“Floating around in the ether.” That’s a phrase that popped into my head earlier today. I like it. What is floating around in the ether? What’s the deal with all this ether, anyway? Webster (the one that's not Emmanuel Lewis) describes ether as: 1)a volatile, highly-flammable liquid compound used as a solvent and an anesthetic 2) The heavens.

Which description do I like better? Ehh, I am not too picky here; ether or.

Did you get that joke I planted right there? Oh, man, I am flyin’ high and there’s no getting me down now.

People say that things are floating around in the ether when they don’t know what the hell is going on. “The answer is floating around out there, somewhere in the ether.” People in mental wards probably say it more frequently, but I think people prone to using clichés a lot use it, too. I don’t say it much. Just for today.

Here’s some things that are floating around in MY ether today:

• While I was talking to Trish about the porn cookies this morning (see her blog), the song Shakedown from Beverly Hills Cop jumped into my head. I don’t understand why, really… porn cookies and Bob Seger don’t usually go together. But I thought it was extra funny to look at the cookies in the filthy shapes and pretend that song was the “soundtrack” to the cookies. “Shakedown, breakdown—you’re BUSTED!”

• Another great Beverly Hills Cop song: The Heat is ON! Of course! What the hell… of course I would think of that song. And the fantastic SNL skit with Ben Stiller and Will Ferrell as Glenn Frey. “Before this night is over, I’m gonna have Glenn Frey stank all over me!”
• It’s hard to find quotes online for the MST3K movie, “A Touch of Satan.”

• Overheard in the office: “No… it should be ‘smooshier’ than that.”

• Remember Good Humor’s “Fat Frog” ice cream? Man, I want a Fat Frog right now.

• “Getting the Fat Frog” definitely sounds like a euphemism.

• My bangs grow too fast. Just a week ago I swear they were too short. Now they’re hitting my eyebrows again. Maybe I’ll just grow them out. I love that my hair is completely powerless when it comes to my wishes. I am in essence saying: Bangs, meet scissors! Or—bangs, get ready to be clipped back for a few months while you are in your awkward growing-out stage! Just try to protest… I ain’t gonna listen. Quit yer bitchin’, hair!

• My current favorite “Deep Thought” is: If they ever build a statue of me, I hope they won’t have me with my mouth open, holding a sign that says I LOVE ROTTEN EGGS.

• I saw a few minutes of “The O.C.” last night and I was wondering: is the preppy polo shirt look the new “edgy” look for young men these days? Seems like it. Whatever happened to punk?

• I have taken up spitting.

• If you are eating a banana, and the banana breaks and a piece lands on your desk, is it socially acceptable to pick up the banana-piece and stand it back on the remaining banana in the peel and then keep eating as you balance the broken banana with your other hand? I did that this morning; and I don’t give a rat’s behind what you think, I never liked you anyway.

• Don’t worry-- I am all talk, no sincerity. I like you. I just hardly know you, that’s all. I get shy around people.

• I want a STATION WAGON again! So that I can tell people that they have to sit in “the Way Back.” Trish and I spent so many long hours seated in the Way Back of our family’s station wagon. We would look forlornly at the people driving behind us—it wasn’t much fun to have to face people in traffic. It makes you feel stupid. Sometimes we would wave, sometimes we would make faces or hold up signs that said funny things; like, CALL POLICE—WE’RE KIDNAPPED! and OUR DAD IS A FUGITIVE AND HE EATS PEOPLE and WHO FARTED? We were such kidders. Most of the time though? We zoned out with our Walkmans, listening to mix tapes we had made just the night before. Why was it so crucial to always make a new mix tape before a road trip? Whatever the reason, it is DAMN important.