Beyonce lookin' proffesional and stuff at a screening of her new movie Cadillac Records

Of course Sasha Fierce took over at The Today Show

Jamie Foxx and T.I.

 They are the set of the new video of "Just Like Me"

Is that Nikki Hilton and Keyshia Cole

Ben Stiller, Jada Pinkett and Chris Rock at a Madagascar Screening.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5TH
TIM SIGLER BAND @ NARROWS SALOON
14900 165th Ave SE
Big Lake, MN 55309
(9:30PM-1:30AM)

 

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6TH
TIM SIGLER BAND @ MACALUSO'S ROADHOUSE
3857 LaBore Rd.
Vadnais Heights, MN 55110
(9:00PM-1:00AM)

 

 

For complete schedule information please visit www.timsigler.com

Thanks for supporting local music--Have a great weekend!

Tim Sigler
www.timsigler.com


Other Upcoming Shows:
SOLO ACOUSTIC THURSDAYS @ MACALUSO'S ROADHOUSE
3857 LaBore Rd.
Vadnais Heights, MN 55110
(9:00PM-1:00AM--LADIES NIGHT SPECIAL: LADIES DRINK FREE FROM 9:30PM-10:30PM)



Fri., Dec 12th - Tim Sigler Band @ Tavern on the Avenue in St. Paul, MN

Globally, this small isle is oft been mocked for its sexually repressed nature. "No sex please, we're British" laugh the liberated Swedes, as they sit naked in their saunas. "What a bunch of prudes" sneer the Dutch, as they stand in shop windows brandishing whips and chains.

But not any more. Today the Brits show the rest of the world what they are made of. The good people of England, Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales will come together in one happy bundle of love. They will say it loudly and they will say it proudly: "We are really good at having sex!"

Long pause.

"Casual sex!"

Yup, according to a new international sex index, we are the casual sex capital of the Western world.

I would like to think that this survey represents a new, sexually-liberated side to the UK, in which everyone is happily at it like rabbits, rutting their anxieties about the credit crunch away. Sadly, I rather suspect it has more to do with the fact that we are a nation of boozers and boasters, a nation who are still - at heart - really quite rubbish at sex.

One night stands are all very well in theory - in our minds, they are epitomised by Agent Provocateur lingerie, champagne, silk sheets and pure, animal lust - but in practice they usually involve a few cans of Special Brew, some rather unathletic manoeuvres and the vague recollection that at some point, you may have been a bit sick in your mouth.

Yep, as a colleague just remarked: "we are good at having casual sex precisely because we are so bad at having sex -  if we were any cop, we might actually want to do it more than just the once."

Thanks to Tall Cathy for sending us this story over. 

Police are looking for a 29 year old man that has been taking pictures of men in restrooms in the area. 

He has taken bathroom pics in Westmoreland and Indiana counties and more specifically the Murrysville and Monroeville areas.

CLICK HERE FOR THE ENTIRE STORY

CLICK HERE FOR THE ENTIRE STORY

Here are some UNRELATED pictures of Bob in the studio bathroom...

Saturday was Buddy's first day of formal training.  It's not a class, just one on one work with the trainer, who seems to know her stuff.  Right now, we're just working on the basics.  He's learning quickly and has gotten come, heal and sit down pretty well.  He's started sitting when he comes to us, without being asked, which is good.  The trainer gave us some "games" to play with him so he learns to obey all of us in the family.

So, as I'm sitting in the training room, getting ready to leave, I happen to glance out the window.  Now for reference, this place is in an area of Boise that used to be farm land and is now a bunch of commercial buildings, with some small fields separating developments.  So, as I said, I was looking out the window when low and behold a hen pheasant flies by!  I make a comment, "Hey, look at that!"  Then... not 10 seconds later, two roosters and another hen fly by!!  What the heck!!  No, wait, more birds... two more hens and one more rooster.  I couldn't believe it!  I had my shotgun in my truck, but it was in the middle of town, so obviously I couldn't shoot them.  I couldn't believe it.  That's where all the pheasants have gone - to TOWN!!  Go figure, lol!  :-(   ;-)

I can't even begin to explain how I feel about what happened. My apartment was ramsacked on thankgiving while me and my daughter was out visiting family. The crooks stole my Samsung Flat screen, PS3, cash, all computers and a lot of other personal electronics. The reason I am so devistated is that I am a at home single dad of a little 2 year old and I use those computers to work from home.

