Friday, January 27, 2006

What is next for Buffy?

So like I feel like I am having some weird out of body experience and like I'm not enjoying it half as much as I thought I would. I mean for starters, I'm Buffy, why am I all uptight and filled with ennui? You like that word? I just picked it up on my last photo shoot. The photographer was circling around taking pictures like they were candies on a secretary's desk and all asking me to look different ways:

You're a beautiful aardvark, make the world sing with joy as you smile! ... excellent! excellent! Now, I want you to make the world cry. Break the world's heart, Buffy. Make them wonder why such a beautiful aardvark is sad. ... excellent! excellent! You are making me cry right now. Yes, yes, you are. See this tear? That is me crying. ... excellent! excellent! Now, Buffy, I want you to make the world feel like an ant. Make everyone feel tiny and worthless and insignificant. ... no, no, no, no, you are looking angry! that is no good. People will think you want to eat them, I want them to feel worthless not like lunch. ... no, no, no, no, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! You are breaking my heart, but not in a good way. You must looked bored with the world. You are listless and disinterested because the world is not worthy of your attention. You must be filled with ennui. ... yes, yes, yes! ... excellent! excellent! You are making feel insecure about my photography right now. Even, I, a great artist, cannot escape your powerful ennui. ... excellent! excellent! ...


Oh my god, that photoshoot was like the best. I totally found my groove and channeled Garbo. Like I totally knew that I was doing a great job and that all my years of training and primping and spoiling myself were paying off. I'm not afraid to toot my own horn, so I will like come out and say that I rocked. Amelia was with me and totally agreed. Isn't that right, Amelia?

Amelia: Yes, I thought you did a very good job modeling, Buffy.

So like when I walk outside, there were all these pictures of me towering all over the place. And like not just up high, either. My face even greeted normal people just walking along the sidewalk and stuff.

For the apple of your I

I mean, shouldn't that sign just make me happy? For the Apple of Your I. That's a hot slogan, right? I didn't think of this one, either. Amelia did. They were trying to come up with something kind of sexy for me to sell perfume, but like I need to think about my long term image. This aardvark isn't doing anything sleazy, boys, so don't get your hopes up. So like we were stuck for a concept, but Amelia got this brilliant idea that like "aardvark" has two "a's" and "apple" start with "a" and apples all stand for original sin, but they're all wholesome since they keep doctors away. So like its illiterative and has illusions of literary pretensions.

Amelia: Excuse me, Buffy. The poster is alliterative and makes allusions to literature of prominence.

Oh, like is that what you said? That totally makes more sense. They were all blow drying my hair at that point and I could barely hear anything anyone said. Actually, they were blow drying my hair for most of the afternoon because I have so much of it. Wow, are those people obsessive about hair. Like I usually just roll out of bed and don't think about how I look cuz like I know that I am a natural beauty. But these makeup people are totally obsessed with looks and detail. Oh my god, they would have a cow if even one hair was out of place.

So anyway, the picture works because Amelia is a genius. She even came up with the slogan, "For the Apple of Your I." Like that phrase totally captures the aardvark mystique. It totally subverts your expectations because it looks contradictory, but you know it screams attitude. So I should feel good about the posters, right?

...

Why don't I?

...

I mean I've always wanted to be famous, right? And now I am finally getting my shot. So like my ambivalence makes no sense whatsoever. So I have spent a lot of time this week thinking about what is wrong.

At first I thought it might be seeing my face all over the place. Talk about existential crisis. Oh my god, not only am I not unique, but my image was mass produced and projected all over the place. Everywhere I went, I was like looming over watching me. That totally feels weird. Pudgie said I might have ailing vision, but that couldn't be the case cuz like I could see the signs perfectly. Like who wouldn't? They are so HUGE.

Amelia: Uh, Pudgie said that you might be alienated from your own visage.

Alienated from my own visage? Like what is that supposed to mean?

Amelia: I think Pudgie means that you normally decide where your image appears, and you normally only see it in the mirror. Seeing yourself all over the city in larger-than-life might be a little ... off-putting.

Like why didn't he just say that? Alienated? I'm a naturalized citizen. Or at least I think I am. I don't really have a social security number. All my modeling jobs have been strictly cash under the table affairs, if you know what I mean. And seeing yourself larger than life isn't off-putting, IT ROCKS! Oh my god, who wouldn't flip head over tails when they are on a billboard on Times Square?

