The Skeleton Didn't Cross the Road Because He Didn't Have The Guts.

Friday night, perfect Autumn weather, and it is Halloween. We expect a heavy turnout this evening. This has to be a boost to the economy. The candy aisle at Meijer was packed this afternoon. Folks were grabbing treats even before they were put on the shelf. I wonder if I could get tax relief for the charitable contributions I'll be making this evening?

The dogs are ready, This is their favorite night of the year. They go nuts each time someone comes to the door. Some of the tots are startled by our little critters, but the kids who live near us all say hello to Bosco and Smooch. The doggies wear bandannas. They're dressing up as "reptiles" again. The pattern on the bandanna cloth is of green scales. Scary stuff. The F.B. I. (Bosco and Smooch - Food and Beverage Inspectors) get a treat each time they stand down while the candy is handed out. Visiting dogs also get treats.

I actually like this silly event. I used to hate it when I taught. The kids were geeked up on October 31st and in a stupor for days after the sugar crash.

Sorry about the scary picture. It's just for fun.

Double Take

Wasn't the movie, Zack and Miri titled Zack and Miri Make a Porno last week?

It's true.

John McCain served time in a prison.

More legless statements than this have been suggested by the RNC and their robo candidates about Obama. OK, fine, dirty politics have been with us since ancient times. I'm more troubled that so many folks seem to believe such statements. I've been all over their ignorant asses for many months on this blog for non-political misdeeds.

These kind of folks latch onto buzz words and catchy mantras like tapeworms on an intestinal wall. Many can't grasp the logic as to why the unfair comment is a zinger. Obama is a terrorist. Good enough for me. He's going to take your money and give it to all the Negroes. Just as I figgered.

For the most part, these people are harmless. They buy ShamWows. The believe that Sasquatch is real. They spend money to text in a vote for reality show contestants. They boast that they will make 250K per year despite the lack of a plumbing licence.

These people have intertwined ignorance and fear. They are the consummate sycophants. They are the masses that chant in support of their repressive dictators. Exploiting these poor souls for the benefit of winning a presidential election is shameful.

I am not prog rammed for humor

I got my first political call this week from the RNC. Without so much as a "hello", the diatribe commenced. Obama this, Obama that. It was same old lies, innuendos, and half truths that have been dispersed by the right-wing, baby-baby-amen-amen, nut job branch of the once Grand Old Party.

This went of for a minute or so before I interjected, "Are you a robot?"

"No", came the answer.

Said I, " Thanks for the call, but I have to tell you that the negative campaigning and that poor excuse for a running mate, Palin, has blown any chance at all that an independent voter like myself would even consider McCain."

I continued, "Please pass this on to someone in your organization." The lady seemed a bit taken aback. I'm sure it wasn't because I'm voting Obama, but because I asked if she was a robot.

Flirting for Cash

There's a checkout girl at corner supermarket that goes up and beyond the store's friendly customer service policy. She told the old geezer ahead of me in the line that she liked his hat and called me "sweetie". Note: I'm geezerly myself. I wouldn't even think for a minute I have any appeal to cute 20ish-looking girl any more than the hat that the guy ahead of me was wearing was worthy of any comment. I have no objection to the friendly service, however.

Shame is, grocery store folks don't work off tips. I have a feeling she might have waited tables at one time. Like I've told Patti many times: If a waitress calls be "hon" , "sweetie", or in any other way perks me up, it's worth a 5% larger tip.

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign.

Have you ever voted for a candidate only because you saw a sign on some one's yard?

I didn't think so, or else I hope not. So why do people have extra large Mitch Daniels signs in their yard? Well - I saw your small sign and it didn't faze me, but since this one is like way bigger, you got my vote. Yeah, right.

Then there's the yard that has all the signs for every candidate on their party's ticket. This can number 15 - 20 signs. Maybe just one "Vote Democrat (Republican)" sign would do.

What a waste of money . What an eyesore.

Let me just add that if you have a political bumper sticker on your vehicle and I pass you, take a long look at you, and decide you are a dolt, goober, nut job, cretin, dip shit, dork, pecker head, pinhead, lowlife, pervert, diseased worm, snot, dingleberry, goofy-looking sonofabitch, or an atavistic throwback, I ain't voting for your guy.

Thousand Dollar Car

The Bottle Rockets tune, Thousand Dollar Car, came to mind today after I unpacked a 12 dollar candle that I purchased today at Brown County gift shop.

It's supposed to be sandalwood scented and has a bumpy look as if it had cake icing on it. Great price for a big candle. What the hell. I bought it.

