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For all the Mr. Belvedere fans out there, here’s a treat. The FULL theme, courtesy of YouTube. The video is a bit squished, but that won’t keep the jingle from embedding itself in your head the rest of the weekend.

Unfortunately, SNL’s “The Guy Who Plays Mr. Belvedere Fan Club” skit from 1992 is nowhere to be found. I did find a transcript.

And while we’re living the good life (yet), Christopher Hewett — the man behind the magic — was the first entry in my “Retro-bituary” series last year at YesButNoButYes. I honored a handful of celebrities whose deaths were under-reported. And lives under-appreciated. Those were some good times.

UPDATE: “Brocktoon” is one of the most popular search terms leading people to this site.  Gotta give the people what they want.  I found three clips of the Brocktoon sketch on YouTube. Here’s a taste:

Clip 1 (Phil Hartman) 

Clip 2 (Mike Myers)

Clip 3 (Adam Sandler)

Comments on his two picks, from ESPN Draft Expert Chad Ford:

Renaldo Balkman? He plays with great energy and is a great athlete, but he averaged fewer than 10 points per game at South Carolina. No other team would’ve taken him in the first round. He has no skills other than running the floor — think of a poor man’s Darius Miles. He would’ve been a decent second round pick — a guy who might have made a roster. Wow.

Mardy Collins? He doesn’t have a position, is a below average NBA athlete, and he can’t shoot. And he’s the Knicks’ sixth combo guard. Let’s just get it over with — Isiah’s getting an “F.”

Put another way, from my friend Brett, via text:

Who the fuck is Renaldo Balkman?

Isiah is the biggest wild card in sports. It’s like having someone’s girlfriend in your fantasy football league, because you needed an even number of teams. Never know what she’s gonna do, or even if she’s paying attention.

The following is a re-enactment of a conversation between my mom and two of her elderly neighbors:

Neighbor #1: What a week. First my car dies, and it’s been in the shop all week. And now my brother’s in the hospital. He’s not responding to treatment.

Neighbor #2: Do they know what’s wrong?

Neighbor #1: No, which is the frustrating part. I wish they’d find something, so I’d know what we’re dealing with.

Neighbor #2: Oh, that happened with my car. It was the alternator.

Zing!

My mom’s role in the conversation was laughter suppression.

We haven’t been properly introduced.

It’s my fault. A post titled “Who Am I? Why Am I Here?” has been parked in my drafts folder since Monday. A State of my Union. Deciding exactly what said post says takes me back ten years.

Back in 1996, in a shameless resume-building exercise, I ran a successful campaign for Senior Class President. The position was largely ceremonial, with three notable exceptions. First, my name was forever carved onto the Gavel of Leadership, a strange statue that rests proudly in the display case across from the main office. (I guess that’s pretty ceremonial as well. There was, in fact, a ceremony. Yellow roses and candles were somehow involved. I’m not making this up.)

Second, I entered into a de facto agreement to plan and execute all future reunions. In 2002, by the power vested in me, I declared our five-year unnecessary.

Then there was that third responsibility: the graduation speech.

Nobody remembers what I said. Not my classmates, not my parents, not even me. It wasn’t funny, didn’t make you cry, didn’t make you think. At some point, approaching deadlines and declining confidence prompted me to abandon the desire to make it memorable. I spoke clearly, hitting every syllable. But I didn’t enunciate anything.

Ten years later, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll take all the time I need. I know “Who Am I? Why Am I Here?” will be far more memorable than my Class of ‘97 graduation remarks. Even if I can’t remember what they were.

This place is a work just barely in progress. As I attempt to choose a layout, I figured it would help to post something. I crawled into my archives and pulled out this, from Father’s Day ‘05.

To celebrate Father’s Day, TiVo has put together a list of the Top 25 TV Dads. Here’s the Top 5:

1. Cliff Huxtable (The Cosby Show)
2. Sheriff Andy Taylor (The Andy Griffith Show)
3. Pa Ingalls (Little House on the Prarie)
4. Howard “Mr. C” Cunningham (Happy Days)
5. Ward Cleaver (Leave it to Beaver)

The creepy Father Dowling publicity photo notwithstanding, I would have given Mr. C the top spot. But I think a more interesting list would be The Worst TV Dads. My list starts with three…

Ross Geller (Friends) — Entire seasons went by without even a mention of little Ben. They paraded out that kid from Big Daddy a few times, but Ross was borderline deadbeat. When Rachel was supposed to move to Paris with his second child, Ross didn’t show an appropriate level of dismay. Like many unhappy parents, it seemed like the writers just regretted Ben’s conception.

Frasier Crane (Cheers, Frasier) — He pissed away his thirties in the bar, then picked up and moved 3,000 miles away from his toddler son. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist (or an insightful radio talk show host) to know Frasier had parenting issues.

Derek Morris (Saved By The Bell) — The only way his son could get through to him was on a football-sized cell phone.

Honorable Mention: Paul Young (Desperate Housewives), Darrin Stephens (Bewitched) Joe Simpson, Toby Ziegler (West Wing), Richard Hatch.