. . . it’s BummerNacht, which marks the kickoff to the 2009 Festival of Zappadan! Burnt weeny sandwiches for everyone at St. Alfonzo’s Pancake Breakfast!
The faithful among you need no reminders, but for the noobs, Frank Zappa was taken from us on Dec. 4 and subsequently born on Dec. 21. As Blue Gal recounts, The Aristocrats (as is their God-given right) designated this period Zappadan — “the days of the year between death and birth, that ethereal time when there was no Frank, so we must celebrate him to keep his spirit safe until his birthday again. Or it’s just a great excuse for a party that has nothing to do with the greed and debt festival known as Christmas in America.”
I myself have already experienced a first Miracle of Zappadan. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight, and lo, when I went to the ’fridge to see what squatted therein, like a Toad of the Short Forest there appeared to me a vast tureen of chili con carne, and the fact that I made about six quarts of this swill the other day is not germane to this conversation. ¡Que milagro!
Mark Hoback is hosting this year’s celebration at his revived website, Fried Green Al Qaedas. Go thou and do likewise, lest The Central Scrutinizer afflict thee with Stink-foot.
Mad Blog Media 
Found chili is indeed a Zappadan miracle. Don’t doubt it for a minit. Lovely tribute here and welcoem to the party.
I have a hard time celebrating Zappadan these days, it just got so commercialized. I mean, the Zappadan ads and decorations in the store started going up in October, what’s with that?
5 degrees in Grand Junction this morning, and there is a psycho-cross race scheduled for Fruita at 9am. I had planned on attending to root on the few, the brave, the nuts, and the freezing participants, but I’ve decided that I prefer warmth and life to cyclocross…at least for the morning. Alas, my cow bells will be silent today.
Our own local version of Critical Mass is participating in the Grand Junction Parade of Lights this evening, so I’ll be decorating my towner bike and joining the fun. Still, there’s something ironic about a culture-jamming Critical Mass group ride participating in a christmas parade. I think we’ve lost something. Hell, I KNOW we’ve lost something.
Where’s Zappa when you need him?
Watch out where the Huskies go!
If you weren’t my daughter, I’d….
What would you do Daddy?