Cold Adjustments

As I drove home I watched the car's external thermometer display a lower and lower temperature. It was reading 53 degrees as I pulled into the driveway, making me question my notion to run again. It's only supposed to get colder this weekend, I realized, and I donned my wetsuit-tight cold shirt and headed out. Oddly, running at a more relaxed pace gave me a shorter overall time. The math of running is ever beyond me. Maybe the tight shirt gave me better posture. Maybe it restrained my breathing and prevented the aches from developing. I dunno. It was my best time since July, and I'm hoping to crack the 28-minute mark before the race.

It was cold enough that we turned on the heat for the first time. When it came on early this morning -- 5:30 -- the bedroom was filled with a low whine-moan akin to a distant fire alarm. I heard and dismissed it, but the drone kept me awake. It was just the right frequency to keep my shoulders tight. I got up to check it. I thought initially that the furnace was damaged, but I remembered that the bedroom vent can be noisy if it's not open all the way. I checked and fiddled, and it wasn't that. The sound was louder at the window, and I wondered if the sound was coming from a house behind ours. But no. The window wasn't closed fully, and the air pressure was causing the noise. Window closed, sound gone. Back to bed I went. Your Sister stayed up because she's daffy.

She leaves for a daylong teacher conference tomorrow, and the local are aflutter because there might be snow. I have my doubts. I hope to do more library sketches this weekend, but I don't want to lock in to particular imagery. I still don't know the sign dimensions, and the librarian and I need to confab about school concerns. Like, can a Western genre picture have a gun in it? If not, what do I draw that plainly says "Western?"

Picture of the Day
This was the contraption that helped me start drawing on my own. The girls' version was called Fashion Plates. Oh, I adored this thing for years and years. The plastic pieces smelled great too.

Blueprints and Results.

The cabinet guy came over this morning, and it was the older of the two guys who installed the drawers Monday. The same guy to whom I had first said the drawers were going in the wrong columns. He measured the exterior columns and didn't want to look at our schematic, saying they had it at the store. He offered to install exterior drawers (implying they would be free) and leave the incorrect drawers where they are. I hadn't considered that possibility; I was worried they'd have to tear down the whole thing and start from scratch. Your Sister didn't like that idea. I agree, but I saw that as one of two extremes: either raze and redo or give us a small refund. He offered a new option. We're content with that.

He didn't offer much in the way of an explanation or apology. I did not want the man to grovel, you understand, but something to explain why this happened would have been nice. As he left, he chuckled and said "but you know ... it's just cabinets." It took much strength to not reply "and thousands and thousands of dollars." Which it was. We splurged more than we should have.

We think we handled this well. We think we've been patient. We have not been shrill. When they install the new drawers early next week (we hope), that visit will be their third repair visit since they first assembled the shelves. Hopefully it will be the last. But we are not using this company again for any of the planned house projects we have in mind.

I called Your Sis and told here how it went down, and we agreed this particular guy is, in her words, "an odd duck." She never talks that way about people, so I feel more than justified in my own discomfort in how this all shook out. They're doing the right thing but not in the right way.

I made a salmon casserole last night, and I don't know what I was thinking. I kinda like salmon, but I don't like peas, and I'm not hot on milk. These are the major elements of the dish. What was I thinking? It never smelled good to me, yet Your Sis went crazy for it as she walked in from work. The cats I had to lock up to keep them out from under my feet, and I almost did the same to her. I cooked it and served it and realized I was in trouble. We sat down to eat -- finally, after a long day for us both -- and just as I was putting the spoonful of salmon, macaroni, and peas into my wary mouth, the phone rang. My mom's neighbor had committed suicide.

I had known this man all my life and, for all my life, he was a right bastard. He was proud to be dumb, slovenly, and chippy. He didn't like me either. I was a smartypants from birth, and all our conversations ended with tension. How he made it to be a state trooper says a lot about South Carolina's men in gray. Since he retired, he physically broke down with obesity and bad diets. He allegedly had legs black from poor circulation, and he was weary of dialysis. He went into his backyard, on the opposite side of the fence from my parents' bedroom wall, and shot himself in the chest. Mom was bubbly from having something new to talk about. I don't think she took a breath for the half-hour in which she recited all the conversations she's had about the matter since it happened Tuesday night.