Amelia I don't think I'd like it very much.

Okay, I suppose that is totally fair and stuff and that I should validate your experiences. And so, yeah, like, it might not be for everyone, but I definitely like being on posters. At first it was a little weird seeing good looking aardvarks everywhere, but when I got used to it, I saw that the world was a much prettier place for having my posters up. So the posters definitely aren't the source of my ennui.

So then I thought it might be because I have accomplished all my goals and I don't know what else to do with my life. I mean I've wanted to be a star and now like it has almost happened. But then I realized that like I'm totally not a star. I haven't appeared in "The Fashion Police" even once. I've never made the evening news for yelling at a police officer. No magazine has run a picture of me grocery shopping. Like I am SOOOOO FAAAAR from a star that it is not even funny. The only thing that makes me kind of a star is that people drive by my house slowly during the day and look in the windows to catch a glimpse of me.

Amelia: Buffy, um, yeah, Buffy, I think they are looking into the windows for things to steal. I don't think they know you even live here.

Oh my god, you have got to be kidding.

Amelia: No, no I'm not. I think they are casing our joint.

Like that stinks. What type of busted up, lame neighborhood are we living in? I knew that it wasn't a trendy area of town or anything, but I didn't think that I would be associating the criminal element. I'm never going to be famous at this address. Like this only underscores my point that wish fulfillment cannot be driving my ennui.

Amelia: That was a very nice use of psychoanalytic jargon, Buffy. I'm impressed.

Thanks, Amelia. I picked it up from my therapist. I figured all the stars have one and I'm not feeling aardvark fabulous, so why not start going to one? Like it is almost kind of fun. I just show up and we talk about my favorite topic, me! I mean I don't always like talking about how I feel, but it kinda helps me figure things out. Like this week, I totally made a big break through and zeroed in on why I'm kind sad. I knew something was missing from my life, but I just couldn't figure it out. Then it struck me ...

I don't have a crush on Brad Pitt anymore.

Like it was so simple and just staring at me this whole time. I no longer get goose bumps up my spine when I see Brad. I'm pretty sure that it isn't because he dumped Jenn, because I was totally into Brad after he and Jenn separated. And I don't think it is because he is living with Angelina, cuz I think I'd live with her too. Strike that. I KNOW I would live with Angelina. I don't know what it is exactly. Maybe I have outgrown my crush on Brad. Like it was okay when I was younger and just starting out in the celebrity business, but now it just doesn't fit. And that kind of makes me sad, you know? Like when you wake up one morning and discover your favorite pair of jeans don't fit. I mean, I still think he is hot and all. I mean he is SO hot. But I just don't feel all tingly.

So I need someone to replace Brad as my crush, but I just don't see any good candidates out there, right now. Johnny Depp has always been a reliable fall back for crushes, but the timing is all wrong. He looked creepy in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I might need to wait for his next movie to come out. Orlando Bloom grew facial hair and doesn't look anything like Legolas anymore. Legolas was definitely worthy of a crush. Will Turner was just boring in Pirates and Elizabethtown just looked pathetic. Oh my god, Cameron Crowe has totally lost his touch. Say Anything, Singles, Jerry Macguire, those were all classic chick flicks. Almost Famous was a little too self-congratulatory for this aardvark's taste, but it still had some charm. And then like his movies fell off a cliff onto a big pile of elephant dung. Vanilla Sky was bad at the word hello. None of this matters, cuz like the point is that there is no one out there worthy of a crush at the moment.

So like does anyone know of any cute, smart, talented, charsimatic, and really cute actors? Young ones?

Friday, January 20, 2006

Bear or Not Bear: Fish Slippers

Once again, I turn my attention to the vexing question as to what precisely falls into the category "teddy bear." While I do not subscribe to a Platonic notion of an ideal Form teddy bear, I do --

Goofball: I object! I reckon that I'm pretty close to an ideal form of teddy bear.

Pudgie: I'm discussing Platonic Forms not --

Goofball: I'm soft. I'm furry. I'm adorable. I love cuddling. I can dance. I am an accomplished raconteur. My paws even make an adorable castanet sound when I clap my paws together. AND I've got personality to spare. Sure, I have my drawbacks, who doesn't? Some say that I too comfy and they can't stop cuddling with me. Guilty as charged. Others claim that I am too cute and I distract them from work. Again, I have to plead the Fifth. Aside from these drawbacks, I figure I'm about as good as a teddy bear can get.

