruway Authority will lead bridge phobics over the Tappan Zee, the longest span in the state. A reluctant driver can call the authority in advance and arrange to be driven across the bridge in his or her own car by a patrol operator. The authority receives a half dozen such requests a year, officials there say.

Which does make more sense for the rest of us than suddenly getting stuck behind somebody who panics mid-bridge.

HART'S LOCATION, REPRESENT!

The town where I got married is in the news again, same as it is every four years. Mrs. J and I had no idea of Hart's Location's unique history the first time we stayed there - we were just looking for a place halfway between Montreal and Boston on our first road trip together, and wound up finding the Notchland Inn. We liked it so much we got married there. Speaking of which, hearty congratulations to innkeepers Ed and Les for finally getting their civil union after 30 years.

IS THIS THING ON?

This is the obligatory first post, designed to make sure the computer will not seize up, catch fire and burn my house down.

One day, there will be useful things here. At least that's the theory.