When I got off the phone I was so angered from my memories of this man and the way he treated his family and Mom's giddy gossiping that what little appetite I had for the casserole had evaporated. I slid my bowl over to Your Sis and microwaved some tomato soup.

It's the middle of Ocotober, and I still have not laid eyes on the kid I'm supposed to mentor for his senior project. He's way behind on this effort to make a comic book by the end of the semester. I've talked to his teacher (a good acquaintance), and she's now officially worried about his chances. I don't know if he can even draw a triangle.

I'm having weird water dreams where my backyard is flooded and stocked with sea creatures. Last night I dreamed I was fishing for decaying trout, and I threw at least one of them into the eager mouth of a walrus sitting next to me. I blame the casserole combined with the constant rain.

Picture of the Day
This is the schematic of the next project I want to build. And use. Upon an unsuspecting populace of no-good-niks.

Slow Moving Forward

I just got off the phone with the cabinet business and explained they installed the sliding drawers on the wrong columns. The owner wasn't thrilled and asked simply "is their placement important?" Yep, I said. The gas stove can melt the carpenter's glue holding them together, and it's not what we asked for. He said they can come by tomorrow to remeasure the shelves (the columns are different widths), and they can install them properly when those shelves arrive at their store. I think he handled it right, so far, and I hope we can get this fixed with a minimum of sawdust.

Your Sister worked from about 4 to just before midnight. She has a teacher presentation on Saturday, and she's working with a PowerPoint knockoff. It doesn't work the same, and she had to adjust to it for virtually every step. The school switched from Microsoft Office to Open Office, and the programs are fully compatible. I kept her fed at her desk and stayed out of her way. She was pooped but content with what she created.

I ran, and I seem to have plateaued on my time. I need new shoes, true, but I think I'm also doing too much pre-run exercise, leaving me with a low tank before I even get out the door. I'm shifting my stride based on the grade of the hills. When my lungs are OK, my legs are sluggish When my legs are OK, my ribs ache. This didn't happen when I ran in the mornings.

Picture of the Day
Whenever I post a Star Wars image I found online, I think "well, surely that's the last one I'll ever find." But no. There's always more.

Here Is My Money. Do As I Ask.

When the cabinet people were installing the sliding drawers, I commented that they were measuring the wrong set of shelves. No, no, they explained. The sliders have to go on the interior shelves because the exterior shelves have a bigger upper sill. Oh, I said, but I could have sworn we wanted the drawers on the exteriors. I didn't have the design drawing on hand, and I let them finish their work. I told Your Sis about it when she got home, and she too could have sworn we asked for exterior shelf drawers. She found the drawing, and there it is: exteriors sliding drawers.

Looks like I have to be Mad Customer this weekend. As they will not be allowed to work while no one is home, we'll have to set up yet another time when they can fix it while one of us is home. Or they can give us back a chunk of money. I prefer the former. What I truly prefer is that they come out on Saturday and fix it. They don't prefer Saturday work, but maybe they prefer getting a job done right.

The sports shoe store was closed for the holiday, so no new running shoes for me. When I went price comparing in Sears for lawnmowers, I noticed how small the store was. It's about half the size of our house, and it only sells appliances and lawn equipment. There were three employees, and they were all working with one costumer buying a washing machine. They said nothing to me. I was there for ten minutes, checking mower parts, reading instructions, and jotting down prices and specs. They didn't check on me once. Didn't even say hello. Out I went. I'll buy the mower from Lowe's instead.

That's three-for-three in inconvenient consumer experiences. Socialism is looking pretty good right now.

Picture of the Day
Man, I miss Lost.

Waiting and Hurting

The office closed early Friday, and I waited to hear from Your Sister. She declined my offer to accompany her to the doctor, and I sat at home. Her appointment was at 3:45. I was anxious and killed time with a video game because it's mindless stuff. When 5 rolled around, I was bouncing off the walls. Here it was more than an hour later, and I had heard nothing. Madness. I called her, expecting to hear a bad diagnosis and a touch of anger that I hadn't gone with her after all. Sure, she said no, but I imagined her sitting there, stunned by a bad diagnosis and alone. I was mad at myself and her and the doctors, and it was all imagined.