As well a lot of memories that was stored on these computers combined such as pictures of my daughter from the time she was born upto recently last week. Those were very precious to me and I can't fathom on how to get those back. They as well took what small amount of x-mas gifts that I bought for her under the tree as well.

I've been so depressed about this whole thing as well trying to keep smiling for my daughter. If you look at my videos on my profile, you will see my daughter enjoying Singstar Kareoke on PS3 which was one of our daily activities almost. As well, there is no tv anymore to sit in the living room and for her to enjoy the sprout channel or other cartoon movies.

So far this crime is pointing to a inside job by a staff person of the apartment community as there was no forced entry but a window was broken out in my daughters room to make it look like someone had broken into the apartment even though there was no muddy or snow footprints coming inside her room as well the window was pryed from the inside and not the outside of the place and the glass was outside on the ground.

Anyway, going to try and complain today to the leasing office and I don't know how far that will get me, but I'm going to try and get some leads as this just was not cool at all especially that we had to sit in the car for 2 hours plus waiting for the police only for them to say this isn't CSI or Law and Order. They didn't dust for prints or anything. I had to beg them to take a cigarette butt as evidence that was burning in the carpet left behind by the crooks... You would think DNA right? They gave me no hope in recovering or investigating this matter.

 

 

Window One

Bell

 

It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,
Snow swept the world from end to end.
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

Boris Pasternak

 

The storyteller died. It's been almost a year now and here comes December masquerading as an end again. Yet, contrary to what is popularly believed, time hasn't attended to unfinished stories or lessened sorrow. It hasn't attended to the disappeared and dead.

 

When Verity entered the kitchen at Dyer House, balancing chopped wood in her arms, winter's first snowflakes followed her in. Harvey, her marmalade cat, napping in her father's armchair, opened one sleepy eye, then promptly went back to sleep again. Kicking the green panelled door closed, she went over to the log burning range to drop the wood into the wicker basket beside it. Then, removing her snow dusted coat, she hung it on the back of the door and went to put the coffee pot on.

While coffee brewed on the range, the fire radiating out from it warmed the expansive kitchen, where, amongst other things, there was a rickety French dresser with its colourful collection of crockery and various assortment of books crammed onto its shelves, a sturdy wooden table upon which the remnants of a soup and bread supper had been left beside a shallow dish of clementines and hanging from various nails on the walls were dried bunches of rosemary, sage, thyme and lavender. Their fragrance was a comfort to her as were her father's slippers under his chair, his mahogany pipe, half full of blackened tobacco, on the table and his horn rimmed reading glasses lying on top of the book he'd been reading.

Sitting down beside the range, she picked up her seventh classic and turned to the page where she'd used her father's truth message as a book mark. What had started out as something enjoyable, beginning with A.A. Milne on her first birthday had since become something of a tradition. She was now the proud owner of seventeen truth messages extracted like pearls from seventeen classics and given to her by her father.

Reading it out loud to an uninterested Harvey, forming the words her father had selected from the book and written down for her, it occurred to her how odd it was that somehow in her girl's mind they'd made complete sense when she was seven.

 

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"

 

But now, almost eleven years later, it was as if she'd tumbled down the rabbit hole all over again with no end in sight.

There were supposed to have been eighteen, but he'd died before he could give her the last one. He'd tried to tell her once, she was certain of it, when she'd glimpsed her father's tears, but now there was only one truth she desired above all others; the truth about the disappeared and dead.

She'd no idea if such a truth existed in any of the classics to be found on the shelves of the British National Library. Her father had told her that there was a copy of every book that had ever been printed in English sitting in its vaults. He'd thought that was marvellous. Verity had asked him what would happen if there was a fire, having been regaled with his tales about the great library at Alexandria. He'd thought about that for a while and then told her not to worry because the vaults were fire proof and promised to take her there one day to see for herself. It'd never happened, like the time he'd promised to take her ice skating in the nearby town when they erected a temporary rink for the festive season. Inevitably, over time, she'd come to lose faith in the fruition of his promises.

The coffee pot whistled on the range, she put her book down and poured herself a coffee. Then, taking up the poker, she opened the range window to stoke the sleepy embers and add another log, just as Harvey stretched and yawned, causing his silver bell to jangle as if conjuring up the mysterious forces of air and spirit.

Outside the snow fell more quickly, covering the listening bench in a snow cushion, while inside the flames flickered and Verity, deep in thought, sipped her coffee.

