Silent but deadly? A guide to farts and farting

[Alternate titles: "Let 'er rip!" "Who cut the cheese?" "Break like the wind"]

For everyone who ever wanted to know the answer to the question, Are silent farts worse? Here is the answer from the guys at Asap SCIENCE (a great YouTube Science channel):



Note to self: Stay away -- or in front of -- people who consume lots of eggs, meat, and broccoli.

It had to be me

[Alternate titles: "I'm just wild about Harry (Connick Jr.)" and "It was the best of nights, it was the worst of nights."]

First, let me, in the words of Bing Crosby and Harry Connick Jr., accentuate the positive. Thanks to "Sleepover Night" at our daughter's day camp, the spouse and I found ourselves with the night off Thursday. And somehow we found ourselves in New York City drinking Champagne (or in the spouse's case, beer) and eating delicious French fare at one of our favorite little restaurants, Brasserie Cognac, on Broadway and 55th Street...






















then sitting in the eighth row of the orchestra section at Harry Connick Jr.: In Concert on Broadway at the Neil Simon Theater.

















To say that Harry Connick Jr: In Concert on Broadway was good would be a gross understatement. It was... amazing. And that is still selling it short. I wish I could have videotaped the concert (I had my camera and thought about it several times but the rather large usher hovering five feet away from me dissuaded me). Then I could have watched it again and again.

Not only was/is Harry Connick Jr. an incredible singer, he is an incredible musician and performer -- and also a really funny guy. And I doubt I was the only one in the audience who was disappointed when the concert finally ended around 10:30 p.m.

But all good things must eventually come to end. And in this case les bons temps stopped rouler-ing seconds after we walked out of the theater when I looked up and saw THIS:






















[Conjure image of Stephen Colbert shaking his fist in indignation:] DECKER!

It's like Brooklyn Decker is stalking me. Everywhere I look, there she and her breasts are (even on vacation, when we were flipping channels and happened to catch the ESPYs, there they were).

But Brooklyn Decker's double Ds were the least of my woes last night. For just as the spouse and I were drifting off to sleep, around 12:20 a.m., the phone rang. And I don't know about all of you but I have never had a good phone call at 12:20 a.m.

Sure enough, it was camp calling to inform us that J-THREE-O had sprained her ankle (trying to escape the embrace of a boy -- at midnight, on wet grass) and needed to be picked up. Now. So the spouse (as I can no longer carry our daughter) dutifully got dressed and drove over to the camp at 12:30 a.m.... literally picked up our daughter... drove her back home... and carried her up the stairs to the spare bedroom, which has a futon on the floor, whereupon I cleaned her feet and gave her some naproxen sodium and a kiss -- and stayed awake the rest of the night/morning, unable to sleep, only to discover upon (physically) getting up this morning that... we had no water. None. Not a drop.

So at 8:45 I packed up my toiletry kit and a couple of towels and a washcloth and drove to a neighbor's, so I could brush my teeth and take a shower and shave. (I LOVE YOU, G.! YOU ROCK!)

Fast forward eight or so hours... Still no water, but we have two nice new big holes in our backyard, and just found out we have to replace our water pump and all the wiring. All I can say is, glad we saw the concert last night, cause it's going to be a loooong time 'til we splurge like that again. But at least we should have our water back in the next hour or so... so I can do the laundry and the dishes and the cleaning. Yay!

As for J-THREE-O (aka Sarah Heartburn), she has a mildly sprained ankle (which is now in an air cast) and has been enjoying ordering her father around all day.

I will now end this blog post on a positive note, with this clip of (a much younger and thinner) Harry Connick Jr. singing "It Had to Be You," from When Harry Met Sally (one of my favorite movies):



Btw, Harry Connick Jr: In Concert on Broadway is being filmed for TV (and DVD) tonight, and when it airs/comes out, I'll be watching -- and you should, too.

Something stinks about AT&T's new Valentine's Day ad

Pepe Le Pew has sold out, to AT&T. Et tu, Pepe? I know times are tough for everyone, but this stinks.

I loved Pepe Le Pew growing up. He was one of my favorite cartoon characters (along with Marvin the Martian) on TV. So I was very upset to see the little skunk hawking the new Samsung Propel for AT&T. P U.

Even more disturbing is how AT&T has turned Penelope Pussycat into a brazen hussy, when everyone knows she typically tried to avoid Pepe like the plague.



What's up with that? What's next, Sherman and Mr. Peabody hawking IBM supercomputers?

And speaking of things that stink: I deleted my blog post on the new tell-all book by the Manhattan Madam, the woman who ran the "escort service" Eliot Spitzer used. (Though do check out her site to find out how much you are worth per hour!) A key piece of information was incorrect (I thought the book was written by Ashlee Dupre, the woman who brought Eliot Spitzer down, literally), and the real story wasn't nearly as exciting or titillating.