She was still in the waiting room when I finally called her. I offered to wait with her, and she again said no. We said goodbye, and I went back to the game to kill time and faceless bad guys, who now were everyone between Your Sis and the manila folder with the words "OK" stamped on it. She got in to see him about ten minutes later. It took two minutes to say she's fine. She called me and drove home, and we surprised each other by how worried we were. This, on top of a big week, wore her out, and she went to bed early.

On Saturday, she drove her motorcycle to Asheville for the scheduled tune-up. I drove behind her, and we shopped in town while they fixed her bike. To properly work on it, the garage had to cool the bike down, and that gave us extra time at the mall. We got some new clothes and considered Christmas gifts. She looked at games and puzzles for the library and got Halloween cards for the nieces. I almost bought a musical card with the Wicked Witch of the West. She drove the bike back home in the rain, and she's becoming a pro at all-weather riding. She's also getting me closer to getting my own bike license. She said I can borrow her helmet.

We watched Zodiac that night while we ate the fiery Thai food. The film is great, maybe my favorite David Fincher film, and I love madly Fight Club and Seven. It's long -- a chunky three hours -- but it's about smart people thinking out loud, and I'm a sucker for that.

We were suffering Sunday after the Thai food. My throat was shot, my stomach was burning. No es bueno all around. We ate soup and porous food all day.

I'm at home today babysitting the cabinet people as they finish (hopefully) the shelves. It already looks like they put the sliding drawers on the wrong shelves, and they're currently driving back to their shop because the air compressor doesn't work. These people haven't won me over, and they've stepped on the wrong foot since Day One. I'll be relieved when this is over.

Picture of the Day
It was the fourth annual Wonder Woman Day in New Jersey and New Jersey this weekend. The events raise money for domestic violence charities and many comic artists attend to sale sketches to raise funds. I still hold that WW is the most recognizable pop female icon. I bet more people can name her than the Mona Lisa.

Dropping Cah-Knowledge Like a Beastie Boy

I arrived at the college alumni house at six in time to see the students cart in the Japanese take-out. The tallest figure was the boss, himself a recent graduate, and the guy I talked to through a few emails. The students (and I am making such an effort to not type "kids") circled inside the Alumni House living room and gobbled the dinner. There was no formal introduction, and they chatted about classes and their varying sports clubs and dorm life.

With the food mostly gone and the time to get to work approaching, the boss huddled them up. These were the kids (there it is) who were hired to call alumni for donations, and this was why I was here. I did this as a student, and we were the first class to be paid. We were told at the time that the paycheck was a leash; if we slacked off, we could be fired, something that can't be done with volunteers. The boss used that tip to remind the students that earlier folks didn't get paid.

He had a poster list of tips for them to use in the sales pitch, including some material I didn't know. The college's decision to resurrect the football team was controversial, but it gave entree to the NCAA, and that allows the other teams to compete on that level. I wasn't aware, and I told them that bit of info in a cold call would have gotten my money. I suggested they incorporate homecoming conversation into the calls. Before they got to work, they asked questions about my student days. Were we required to attend chapel? Where were the parties held? What's changed the most? Then they headed to the phones.

Their boss and I talked up shared acquaintances and college activities. He gave me a tour of the house and showed me the call center. I handed him my check; it was twice what I had pledged, but the experience was worth it. And they fed me Japanese take-out. Win-win.

Your Sister's follow-up appointment is today, and my office is closing early for the holiday. I've offered to go with her, but she's dismissed it. She's not concerned. Outwardly, anyway.

Picture of the Day
One of the Mars rovers discovered a meteorite recently. Those rovers are working years and years past their expected work life.

Scrambling

See, the plan was that I would come home, run, and prepare dinner. Earlier in the week, as we always do, we planned out our menus before buying groceries and so we didn't coincidentally make the same dish. I was going to make leftovers this week. Monday was the spaghetti, and yesterday was to be the lamb and cabbage soup. It's been in the freezer since last week.

I forgot to take it out to thaw. I didn't remember until before the run. I came back, and an hour was not enough to get it started. Seven minutes on "defrost" in the microwave wasn't enough. I realized my cunning plan had fallen through. Your Sister had just gotten home.

Me: Um, yeah, this isn't happening. Sorry.
Her: Oh, how many times have I had to take you out because I forgot to thaw dinner?
Me: Yeah, I s'pose. Alright, let me fetch my pants.

No one can pitch a romantic dinner like me, buddy. The dinner was fine, and we got cheaply tipsy on one glass of alky-hall each.