 "You've your mother's sorrow," the storyteller whispered, while air escaped through the gaps in his teeth. His grey eyes darkened with whispers from the past, as he gently stroked her hair and called her his melancholy girl.

Becoming aware of the smell of burning pipe tobacco, Verity turned to find her father sitting in his armchair smiling at her as if he'd never left her. Pipe smoke curled around his fingers mingling with tufts of his white hair, looking like some mystic force that had materialised for her benefit.

She'd tried to convince him to stop smoking a few years back, but he'd told her that it was the only thing which calmed him, especially when times looked truly grim and death was the only certainty, but his smoking had only increased her own feelings of doom and gloom. As the smoke spilled out of his splayed nostrils it filled the room with potent silence, while the lines of his brow, etched in grim misery, spoke of something longing to be voiced curled up inside his breath and smoke. Maybe, she'd wondered, that's what had frightened her mother away, the certainty of death quietly smouldering away in the bowl of her father's pipe.

She turned back to the range as his words flowed through the fissures of her mind, drifting to a place where the sediment from all of his other stories had long since settled. Then, without a word, she reached into her cardigan pocket and produced the required coin, placing it down on the open book lying on the table between them. Reaching over, he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket.

"There was once a beautiful young woman, who rejected light. She was deeply troubled." He brought the pipe up to his mouth, inhaling quietly, while the bowl of fire glowed.

"Troubled by what?" Verity asked, as smoke spilled out of the storyteller's lips.

He didn't answer straight away, appearing almost perturbed at the way his daughter was eagerly waiting for the next part in the story. He stared at her for the longest time imaginable as if he'd forgotten who she was, but eventually said,

"Well, this beautiful young woman believed that she was unworthy of such a thing as a happy ending. You see," he continued, removing the pipe from his mouth, "to bag one takes great will and patience. There was just too much dust and too many spiders' webs in her world."  He sighed, but then sensing her chasm of simmering sorrow, his expression changed to one of quiet acquiescence.

"We storytellers are fated," he proclaimed, "to grant endings. We don't always succeed."

Yet Verity concerned that he was losing the thread in the story, couldn't accept his blatant apathy.

"I can buy an ending, can't I, like I used to." she interrupted quickly, knowing his endings were extremely rare, but hoped to catch him off guard. He'd denied her mother one after all. Surely, he couldn't deny her one too. He sighed, ignoring the second coin that she placed down upon the table, wondering what to say next. Finally when he spoke, it was with gravity unlike him.

"Endings Verity, incur the biggest cost of all," he solemnly declared, shaking his head this way and that.

"How much?" she persisted.

 "I've no ending for sale," he stated sadly. "It's the truth."

 "Why not?" she wailed, desperately searching his face for the one thing she longed for.

 "You wouldn't know what to do with it even if I had one." He stared into the range fire as if all endings to all stories were seared into the burning logs.

"But I don't know what comes next." She cried, picking up the seventh classic and waved at him.

"But sweetheart, nobody knows what comes next."

"But...," she persisted, standing up to add weight to her protest.

"Verity, Verity,' he stated in an attempt to placate her, "you're still holding onto this awful notion of what it is to be alive in a world where mothers disappear and fathers die as if it's the only way to be. It doesn't mean that you can't find the sprinkling of light in all this dust."

"Don't you think it's a little late to be telling me this? When will you stop treating me like a child?" She retorted, her face contorting in disbelief that he would dare say this to her now after all the chances he'd had.

"I never had you down as a quitter." He responded gently with a teasing smile.

"You tricked me into believing that you were the authority on what was coming next. You left me this heart, which I don't know how to follow, this head full of questions...."

"That's not fair," he interrupted.

"A head full of questions," her voice rose above his, "which I don't know the first thing about finding the answers to. I mean," she wailed, shoving the seventh truth message his way, "Who in the world am I?"

The storyteller sighed deeply as if everything he'd ever told her should have gone in one ear and right out of the other.

"It should never have been for me to speak your mother's story, or indeed, bestow truths upon you as if they are the only truths there are. As much as I steered you down my path, Verity, you just weren't meant for a godless world." 

As all his stories, all his truths, turned to ash before her, the fire died out and the ash cooled in the range. His parting words were as cold as the grave, coating the air around her with bleak morbidity.

"Mind the ghosts, Verity." 

But Verity was ill equipped to do anything as sensible as mind the ghosts.

