This week on The Test, the gang reunites. We got together yesterday afternoon, after a long week of teaching, and crammed ourselves into my son Ian's bedroom, along with two microphones, and a laptop. We recorded three episodes in a row. The sound in there is sweet-- lots of corners and soft objects to break up the reverb, and the addition of a second microphone really improved what you can hear (it's one of my old condenser mics, connected with a Blue Icicle . . . we're living in the future).
While the quality of the recording is an improvement, and the quality of Cunningham's TV Theme quiz is superb, the quality of Stacey and Dave's brain power is lacking. Stacey waxes philosophically about her malfunctioning mind, and she sounds almost poetic about it: "I can't even remember my memories." I just get angry and indignant and blame having to work a five day week and then claim to have Alzheimer's.
We get our act together and come on strong by the end, however, and finish with an astounding display of verbal prestidigitation. Including some beatboxing.
Check it out, keep score, give us a good rating on iTunes and/or stitcher, and don't be stingy with the points (I'm certainly not).
Also, I bring up an incident which Whitney will recall better, with his elephantine memory. There was a fraternity brother of ours (the O-dog?) who would allow you to diminish the amount of paddling your pledge-ass received, if you could guess a TV theme song. He would only play a few notes of it, on his record player. When I tried my luck, he played the theme from Bonanza or something equally unidentifiable, and I failed to guess it. Then he missed my ass with the paddle and hit me in the hamstring. Ouch. So I could also blame my poor showing on the PTSD that TV theme songs trigger when I hear them in a competitive setting.