My run was a chore. I tried a shorter stride, and it durn near killed me. I think my lunch was too heavy. It was a real struggle once I hit the two-mile mark, but I did finish two seconds quicker than Monday's time.

I finally got my list of genres for the library project, and I can begin sketching. The senior making a comic for his independent project seems to have zoned out. It's his responsibility to contact me and bring me into his project, and I just sit back and wait.

I got an email from the leader of the script committee about a theatre schedule conflict. We planned the new theater season last month, and it included The Odd Couple. Unfortunately, very recently, a smaller group in a local gated community announced they're doing the female version of Odd Couple at roughly the same time. That community constitutes a sizable chunk of our theater's audience, and there's worry that the conflicting shows will cost us at the box office. The plan is to move our production to the summer. I have an idea that's seems so obvious and simple that it's sure to become an impractical, complicated fiasco: Combine the two shows.

In Odd Couple (both versions), the two leads set up a date with neighbors upstairs. In the male version, this is with the Pigeon Sisters. In the female version, it's the Spanish brothers. Why not have the leads of one production play the dates in another? The two groups can collectively market and package the shows as a community theatre experience and offer discounts for people who commit to seeing both shows. If they're really adventurous, they can ask two distinct restaurants to provide a meal-combo for the dates of the show, and the restaurants (say a Mexican and the low-country seafood joints) can be referred to as an odd couple themselves. The motto of the whole thing can be something like "see what happens when the roles are reversed."

If this were, say, my Greenville theatre and one of the smaller companies, I'd suggest it and push for it. Here? I suspect diva behavior would scuttle it.

Picture of the Day
Berlin celebrated the destruction of the wall and the reunification of the two Germanies (20 years ago, omigod) with an art project. Two giant marionettes paraded around the city in a narrative of a reunion. You can see the whole project here.

Plans

Can any day truly be bad if it ends with sudden-death playoff baseball, beer, and pub food? I say no.

Your Sister worked late -- like LATE late, not just late -- and I rewarded her toil with a bar dinner. She embraced the cider like a treasured heirloom recovered from a shipwreck. She earlier had another in the seemingly dozen organizational meetings. This one is led by a teacher new to the boss position, and Your Sister is playing the part of manager. She helped him prep and seemed as proud of his success as he was relieved to have it done. I was at home finishing today's FB drawing. More plans were made for Thursday's rendezvous with the college callers.

I'm scanning store shelves for new Halloween decorations, and I'm debating buying a fog machine or making one to work with the dry ice sold at the grocery store. I've operated a larger version of dry-ice machines in larger theaters; it's one of the perks of backstage work. Although you have to take care not to smother the actors with smoke. That happened during Glass Menagerie. But we only get a dozen kids each year. Is the effort worth it? Would a fog machine and new decorations lure new children into our delicious tiger traps? One must ponder.

I signed up for the Halloween race. I'm officially official.

How's your car?

Picture of the Day
Just saying.

Running on Fumes

I realize my diet is slight. Unhealthy, perhaps. But it works for me.

I eat two granola bars for breakfast around 8:30. This is during my commute now as the boss doesn't want us to eat at our desks anymore. She's afraid crumbs = germs = Swine Flu. The edict also means I lose my lunch habit of scarfing down a sandwich at my computer and using my full lunch hour to drive around town and rest my eyes. Now I take my lunch hour around noon and grab a Starbucks drink (something thick) and a hand-sized bread snack. Sometimes a muffin, sometimes a croissant. I nurse the drink for the rest of the workday. That tides me over until I get home.

On days like yesterday, I'll open the door, drop everything, change, stretch, and run. Maybe this flimsy diet is working; I stormed through my 5k route. That's seven minutes better than my first 5k run. I'd like to cut that by another three minutes before the Halloween race. That would be only ten minutes off the times of the local college athletes.

It was an odd start. I was beat up from the floor exercises, and my initial pace was quicker than usual. I managed to stay at that pace for the rest of the route, surprisingly. The local indoor climbing-wall business is holding a kids' health camp, and they're now on my route, doing short laps in the parking lot and ground exercises as I run past. I like to think my running catches their eye and nudges them to try it.

Maybe the increase in runners will encourage the dog walkers to handle their mutts differently. Come on, people. Put both leashes on one hand. Stop sprawling. Just yesterday, I had to run into the road because two walkers, side by side, heard me behind them, stopped cold, turned, and stared at me as I ran toward them. They made no effort to share the path. Does cold make people stupid?