Pudgie: Are you finished?

Goofball: I've had my say.

Pudgie: Good. For, as I was trying to explain, I do not believe there is one abstract archetype of teddy bear floating around in the ether to which all teddy bears strive. ... (pause) ... Hmmmm. I'm surprised that you haven't interupted me yet.

Goofball: Why would I? I'm not abstract and I'm not floating around in ether alcohol. I'm as real as real gets, baby. That is the best part about me. You can pick me up and cuddle. I have no problem with what you just said.

Pudgie: I can't decide whether you willfully conflated diethyl ether with ancient notions of the heavens or not. If I were a betting bear, I would guess the former, but this household never ceases to surprise me. To continue my thought, should there be no further interuptions, I do --

Wagsy: Um ... that's a bad assumption to make, Pudgie. People are always interupting my posts.

Pudgie: I see what you mean. Apparently, --

Wagsy: You know, for an empiricist, you seem to ... um ... miss a lot of the patterns around here.

Pudgie: I try to avoid contact with most of you for reasons that are now all too obvious. I also consider myself more of a pragmatist in the vein of William James and Hilary Putnam, rather than an empiricist in the tradition of Descartes, Locke, Berkeley and Hume. I suppose that should make me adept at recognizing consistent patterns of behavior, as you suggest, but I retain some glimmer of hope that the maturation process will eventually take root in this household. The ability to follow a high level argumentative thread for more than three seconds seems to be a lost art.

Wagsy: Um ... --

Pudgie: Before you can interject anything further into my narrative thread, I would like to introduce the objects under consideration today.

Are fish slippers teddy bears?

Wagsy: Oooh, fish slippers. I hear they are very comfy.

Goofball: I don't know about comfy, but they crack me up.

Pudgie: The question is not the mirth value of fish slippers, but whether or not they constitute bears.

Goofball: No. Slippers are things you wear on your feet. You'd don't wear bears on your feet. Hence, the fish slippers are not bears. QED.

Wagsy: Um ... I dunno, Goofball. They have eyes. I'm not sure I could wear anything with eyes. Um ... especially on my feet. They would be looking up at me and I'd feel bad about wearing them.

Goofball: But people DO wear these fish slippers. I've seen it. You've seen it. Guests put on the fish slippers and begin to giggle about how silly they feel. Articles of clothing are not bears.

Pudgie: What about backpacks?

Goofball: What about backpacks?

Pudgie: Are backpacks bears?

Goofball: No. That is why they are sold in the school supplies aisle and teddy bears are sold in the family member adoption aisle. The canvas ones don't even look anything like teddy bears.

Pudgie: What about backpacks like this one?
Very cute teddy bear backpack from Gund
Pudgie: This backpack certainly passes the looks test.

Goofball: Wow. She's a backpack?! She's pretty cute.

Pudgie: I assure you that she is a backpack. I assume from your use of a gendered pronoun that you are softening your position that clothing cannot be teddy bears.

Goofball: Depends. Is someone wearing the backpack?

Pudgie: Possibly. For the sake of argument, let's say yes.

Goofball: Is the person wearing the backpack also storing things in her?

Pudgie: Sure.

Goofball: Gross stuff? Like food? Lunch meat? Yuck. I like singing about bologna, but I wouldn't want any bologna in me. I'm a lover, not a refridgerator.

Wagsy: Um ... I agree. I think it is a very cute backpack, but if it is storing food, then it isn't a bear. Um ... it doesn't seem very sanitary.

Pudgie: So the concensus is that food storage devices cannot be teddy bears by definition?

Goofball: You betcha! I'll take this argument a step further and back full circle to the fish slippers. If an object is used for something gross, then it is no longer a teddy bear. People put their smelly, stinky feet in the fish slippers and walk around the dusty floor in them. That is not the life of a bear, those are slippers!

Wagsy: Very forcefully said, Goofball.

Goofball: Why thank you. Not only am I a raconteur, I am a great polemicist.

Pudgie: Allow me to push you on this conclusion, oh Thrasymachus.

Wagsy Um ... his name is Goofball, Pudgie. Not Thra - mishma-ma-gish.

Pudgie: (sigh) Do you agree with the conclusion of our last discussion of teddy bear categorization that any plush toy loved by a person has the potential to be a bear?

Goofball: Yeah. That seems about right to me.

