The End Of The Andy Reid Face Mask Meme -- I Can't Make This Stuff Up -- November 25, 2020

From ESPN: NFL says "face shields" no longer acceptable. NFL will only allow "face masks and/or double layer gaiters."

This almost qualifies for a two-fer.

I would love to see Reid come out wearing a MAGA mask! 

Non sequitur:  time must be slowing down for Joe Biden. I see a judge has stepped in and stopped certification of Pennsylvania's presidential votes. LOL. Probably wants to see the software code used in the voting machines. That would be a good start. And then "run the tape again." LOL.

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A Musical Interlude

It began with this.

From a reader this morning, after Corky re-surfaced:

My Boyfriend's Back, The Angels

Which led me to this: wiki link. 

Which led me to this:

P.S. I Love You, The Starlets

I sent that to the reader with these observations:

At some level this song/recording is so incredibly bad you can't help listening to it a second time. And a third time. LOL.

The scratchiness, the hauntingly slow beginning suggests something Kenneth Anger might use in one of his short films. 

Also, at the very beginning ... just after the introductory notes .... does this not take you to the Beach Boys' In My Room?

In My Room, The Beach Boys

And then, immediately following, there's a phrase/line -- musically and lyrically -- that sounds almost like "..and then I saw Santa Claus kissing you..." or whatever the song was ... 

Final observation: if David Lynch's movies were only a few hours longer, he would have incorporated this song. LOL. This song has/had "David Lynch" written all over it -- decades before David Lynch was even a thing. 

[One last thing: My Boyfriend's Back won't work for Sophia/Corky: Corky is a "she." The reader knew that but sent revised lyrics for the tune. LOL] 

On a completely different note, reading the wiki link and the comments over at YouTube's PS I Love You and My Boyfriend's Back I find myself wishing I had grown up in New Jersey, just across the river from NYC, or near the Jersey beaches in the 1950s. There's another connection, of course, my first true love, who passed away some years ago, was born and raised in Westfield, NJ, a bedroom community of NYC. I spent a lifetime in Westfield decades ago: for me it was a lifetime, for her, my visit was probably not much more than a blip in her life. 

And finally, the last connection: Sally Horner, Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita in the eponymously-named novel, lived just up the road from Wildwood and Cape May. She lived in Camden; her "new" boyfriend lived in Vineland.