Your Sister worked late, and I thawed out the Spaghetti Bucket. A sauce from veggie trimmings actually gets better after it freezes. I think the slow evaporation of water reduces it to the core taste components. Either way, we wolfed it down last night when she got home. Dinner is now my one true meal each day. There haven't been any negative effects as I've noticed. I'm thinner, yes, but toned from the running, and I've got my normal Daffy Duck energy.

Yesterday, during my lunch hour, I strolled through Lowe's for repair ideas. I think I figured out how to fix our gutter leaks and which new lawnmower I'll get. I compared prices for ladders, and I had no idea height was so expensive.

Picture of the Day
Communist China's air force celebrates the country's 60th anniversary.

Gutter Sniping

Your Sister had a meet-up with another teacher to hammer out a committee document, and I knew that would leave me alone for most of Saturday afternoon. I laundered and sketched and rearranged the workshop mess, but I really had a hankering to look at the gutters. They've hung over my head, both literally and metaphorically, and the weather was just nice enough to get me outside on a ladder.

I suspected they needed cleaning only on the corners at the downspouts. The previous owners installed both gutter covers and downspout filters. The filters are little green wedges that keep big items from clogging them. The covers are cheap plastic lattice tops. They also keep the chunky stuff out. Our gutters, however, attract and retain residue from the roof, mostly shingle grit, and I feared the summer rains had topped off the gutters with a stew.

They had. What I had hoped would be a half hour turned into two solid hours of scooping. It was a sludge an inch deep all around the house frame. It required me to pop the covers, claw out the slop, fling it into a bucket, and repeat about two dozen times. I could use this stuff as mortar. The joys of home ownership and maintenance. I want new covers on the cutters very soon. Something solid and sturdy.

Saturday night, I flipped around channels and found a Sherlock Holmes mystery on PBS. We watched, mildly curious, and then I realized we wear watching a PBS mystery on a Saturday night. This is an old-person activity. It gave me the mortal willies. Luckily, the show was weak enough to discourage us from going back to it on any night.

Your Sister wanted to watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit the next night. This is a film I reluctantly know by heart. It played on our wall of TVs when I worked at Wal-Mart. I can quote the film. She had never seen it, and I was curious how it held up. This was a film that squeaked in before CGI took off. James Cameron was noodling with it on The Abyss and Terminator 2, and I don't think either had been released yet. It was around before, but not on such a scale that this film could take advantage. The art doesn't really hold up. The story is slight, and the dialogue becomes a thin frame to move the plot along. It's technically impressive to watch the real props move as if the cartoons are affecting them and try to guess how they did that is more fun than following the story. Your Sister bailed about halfway through, and I was relieved to turn the channel.

Earlier on Sunday, I got a call from Brevard College asking for money. I recognized it as a student effort as I was in the exact same position about 20 years ago. I was a paid cold-caller. We exchanged notes (she was conversational, a good public persona for the fundraiser), and she asked if I'd come in and talk to them with tips as I've been on both ends of the phone line. I agreed to meet up with them on Thursday. There's not much I can say other than tell the school that $100 minimum pledges are impractical for those of us not living in a gated community. I did find out the school no longer requires community service for graduation. Baffling. The school needs to do more -- anything -- to reach out to the town. They never host a table at the local street fairs. They don't host the Halloween run anymore. They need to branch out.

I started a new drawing for FB, and it should be online before Wednesday. It's of Your Sister, captured in the fleeting nanoseconds betwen naps.

Picture of the Day
I woke up with the House theme in my brain this morning. Luckily, I had it downloaded on my iPod so I could drive it away by playing it once and only once.

Cold Running

I'm running my 5ks again. It's darker and colder, but the only effect is with breathing. The cold air makes me think I'm running harder than I am. I'm feeling it in my legs as I run every other day again, and I'm reminding myself to keep my chin up; that seems to stave off the rib pains. I turned in the exact same time yesterday as I did Tuesday, and I blame the football traffic. I had to run around a truck stopped at an intersection, and a car tailed so closely behind my on the last road that I ran into a lawn to keep from being run over.