Pudgie: But suppose that a child loves the backpack. She hugs the backpack, has tea with the backpack, tells secrets to the backpack, and generally treats the backpack like a bear.

Goofball: Then the backpack is a teddy bear.

Pudgie: Imagine that the child loves the backpack so much that she takes it with her everywhere. Since the most convenient way to carry a backpack is to wear it, she wears the backpack using the shoulder straps.

Goofball: I don't see any problems so far.

Pudgie: Suppose further that she also uses the same backpack that she loves and hugs to carry school supplies. Perhaps even to carry a messy peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Goofball: Then she's not treating the backpack like a bear any more and it isn't a bear.

Pudgie: But if you are still loved, can you stop being a bear?

Wagsy: Um ... Pudgie makes a good point, Goofball.

Goofball: This is all cloud talk. No one loves their backpack AND uses it like a backpack. And you can't bring peanut butter into schools any more. You're operating in Cloud Cuckoo Land, oh philosopher.

Pudgie: Touchee, Aristophanes. I appreciate the allusion. Still, I must disagree with your point and offer a counter-example to your supposition that such a scenario cannot exist. Harriet's niece owns a backpack very similar to this one:
A handsome Olivia backpack
Pudgie: Harriet's niece loves the backpack, includes the backpack in important teddy bear social events, sleeps with the backpack at times, and still uses it to carry around crayons and other messy objects.

Wagsy: Oooh, it's true. It's true. Um ... I've never envied Olivia's life in that household. She gets a lot of wear and tear.

Pudgie: Since Olivia is loved, comfy and has identifiable facial features, one would conclude that she is a bear. Since she is loved even while being used as a backpack, she remains a teddy bear. Thus, one would conclude that your proposed criteria for bear-dom is deficient.

Goofball: Hold on there, buster. Wait just --

Pudgie: That concludes our discussion of bear essentialism for today.

Goofball: You can't end this post. I'm still talking.

Pudgie: I'm afraid that you are once again mistaken, my enthusiastic friend. Good night. I'm retiring to the study to read and listen to Bach.

Goofball: Wait! Don't end this post! You're cheating! I'm not done arguing yet! You don't use people you love to store peanut butter and jelly sandwichs! Besides, this post is about fish slippers not about backpacks! If you loved them, you wouldn't put your stinky feet in the fish slippers! Please don't end! I have more to say! Keep reading! I'll still --

Monday, January 16, 2006

Bad News for Da Bears

Hi there. Goofball here in the Bend. It was a good weekend for couch sittin'. Lots of football and ice skating to watch. Extreme Home Makeover offered up a dolphin themed bedroom that made my eyes hurt. Wow, what were they thinking? I've never been to the ocean, but I developed a phobia of dolphins just seeing the room on television. Everything in moderation my friends. One pillow is comfy, 100 pillows is suffocating. I didn't get as much cuddling with my girl as I hoped for, but all-in-all I'd say it was a better than average weekend for me.

What can I say? It was a bad weekend for the Bears. Losing at home in the playoffs to an expansion team? Okay, okay, losing at home in the playoffs to a really good expansion team. I expected the offense to struggle. I've got nothing but love for Tom Jones -- "it's not unusual" for TJ to run for 100 -- though he's not the type of guy who can carry an offense. The passing game was brutal in the first half. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised cuz Grossman doubled the number of passes he attempted THIS SEASON. Read that stat again: 39 passes this season, 41 passes in the game. That is crazy. Since the Bears lost, a lot of people have questioned Lovie's decision to sit out Grossman, but I'm not going to fault the man. Grossman is the Faberge Quarterback: good looking, but expensive and fragile. I'm worried about Grossman every time he takes the grocery bags out of the car. Has another quarterback ever made you say, "Gee, I wish he had the durability of Chris Chandler?" I betcha not.

It was the performance of the defense that made me cringe. Steve Smith gained more yards than the entire Bears passing game. Everyone in the stadium knew that Delhomme would be throwing to Steve Smith every play, but the man still caught 12 for 218 and 2 TDs. Bland name, but the man has game. Double teamed, cover 2, didn't matter. The Bears had no answer and now they will be sitting on the couch watching the next round just like me.

The man I really felt sorry for was Tony Dungy. No one should be asked to coach a football team weeks after his son committed suicide. I know he made the choice to coach and I'm sure that he did a good job, but the game just can't seem that important. Maybe I should make the drive down to Indy this week and give Tony a big hug. He seems like he could use the love of a good bear right now.