Got it home and it smells like - nothing. Neutral. Not while at rest, not while burning. In better light, it looks like a congealed ball of vomit. The flame (even after a wick trimming) shoots up a good four inches and resembles an acetylene torch. It smokes like a film noir character.
I pissed away 12 bucks in a tough economy and I'm red faced.

Link to the song:
Thousand Dollar Car

Right side - Song 5.

...and yet you insist on bottled water.

WARNING: The following entry has explicit, repulsive, and gag-a-maggot language. This is necessary to make my point here. If you read on, remember. I did warn you.

Hot tubs are disgusting. I won't go in one, any more than I would share a tooth brush with a trench mouth victim.

Every time they advertise these abominations, there's a fellow with 6 naked ladies sitting around drinking cocktails. I have no objection to 6 naked ladies, nor, off hand, the concept of sharing. But the reality of the situation paints a different picture: Orifices. Biology. Bodily Fluids.

Does everyone wipe well enough to suit me? I'd insist on everyone hitting a high-velocity bidet loaded with rubbing alcohol before entering. There also has to be a few pubes floating around. You know that drop or two of pee that you just can't shake off? It's in the soup. Foot fungus is a distinct possibility. Stick deodorant fragments dissolving and releasing underarm bacteria into the water has to be common. Smegma? You betcha. Dried up spooge. Ball vinegar. Lord knows what's oozing from some of the vaginas and pecker holes. Pustules, dead skin, perspiration, must I go on?

I might mention to all those wanting a hot tub - six naked ladies are NOT going to be joining you; let alone six disease-free volunteers.

Weekend Recap

On the whole, a good one. IU and the Colts were bad. Cut the grass. Got things done. Nice weather. Got out of the house a little. Still, a forgettable two days.

Though this vestige remains:

Shoot a mother-humpin' moose eight days of the week
Now you dead
Now you dead
because I'm an animal
I'm bigger than you.

Football Weather

When folks have nothing to say, the weather becomes the topic. Bear with me.

Finally a cool sunny weekend here in Indiana The leaves are beginning to turn. A jacket can be worn. As it said in the title, I'm tempted to go down to Bloomington to see my alma mater's team at Indiana University take the field. A post game trip to Nick's English Hut would be in order too. Boola Boola.

I'm most giddy during this time of the year over the fact that tomorrow may be the last day I need to mow the lawn. But Wait! There's more.

Apple Cider from Adrian Orchards is at its prime. I'll be going back for a second batch.

Cool weather invites foods that just don't hit the spot during the warm months : chili. Swiss steak, hot tea, soup, roast beef , fresh baked bread . . .

Candles. Nothing warms a room in my 68 degree home like a fragrant flame.

Sweat pants. Best comfort available for the "husky" man.

Bugs die.

Driving with the sun roof wide open.

So with no real drama going on; nothing to piss and moan about; all my affairs in order; I leave you with a uncharacteristically upbeat entry.

Last Night's Winners

Philadelphia Phillies

Barack Obama

Leanne Marshall

Wendy Testaberger

A sweep for the good guys. It was refreshing to see that Leanne's talent and workmanship prevailed, given her quiet demeanor. Much better result than Season 4 when that obnoxious little bitch, Christain Siriano, won Project Runway.

Watched ballgame. DVRed Project Runway. Caught debate between innings and on rebroadcast. South Park also DVRed.

Mythbusters also had a new show, so it took some doing to get to see all these conflicting television programs.

NOT stalgic

The "good old days" were not good. My list of shitty facets of life in the 50s, 60s and 70s would require extensive use of the middle button on your mouse in order to scroll to the end.

BUT there is one thing I miss:

Pictures of criminals in the post office. Today, there is nothing to read while standing in line at the post office. I used to follow the Top 10 Most Wanted as closely as I did the records on the WLS Silver Dollar Survey. Checking the fellow patrons out to see if they resembled anyone on the FBI list added to the fun.

Life Imitates Art

Tonight was the annual bonfire at the in-laws. Patti's mom made a terrific pot of baked beans with plenty of onion.

If you remember Blazing Saddles . . .

Different Paths

Muddy Waters came up in the car's iPod rotation. Despite Patti's white bread upbringing, I thought for sure that 20+ years worth of exposure to my blues-heavy music library would make her at least aware of the classic blues standard, Hoochie Coochie Man.

She had heard of Muddy Waters (so she said), but never heard this song - AND to top it off, thought Muddy Waters was a Motown artist! Yikes!

On the other hand, I don't know squat about weaving, so I shouldn't be so shocked.

A Curiosity

Somehow the notion held by some that gambling is wicked, while "investing" is righteous, doesn't hold much water these days.