It's a runners' town. People like me are all over the place, and I suspect some drivers don't know what to do with us. I admit I don't run with traffic. I don't trust the drivers. I'm off the sidewalks only briefly, and it's on a stretch of road wide enough to accommodate two cars, me, and a bicyclist. I'm always tempted to yell "cheater" at the bikers when they whiz by.

Your Sister drove her motorcycle to work a few days this week, and the kids who see her in her gear enjoy it. It became cold literally overnight, and we've made our biannual rearrangement of the bedroom. I get too cold, and she gets too warm; she moves closer to the window, and I move closer to the closet. I hear you now: Don't y'all have gas heat? Yes. Yes, we do. And I hope to convince Your Sister to turn it on before January. I mean, it's cold, but not cold cold. We have lots of blankets. We look forward to cranking up the new gas stove in the library.

Mom has worked a full week and feels OK. She wants a smaller weed-eater. We bought her one a few months back, but it's too big for her. I should have considered that; her yard is bigger than ours, and I picked out the same machine I use. She has some achy mornings, but she's off the pain medicine so she can drive.

Picture of the Day
We need a set of these.

The Wind in the Trees

Your Sister is taking advantage of the great riding weather to zoom her motorcycle all over the county. She armors up to ride the eighth-mile to work. She takes the long way home. It's fall in the mountains, and the leaves have agreed to parachute down in waves and skitter along the road just as you drive by them. We finally have sunlight, and it's properly cold at night. We've smothered the bed in blankets, and we're eating hot soups for dinner. I made a fish dish last night on a long-tended whim and posted the recipe on FaceBook. It was good-esque. Your Sister wants to go to bed earlier and earlier as her hibernation instinct kicks in.

Our NFL Bet
Her Teams (boo!)
AFC
New England (2-1)
Pittsburgh (1-2)

NFC
St. Louis (0-3)
New York Giants (3-0)

My Teams (yea!)
AFC
New England (2-1)
Pittsburgh (1-2)

NFC
Philadelphia (2-1)
Atlanta (2-1)

The garden is on its last legs. The tomato vines are dead, and the remaining tomatoes are clinging to a stick. I hope they redden before the bugs get them. The peppers are tiny and few, and the corn is a write-off. I don't think I'll try corn again next year. We're thinking of sweet potatoes.

Picture of the Day
Satellite photo of Kansas crops. They're circular because of the irrigation system.

And That's That.

Check FaceBook to see Your Sister and I eating the snacks from Snazziland.

+ + +

I finally had the phone call with my theatre liaison. He emailed me this weekend to pitch me again on stage managing his show; this follows weeks of phone calls making the same pitch with the disclaimer that I should talk to him when Mom was stable. She is and I did. Some small talk about the show led to me telling him my heart wasn't in it, and I could only promise a half-ass effort. I am unreliable for this, and he needs to find someone to depend on.

Now this stage manager business is required by a theatre tradition of a director releasing the reins when a show opens. I can understand this for professional open-ended shows. When you don't know when a show might close, a director can't commit to being there every night to make the show run cleanly. I guess. I mean, the paid actors and crew have contracts that stipulate they have to be there. The director would have begun his work earlier in the production. Stage managing also allows an apprenticeship of sorts for those who might later direct a show. But they may just as likely shift into a specific tech job.

Also, sure, a stage manager can run the show as the director talks turkey to tech folks. Again, a big-time show will require his attention in all areas. He can work backstage while an assistant cracks the whip.

A stage manager isn't so necessary for a community theatre production with a definite close date. Particularly when that show might only run two weekends. When I directed the one-act (twice, it turned out), I didn't consider a stage manager. It seemed irresponsible to mold a show and then set it adrift while I stayed home with the TV. There was no reason to bring in someone else to mind the script or set the props or corral the actors. I was there. I knew where everything was to sit and move. Who needs a Scooter?

That wasn't my argument with this director. He operates under that tradition of managers sitting in for rehearsals, learning the show, and running it when the audiences arrive. It's not that I'm so philosophically opposed to being a stage manager for a three-act show. I've done it before, and nothing caught on fire. I simply want to be home for a while. I'm burned out from the one-act and the later anthology lasting from spring through summer. And I don't trust the theater's resources and decisions.