Past that, not much to report here. I'm still cute and cuddly. The ladies still love me. I suppose the biggest thing to happen to me is that I made Andrew Lawrence's mailbag on SI.com. I'm glad that he liked my analysis of Eeyore. Actually, Mr. Lawrence implicitly defers to my reasoning in general, which shows that the man has a good head on his shoulders. But I still give the man props for writing the best article on teddy bears and sports ever. ... okay, I'll admit that it is the only article on sports and teddy bears that I have ever found, but I enjoyed reading it and that is more than I can say about most stuff on the web (yeah, yeah, yeah, Peter King likes coffee and Brett Favre -- ever think what PKing might write if Starbucks came out with a Favre flavored latte?). Thanks for the links Andrew, you deserve a bear hug, too.

That's it from the Bend. Still spectating and speculating.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Relatives in Bad Situations

Um ... hello. Sorry that we haven't posted lately. Classes are starting up, so the bears have been busy napping. You see, we have to save up our energy so that we can look extra cute and cuddly when Ozzie and Harriet come home. Usually Harriet is tired, so if we try really hard, we can pounce and get her to nap. Oooh ... pre-dinner naps are very nice. Maybe not quite as good as the mid-morning nap, but definitely one of the better naps in the day.

Um ... hmmm ... um ... I'm not sure where I was going. Um ... um ... I don't have much to say, but I feel like chatting. Um ... I don't know why I feel like chatting. Maybe it is because Harriet has been busy lately and I am feeling clingy. Or maybe it is because it is cold and rainy and gross outside and that always makes me want to cuddle. The blog isn't quite the same thing as cuddling, but ... um ... actually, it isn't anything like cuddling. I'm just feeling chatty.

Cold and rainy days like today make me very grateful that Harriet is my person. I have a warm home, comfy bed, and even my own chair. I really can't imagine what my life would be like without Harriet.

Um ... I say that, but then I come across this picture.


~~Is This Yours?~~
Originally uploaded by CeeCeeDotCa.



Um ... that sure looks like a Wags Dog in a tree with snow on his head. Um ... it might even be a close cousin. Um ... this picture is disturbing. It's like I am looking into an alternative universe. Oooh, I don't like this universe.

Pictures like these lead a bear to ask a lot of questions. How did he get up in the tree? Why did they leave him up there? Did the photographer get him down? Will he be okay? Is snow good for the fur? Um ... what is the opposite of warm and comfy?

Mostly this picture makes me sad.

Um ... I think I'll go hug my bunny, George.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

My Marketing Campaign

Oh my god, like I probably don't need to tell you this cuz the ads are everywhere, but like my new publicist totally hit the ball out of the park and I'm completely stoked. Like oh my god. So like I just signed a deal to be the signature model for a perfume company. I totally didn't see it coming, but like it totally did come. And it hasn't gone yet, either, so like I know it isn't a dream. Or if it is a dream, then I am still asleep, so like I'll celebrate really quietly. yeah yeah yeah yeah!

Okay, so like I am not the spokesaardvark for a hot brand like Dior or CK or Lancome, but like whatever. I got the gig. The marketers took one look at me and decided to build the entire campaign around me. I don't think the marketers were American and that probably helped. They kept giving me all these dubious compliments like "You have legs like a cow" and "Your eyes are big like dinner plates." I'm like 90% sure that these were intended as compliments, but a less self-assured aardvark would be like all flipped out or something. Like it is totally conceivable that I misunderstood them cuz like their accents were pretty thick. So he might have said my eyes were big like "sinner gates," which I guess would be high to keep the bad people out of Heaven. Or perhaps he said "winner fetes," which would have to be awesome because losers throw lame parties cuz like who wants to celebrate a loss?

Anyways, the point is that I am now a gainfully employed model. They even named the perfume after me, "Essence de Aardvark." Isn't that like the best name for a fragrance you ever heard? And then they came up with all types of great slogans for the ad campaign promoting my perfume. Oh my god. That might have been the best sentence I ever wrote, so like I'll type it again just to seize the moment. "They came up with great slogans for the ad campaign promoting my perfume." Isn't that bliss?

And since noone has ever heard of the company, they decided to spend a lot on high profile advertising. Here is a billboard on Broadway ...

Why Feel Like an Ant?

