As part of the NPR 100, our list of the 100 most important American songs in the 20th century Karen Michel examines the theme song from the 1971 movie, Shaft, composed by Isaac Hayes. Hayes was a vocalist and keyboard player at Stax Records in Memphis, when Gordon Parks asked him to compose the score for his movie about a black detective.

"I sharpened my +2 Pencil of Judgment, pulled out my Notepad of Wisdom (which gives my reviews a +3 clarity but often turns my fingers blue), shed my Cloak of Protection and settled comfortably in the Norrimbus Chair of Viewing to watch the newly released flick, Dungeons and Dragons.

I needed a Bag of Holding to contain all the vomit induced by this nauseating affront to motion pictures…"

When I entered the hotel I realized I'd never been inside before - it's an old Holiday Inn, built in the early 60s, and it's paved with that veiny white marble that looks as though it was quarried from Dinah Shore's uterus…

I can't describe how much fun this was. And how odd. Everyone ought to lead a parade once in their life, just to experience the curious sensation of marching down the middle of the street to cheers and hurrahs.

The world's most beloved bear has far more complex problems than an overfondness for honey.

Winnie-the-Pooh, argues an article in the Canadian Medical Association Journal, probably suffers from attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, as well as obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and needs to be put on a low-dose regimen of Ritalin as soon as possible.

"Pooh needs intervention," states the article based on a medical analysis by a group of Canadian pediatricians. "We feel drugs are in order."

In keeping with the Court's ambition to provide an unambiguous and unanimous decision in Bush v. Gore, and thereby legitimate the outcome of the 2000 presidential election, we present herein a majority opinion signed by Justices Rehnquist, Scalia, Thomas, O'Connor and Kennedy, with a partial dissent to the majority by Justices Rehnquist, Scalia and Thomas, a full dissent by Justices Stevens, Souter, Breyer, and Ginsburg, a partial dissent to the full dissent by Justices Breyer and Souter, a needling, invective-filled dissent to the partial dissent to the majority opinion from Scalia, a spitwad [attached] from Justice Stevens and a chunk of hair [attached] ripped from the head of Justice O'Connor by Justice Ginsburg during final deliberations.

The Court will note that it did manage on Tuesday afternoon to assemble a respectable 6-3 majority in favor of the Chinese take-out.

This Court acknowledges that, under the Constitution, a presidential election is truly a series of state elections, all procedures of which are presumed governed by state legislators and judges. We hereby void that presumption in states whose configuration can be described as "peninsular." This ruling, though admittedly unusual, is grounded in our belief that Florida is a rogue state whose judicial apparatus is facially null per 3 USC Section 5 Chapter 11 Verse 21 Footnote 8. None of the justices in the majority have actually read that clause recently but we vaguely recall it from law school…

A friend and I were discussing something with a range of options, and he was fairly easygoing. I think what he wanted to say was "Whatever floats your boat." What came out of his mouth was "Whatever lights your potato." We both burst out laughing, and it's been part of our group's lexicon for over 10 years now.

But a potato is almost impossible to ignite. That's why Paris, not Dublin, is the City of Lights. Your friend's remark is far from easygoing -- why, it's almost an expression of stubborn defiance. It's akin to saying "whatever compresses your diamond" or "whatever stuffs your turducken." For that matter, "whatever floats your boat" isn't so laissez-faire either, since it requires a fluid medium of the approximate viscosity of water.

No, I don't get invited to many dinner parties anymore; why do you ask?

I've been watching the Star Wars Christmas Special. No, I don't have a tape - it's a tiny tiny RealMedia version. Jerky and blotchy, with bad sound, but the true horror shines through. It's exhibit A in my brief against the 70s. People forget that one of the reasons for Star Wars' success was the dirt-pile decade into which it was dropped - it was bright, noisy, cheerful, featured Absolute Evil and Scrappy Good, and (WARNING! SPOILER AHEAD) Good triumphed in the end.

"Mmm… 64 slices of American cheese."

Ah, you sensual fellows and your delightful undemanding women. You are floating down a lovely river on a raft and not hearing the cataract just around the bend. Consider this scenario: Your wife learns everything and confronts you and you must leave your angelic children and go live at the Y, and your lovely devotee grows cool toward you, now that the affair has lost its illicit edge and you've become a sad guy in a rented room, and she takes up with a happy guy her age (the little vixen!); meanwhile your college notifies you that you've violated strict policies about intradepartmental sex, and offers you a severance package that you can't turn down. After a few years of shipping your résumé around and pleading and begging, you settle for a job teaching business writing at night at a community college. Meanwhile, your wife remarries, and your kids adore their stepdad and are wary of you, their minds having been poisoned by your bitter ex-wife. You grow old and gray, hoping for another magical young woman to plant one on you, but in night school, your students are exhausted working secretaries more interested in moving up to Human Resources than in having sex with a sad and aging prof. Your overcoat becomes shabby without your even noticing it. Sitting alone one night, eating your Spaghetti-O's and watching one sitcom after another, it suddenly dawns on you: I could have just said no.

It was billed as "the house America has been waiting for," and in house-hungry post-World War II America, the sleek, all-metal Lustron looked the part. The manufactured houses could be put up quickly, they never had to be repainted (wash and wax would suffice), and they offered the ease of hanging pictures with nothing more than a refrigerator magnet.

But the Lustron, recognizable for its exterior of square tiles and its interior packed with storage compartments, is now an endangered species in Massachusetts. […]

Radiant heat panels on the ceiling produce little dust, making the dwellings ideal for people with asthma and allergies. And long before the Americans With Disabilities Act, Lustrons were built with sliding pocket doors, making all rooms wheelchair-accessible.

For those with a love of postwar design, Lustrons are drenched in the look and feel of the era. Their porcelain enamel steel exteriors evoke the classic New England diner. Their pastel colors - surf blue, dove gray, desert tan, and maize yellow - are vintage 1950s.

It's a 1,000-square-foot shrine to a piece of 1950s kitsch that remains so potently tacky that Jackson himself cannot discuss it with a straight face.

The museum will be open for the first four Saturdays this month in the lobby of a 90-year-old hotel.

Inside is one of the world's largest private collections of vintage aluminum Christmas trees, 37 of them, covered with an even bigger collection of some of the world's most tasteless Christmas decorations, including an entire set of 40 Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker Christmas balls purchased at the old HeritageUSA.

"It's a lot like Disneyland," Jackson said when asked how long it takes to tour his most valuable asset. "Some people have to come back a couple of times to see it all. Others do it in 10 to 15 minutes. It all depends on how much you're into aluminum trees."

Which might explain why the museum is closed 361 days a year…