Case in point: The smallest part in this fall play was given to Marley from the Scrooge play. If I had to manage that guy for a whole month, well, he'd be dead in two weeks. His diva behavior is inexcusable, and he's already bristling at such strident demands such as "learn your lines." Unlike the Scrooge play, this time he's working with people who will have their material down cold. I'd like to hope this standard would inspire him. I doubt it, however, and would not be shocked to hear the director take over the role a week before the show opens.

Picture of the Day
I caught the last home bout of rollerderby this season on Saturday, and the Blue Ridge Rollergirls won, 155-67. Team members Mazel Tov Cocktail and Rigor Morticia were strong for the home team again. They're really good. The people in the front of the photo are sitting in the "suicide seats." A number of the girls slid into them during the night, and it looked painful. But some of the rollers were cute enough to make it worth it.

Putting Me to Sleep-ing Beauty

I'm going to email your brain a pillow made of chocolate. You're on the other side now.

Because I posted a Maleficent sketch on FaceBook, Your Sister and I decided to watch Sleeping Beauty last night. She hadn't seen it but remembered a collection of records Your Grandparents had that told the story. I saw the film once when Disney put its classic films in theatres to bolster videotape sales. This was the late '80s. The DVD looks great on the PS3, as they all do, but the story is weak.

It should be renamed The Three Round Fairies and Their Sometime Adventures with Tall People. It's all about the faerie godmothers. There are clearly scenes padded out to extend the film length. But my witch gal still rules the film, and her dragon form is a great design. You can see moments that influenced Fantastia -- extended bits without dialogue, dancing brooms and buckets, dark imagery. I think they were test driving the elements before making that film. We yawned a lot watching this film; it's not designed for adults.

Your Sister had her second appointment today, and the diagnosis is good so far. But the results won't be known for another two weeks. I had to Google some of what she told me.

Picture of the Day
Easier than turning into a car.

Quickly

I made fajita-rritos last night, and sketched madly. I wish there was more to say. They were good.

The school yearly raises funds by hiring out student volunteers to work around the community. The school gets an hourly rate from the locals. We've considered hiring a kid to work around the house, but we don't have much for them to do.

In AIDS News
The AP reports an AIDS vaccine cocktail has shown some success in a 16,000-person trial.

In Music News
The nominees for next year's induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame have been announced. Let me speak on this.

First-time nominees:
KISS -- No. They took the theatre of Alice Cooper and David Bowie and made it cartoony while pretending it was dark and cosmic. They neither advanced a musical genre nor added anything to rock and roll.

Red Hot Chili Peppers -- Yes. They did fuse sloppy punk and '70s funk into something new, and it went big. They enjoyed the explosion of indy music in the '90s. They almost single handed dragged SoCal rock into national dominance. The late '90s bands, including Green Day and No Doubt, owe their souls to the Chilis.

Genesis -- Iffy. If we're talking the entire work of the band, yes. With Peter Gabriel, they continued prog rock's early' 70s march. And when Gabriel left, the band went pop. I'd argue that Gabriel should be inducted for his total work, including his advocacy of world music. If induction is influenced by reocrd sales, then, yes, Genesis has earned it. But for "rock and roll," no. They haven't done rock in almost 30 years.

Hollies -- I know exactly two songs: Bus Stop and Long Cool Woman. I have to pass.

LL Cool J -- Yes. I love LL. He hit MTV right when my ears wanted new music, and he has maintained a respectability in a genre that shifts quickly. I attribute his success to his producers, but his content showed rap could deliver ballads on par with those from soul and R&B. he expanded the genre, and that earns a spot.

Jimmy Cliff -- Yes. I know nothing of reggae, and I know this guy's name. That's gotta be good for something.

Returning Candidates
ABBA -- Yes. All they did was move the world from disco to New Wave and '80s pop single handedly. Madonna and Blondie would be trivia questions without them. As significant to music as the Temptations and Led Zepplin.

The Chantels, Darlene Love, Laura Nyro -- Don't know them.

The Stooges -- Yes. The Rolling Stones to the Ramones' Beatles.

Donna Summer -- No. She's a product of producers, the real power of disco.

The hall will only accept five inductees, and I'd go with ABBA, Cliff, The Chilis, LL Cool J, and The Stooges.

Picture of the Day
An Ira Glass image I did not make.

Taking Inventory

The garden held up better than I expected. A number of tomatoes were smacked to the ground, but the corn and pepper plants are intact. Depending on who you ask, we had anywhere from 13 to 22 inches of rain in less than a week.

