So should we end with a grand summation? Nah. I don’t put stock in this calendrical adjustment.We sail along from one week to the other without noting these made-up differences. One year on this side of the tick, another other on the other side of the tock. Nonsense!
Except it’s hard not to play janitor and clean up your year, oil the wings for the door the leads to the next room. THAT WAS INTENTIONAL. The janitor part. Janus was the god of doorways, and that’s where “janitor” comes from. I still find it odd that the Romans had a deity for doorways. It’s like having a deity for bannisters. Perhaps it was intended poetically. I don’t think they really thought there was this guy in heaven with two faces. Some did, but they were the boring people who conspicuously applied excess piety to everything, thinking they’d be admired for their zeal. Although I’m sure at one point there was a fanatical cult of Janus, since they had fanatical cults for everything sooner or later. I was reading the other day about a brief vogue for a snake cult, one of those foreign importations the optimates must have sneered at, and Cato stomped his horny foot on the cold Senate floor to denounce.
The only thing I wish to do in 2023 is travel, and for my wife’s firm not to get sold, because, well, yikes, maybe, possibly. I’ll write some music. I’ll do some podcasts. What I won’t do is return to the way of thinking that felt like I was dragging Marley’s cash-boxes around for the last four years. Que sara, and I don’t mean asking my wife to repeat herself.
Thank you for indulging this slight week. We start on Monday with a whole new look and some new features. Best Bleat Year Ever en route!
Let us all vow to head into the new year with the sincere and heartfelt tidings imparted by the sign at Wallgreens.
Just can't hit the town with Lori without this happening every. Damned. Time
This ends this feature for a while, or for good. I may have played this next piece before. I know that it jarred me when I heard it the other day on the radio, and I still can't believe my ears.
Peter Lorre has killed his wife and taken off to America with a new paramour - an innocent lass who doesn't know she's filling in for the old Mrs. She thinks the previous wife died years ago. And she thinks her professor husband is charmingly absent-minded sometimes.
With that in mind, get a load of this.
I've slowed it down.
Maybe it's something else, but having heard what I think it is, I can't unhear it.
And now, a bonus. This is from 1952. Some of you will get it right away.
Some of you will get it right away.
So that's been going on for a while, in other words.
<kaseycasemvoice> And now, the number one hit of 1922.</kaseycasemvoice> Of course, it's Al.
He recorded this in October 1921, but it had enough legs it was the #1 for the next year. Or so my sources say. Number two was a Whiteman number, Three O'Clock in the Morning, and it was much more fun.
That's the end of this feature, and I hope some of you found something you liked, or hadn't expected to hear. If I'd done this with the 30s, it would have been completely different vibe. Someday, perhaps.
A rarity: a Sears commercial from 1979 that actually shows a bit of wit.