Andy’s server hard drive crapped out the other night, and although he gets a gold start for backing up on a regular basis, I noticed that a few of the most blog entries didn’t survive. But after Googling “turkeymonkey,” clicking on the caches of recent posts, and cutting and pasting the text, they’re all back for your viewing pleasure.

Dear Santa,
I would like a pair of albino Pygmy Marmoset monkeys. Or as I call them, mini turkeymonkeys. That is all.
Thank you.

As a staffer at an obscure community lifestyle magazine, it’s impossible for me not to look lustfully at the mastheads of national mags like Esquire and Vanity Fair. And yes, I confess to subscribing to the creepy career-voyeur newsletter that is mediabistro’s “Revolving Door.” But what about the magazine that I obsess over most — i.e. The New Yorker — which don’t publish its editorial staff?

Enter Mastheads.org, a site devoted entirely to cataloging the current staffs at magazines. The New Yorker is there, as is just about every other national pub. My only big question: Where’s InTown?

Yes, it’s true, I’ve seen the version of “Snakes on a Plane” for those who get the Senior Citizen’s discount. Its a sadistic little film called “The Boynton Beach Bereavement Club.” I’m still in a state of minor shock that Ana and my mother dragged me to see two hours of retirement community widowers attempting to get it on in Florida, while throwing nostalgic 1950s sock hops and surfing the listings at Match.com. Troubling. Very troubling. At the very least, I can console myself in the fact that, after being five movie picks in the hole with Ana, I’ve now earned those five back and then some. Such is the price she pays for taking me to a theater with nobody under the age of 65.

There is something deeply troubling about this blog, which I must now come clean about: I have yet to post about John Hodgman‘s “The Areas of My Expertise,” perhaps the single greatest 500-words-per-sitting bedtime-reading tome ever collected into a hardcover binding. And while I am not particularly proud of not plugging the book — of effectively trying to hoarde all of Mr. Hodgman’s complete world knowledge, including matters historical, matters literary, matters cryptozoological, compilations of all the presidents who had hooks for hands, 700 hobos named and illustrated, the mystical secrets of Yale university, the dark side of the food court at the Mall of America, squirrel and lobsters and eels … especially the eels — but at this point, I can still atone. Which is to say, if you simply click on the icon at the center of the image below, follow the instructions outlined in the video, and kindly post comments to TurkeyMonkey the blog in thanks, all will be forgiven.