Not to brag, but I've won more money through playing poker, fantasy football, and sports betting over the last year than I would have been as the most astute of day traders.

An Approach-Avoidance Conflict

Yes Man trailers hit my TV this week. It has been declared frequently and vociferously that I cannot stand Jim Carrey's brand of comedy. The film also features Zooey Deschanel who, beside being a real cutie, played good roles in Weeds and Almost Famous. I like her.

Sitting through a Jim Carrey movie is as tedious as balancing a checkbook to me. [ Man on the Moon being the lone exception ]. . . . And isn't this movie very similar to the one where he couldn't lie anymore?

This one looks like a DVR special after it hits HBO. I can watch the Zooey D. scenes and go X60 though the rest of the picture. If they're both on the screen at the same time I'll be able to weigh whether I like Zooey Deschanel more than I dislike Jim Carrey.

A Lost Art and An Unlikely Fan

Way back when, in the days which free range kids were abundant, the South Bend parks department set up recreation centers. Kids could come and go as they pleased and take advantage of the free activities. I was on the baseball team*, they had table tennis, quoits, dances, shuffleboard, and crafts. I enjoyed braiding plastic cord. You started with flat braiding and moved up to square braiding, and as an expert you could take on round braid. Boys and girls alike enjoyed the activity. It bordered on being a fad in my neighborhood. I mentioned this to Patti and she vaguely remembers, if at all, what this craft was all about. Obviously everyone else has too. I found very little about it online.

* Hardly any adults. A road trip involved hanging your mitt on the handlebars, wedging your bat under your bike seat and peddling across town to another park.
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Tim Gunn is one of my favorite TV personalities. His new show is every bit as good as his stints on Project Runway. He's a genuine dandy, but a perfect gentleman. I love his little huzzah fist pump when he says "Make it happen. " His pointed criticism is effective, yet kind, and he has a magic touch when it comes to motivation.

Craps

Craps is a game of chance. Pure and simple.

I am well aware that each roll of a pair of dice is an independent event. The roll before has no bearing on the current roll. One shooter is not more skilled than another. There is no such thing as a craps expert. Once one understands the odds on all the possible bets and manages their bankroll, it's all up to Mr. Mathematics, in Lady Luck drag. Make the right bets and you almost have an even chance vs. The House.

The game is frantic, chips are flying everywhere. It has the atmosphere somewhere between a cock fight and the floor of a commodities exchange. Probability be damned, the game is rife with superstition, mojo, the occult, and even religion. We (our poker club) were talking about this the other night, discussing all the omens, curses, and blessings that seemingly affect the dice.

Bad:

The dice leave the table
Black guy under 30 years old shooting.
Box man selling chips to a newcomer in the middle of a hot run.
A tear in the felt.
Stick man soliciting C&E and Hard Ways
Shooter playing from the dealer side of the table
Somber and empty table.
Newlywed male shooter
Having a friend stand behind you when you're on a hot streak
2 way tips when YOU are shooting.
Any interruption (shift change, pit boss ruling)
Green Dice

Good:

Lady shooter - first time only.
Boisterous drunk guy shooting.
Spinning die
Newlywed female shooter
Loud and crowded table.
Shooters with entourages.
Red Dice
Asian stick man.
Wrong way bettor has dice
Cigar smokers.

Refusing a free drink.

In addition, some casino's tables are cursed: O'Sheas, Bally's, Ceasars, Mandalay Bay, Monte Carlo. Mirage. Some are enchanted: Harrah's, Flamingo, Imperial Palace. Slots-O-Fun, Casino Royale.

This is what makes the game fun.

Blow it Out Your Ass

Everyone is an economic expert these days. The shit storm over a crisis that few can define, let alone solve, continues. Talk. Talk, Talk. Talk is cheap. I don't want to hear what you think, and please don't ask me what I think. I'm as partially informed as the next guy.

Economic ruin? Loss of my savings? Not good. I will be madder than a burning pit bull if I have to cover for a bunch of deadbeats who don't pay their bills and can't manage their money.

If this is so bad; if everyone is as pissed or afraid as they seem to be , then why aren't torch carrying mobs gathering on the mall in Washington D. C.? Mobs do not need to understand anything , they just need to be angry. A baboon war mentality is in order. Nothing like a violent uprising to get the attention of the government.

Hell, I need the exercise. Chucking the traditional rocks and bottles at targets of opportunity should provide a good workout. Walking while chanting revolutionary mantras can cleanse the soul.

Take to the streets, brothers and sisters! Go 60s on their asses. (or just shut up.)