Isn't that totally awesome! Who would have thought that my face would end up on Broadway! And isn't that slogan boss? "Why Feel like an Ant?" It's so true. I came up with that one. Originally, it was going to be, "Why be the ant, when you can be the aardvark," but like that didn't fit on a billboard. So we shortened. I think the average New Yorker will be able to figure it out. I mean they have to have ants in the Big Appler, right?

And here is the coup de grace!

All Attitude and No Apologies

My face is towering over Times Square. And it isn't even the old and sleezy Times Square. I'm like totally ruling over the new, corporate sellout Times Square. I'm like sky high. And the slogan is totally me, but I didn't come up with this one. "All Attitude and No Apologies." Who wouldn't want to smell like attitude? So much better than smelling like apology. I'm not even sure what that means, but I bet there is an unpasteurized European cheese that approximates the smell of apology at room temperature and that is just gross.

This is totally the break I needed. Like the perfume might reak, but I couldn't possibly care less. These guys are keeping me in fancy clothes and getting my face out there. Every billboard for the perfume is also a billboard for me. They are paying me for the honor of advertising me. It's a totally sweet deal.

You know, I was feeling a little sorry about firing my old publicist, but like it was totally the right thing to do. He just wasn't getting me the level of exposure that I needed. But like my new publicist scored major points here, so I made the right decision and I'm not going feel sorry for what I did.

Buffy ... All Attitude and No Apologies

the other slogan would work for a sign off, too

Buffy ... Why Feel like an Ant?

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Touching Gift

For the past twenty years, I have been involved in academics in one form or another. I have advised one tenure case, a series of promotions, and two dissertations. I have traveled to conferences on several continents and am well respected among my peers. My career has been rich and rewarding. And, yet, I have never been so touched before.

Ozzie bought me a desk and chair for Christmas.

Professor Pudge Bear now has a desk

In all of my years of service and tireless work in the pursuit of knowledge, I have never had a workspace to call my own. At first I shared Harriet's desk, but then I spent years sharing an office with Harriet's father. The last few years have been spent overseeing the rats nest that Ozzie calls an office, trying to find a few square inches of uncluttered space on which to scratch out my notes. And now, I have a desk to call my own.

I could not think of a better gift than a desk. I certainly have interests outside of economics. I enjoy reading classic works of literature or listening to concertos performed by brilliant musicians. But academics are a part of every fiber in my being in a way that art appreciation is not. A desk is more than a mere platform from to dive into deep intellectual waters, it is an altar at which I can homage to God and the commune with the great thinkers.

In many ways, Ozzie is a disappointment to me. He asks small questions about inconsequential topics. Ozzie might have the potential to make theoretical contributions to our store of knowledge, but one would never know because of his perverse fetishization of measurement and bounded certainty. His training and library are exquisite, but his intellectual curiosity was pruned at some point, and there is little evidence of re-newed growth. Harriet could have certainly done worse for herself, but Ozzie appears deficient with regards to innate talent and work ethic.

However, Ozzie is, at root, a decent fellow. He cares deeply for Harriet and that is the most important part of a marriage. Ozzie is generally thoughtful and considerate of his friends and peers. Ozzie takes the time to think about what people really want and need in life. Thus, he saw that I wanted more than anything my own desk, and he procured this wondrous piece of oak. I never could have articulated my desire, but Ozzie saw.

Thank you, Ozzie, for this wonderful and precious gift. 2006 will be a good year for me, no matter what the fates bring.

Working away

On second thought, Ozzie might have just given me the desk to increase my productivity on his behalf. I suspect that it is impossible to disentangle the competing motives for the gift. But for now, I will bask in the glory of my desk and give Ozzie the benefit of the doubt.

Happy New Year!

Um ... hello! I thought we'd offer you a Happy New Year. 2005 was a good year for the bears, I hope that 2006 is just as good. Or better. Yeah, yeah. Better would be good, too.

Um ... we'd like to show you how we spent our New Year's Eve, but Ozzie and Harriet were very sick, so they went to bed early, so our celebration was pretty tame. Goofball did wear a lamp shade on his head, but I think he was just being silly. Maybe when Ozzie and Harriet wake up we can post our photos of New Year's.

In the mean time, here is a picture from a friend of ours in Germany. Bananabear and his friends look awfully cute watching the fireworks.


first pic in 2006
Originally uploaded by bananabear.