Johnny V and new "friend"

http://elfyourself.jibjab.com/view/esGHfsl4SAiEguWM

We spent all weekend perfecting our dance moves...Dez and Moon were late as usual...Melissa wasn't feeling well...but we finally got this year's Christmas greeting done for you! Click on the link or cut and paste into your browser and then make your own!

We're back this week with more KS95 Birthday Bucks and more Greg and Melissa Holiday Deals to check out here too. Those kick off again at 8:20am Wednesday on ks95.com

ONE SLIP, YOU HEAR ME...

ONE GOT DANG SLIP AND I WILL GO OFF...

YOU CANNOT AND BETTER NOT MAKE A MISTAKE IN THIS TERM, YOU BETTER SIT, BE QUIET AND SMILE...

YOU PLAYING BILL LIKE THIS...

THIS AIN'T EVEN ABOUT BARACK THIS IS ME AND YOU...

LET ONE STEP FALL OUT OF PLACE AND YOU ALREADY KNOW...

YOU ALREADY KNOW THEY DON'T WANT YOU IN THAT OFFICE AND YOU KNOW YOU NEED ME IN THAT SEAT MORE NOW THAN EVER, MAKE ONE MISTAKE JUST ONE...

AND KEEP YOUR DISTANCE FROM MICHELLE AND THEM BABIES...

I AM NOT PLAYING, YOU KNOW I AM RIGHT! I AM ALWAYS RIGHT THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE TO WATCH ME... NOW PLAY WITH IT, I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO HIM, BECAUSE I KNOW YOU!!!

NOW SMILE:) AND DON'T SAY A WORD! SMILE!!!

9:53 YOU KNOW YOU DON'T EVEN MATTER WITHOUT ME I CANNOT BELIEVE... ANYWAY, I HAVE SAID MY PEACE AND LIKE I SAID... DON'T...

I KNOW I AM GOING TO SIT PRETTY FOR THE NEXT 4 YEARS I HAVE NO CHOICE... I HAVE NO CHOICE SO I PRAY THAT YOU HAVE PREPARED ME SO I AM ABLE TO DO SO, PRESIDENT ELECT ... AW HELL NAW BOBO!

I'm trying to fix the playlists.  Sorry for two playing at once

America's next First Family showed love in Chicago on Thanksgiving Day. I loves it!

I love that they have the kids out there with them.  Things like this keep them grounded.

T.I. did his thing with the turkey giveaways in ATL.

The Real Housewives of ATL star Lisa Wu Hartell posed with her Hubby and kids. The two older kids are from her previous marriage to singer Keith Sweat.

Halle was on the set of her new movie Frankie and Alice on Thanksgiving Day.

Brandy hit the stage in Detroit

And Ashanti kicked it at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

I would just like to share what my four year old nephew said to me yesterday. My family and I like to consider Sunday as family day, so we try to get together every week. So being the Sunday after Turkey Day, it was time to finish up the leftovers, hence we all over-ate AGAIN. So we're watching the 'I didn't think it could actually be this bad' game and all complaining about the stomach aches that set in. My nephew comes up to me and asks me to play wrestling (otherwise known as me laying on the floor and him doing belly slams on me)...so I explain to him that I'm laying horizontal on the couch b/c of I have a stomach ache. Then he says it, "Aunt Amy I always get a stomach ache when I watch the Bengals too...Daddy says if you turn it off, it'll make you feel better." Just Awesome.

I had basically given up on 98.7 because of the morning show, but I have recently discovered that it is back to MUSIC IN THE MORNING! I am so excited because no radio station even comes close to 98.7. Thanks so much for letting me keep my favorite station. :o)

cualquier amistad es bien benida

 

"Saying 'Islamic threat' over and over doesn't make it real”

“Years of peddled fear and demonisation have left vulnerable minorities more isolated and the world fixated by a myth”

I have a natural antipathy to extremism of any variety.  The anti-Islam feeling  being fuelled by the media and press and is undoubtedly growing. “ The war on terror” currently being fought in true Orwellian fashion by the inhabitants of “Oceania” has certainly some justification but it could be said that it may just be an excuse by the Ministry of Peace to further reduce the civil liberties of its hapless citizens.

The growing hysteria could be considered to be something of an "own goal"; how can marginalising Muslems everywhere improve things? Dehumanising millions? Does this sound familar at all?

In the forties and fifties the “enemy” was Communism.