As Sketchtember comes to a close, I hope to move to a painting. I have that photo I took when we went to the NC museum in Raleigh, and I still think it will make a good painting.

I ran yesterday for the first time in about two weeks, just enough to clean the chimneys. I want to get back to a 5k-exclusive route within a week and keep at that until the Halloween race. But I'm fighting a reduction in sunlight.

The prospective senior-project student emailed me to ask how long it would take to make a 5-page comic. I said it depends on what he wanted to do and how feasibly he could do it. He has to determine what kind of story he has in mind, if he has one in mind. But I told him we'll make it work.

Moving Picture of the Day
We noticed this TV ad recently and remarked how much the woman looks like you and Your Sister.

Drying Out

We didn't get hit as badly as parts of Georgia, but we did get hit. The school is on another 2-hour delay as we wait to see at what height the rivers will crest. We personally are fine. Our house is high enough to be above any river or creek threat. I should check the gutters this weekend to see how they're holding up. The garden may be finished this season.

That back pain is 90% gone thanks to wife care and small adjustments. The heavy bedspread helps me stay flat during the night, and I'm minding my desk posture. The pain has never faded this quickly before, and I'd really like to run when I get home. The Halloween race is five weeks away, and I want to be ready.

Mom is doing OK. She pushed it too hard last week and decided to scale back a bit. Her digestive system is in a higher gear now, and the doctor said it might plateau. Or it might not. Everyone's different.

House veered away from the formula last night, and it was interesting if not totally successful. The success of the season premiere will depend on how well the series follows up on the character's progress. I missed the supporting cast.

Picture of the Day
I listen to old-time radio shows all day at work, and the ads are a hoot. This print ad is in the same vein as Lux Toilet Soap and Signal Oil.


I also enjoy hearing all the wartime solicitations for volunteers and donations.

Bossh Office 3

Rain and rain and rain. Your Sister has a 2-hour delay this morning, and our garden is a swamp. The weather kept us inside and productive. I'm sending you shirt notions today. Check your email. I worked on sketch requests. Your Sister tried to update her school grades, but the rain clobbered the school server.

We watched The Mist again last night. The DVD has a b/w version of the film that truly makes for a better experience. It and the rain underscored that fall is here, and Halloween is just a month away.

We also watched Elizabeth: The Golden Age off Netflix, and that means ... Bossh Office!

Chipper Bossh: What a gorgeous film. The colors, the costumes, the visuals. I dub this "production porn." I loved watching it.





Surly Bossh: This is a pile of movie pieces released as a film. The scenes are disjointed. The editing ruins any flow. It's a TV miniseries crumpled into a movie.





Chipper Bossh: Wait, that's actually a proper critical comment. I'm ... I'm surprised.





Surly Bossh: I'm not saying the film wouldn't be better if the queen sicced TIE Fighters against the Spanish Armada. But if I'm going to be charged for the price of a movie, I want a MOVIE.




Chipper Bossh: Well, I got my money's worth. Cate Blanchett is never not good, and the director makes with involving camera work.





Surly Bossh: You know what cheeses me off? What makes my cold blood warm by a half-degree? They cut Elizabeth's famous speech to her troops. They squished it into a bland Braveheart scene and rejected a fine, real troop-rallying cry by the queen. Check this shit out:

And therefore I am come amongst you at this time, not as for my recreation or sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all; to lay down, for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honor and my blood, even the dust. I know I have but the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart of a king, and of a king of England, too.

Chipper Bossh: That is good.






Surly Bossh: That's a woman you follow into battle. I'd vote for that queen.







Chipper Bossh: You don't vote for queen.






Surly Bossh: No one told Padme that.






The actor who plays Benjamin Linus on Lost won a dramatic supporting actor Emmy last night. The guy who plays Locke won the same award last year.

Picture of the Day
Barack Obama even sounds like a Jedi name.

Me Make With Blah-Blah

I've screwed up my back again, and I again blame the office desk. It was installed for a small person, a dainty person. I am neither, and now I am in pain. I've switched chairs again from ergonomic to traditional. I know this routine: The pain will linger for a week or so, and I'll grit through it and avoid pain pills. It's almost a fall tradition. Maybe it's temperature related.

Someone at Your Sister's school thought it would be a great idea to have the drama kids act out a play in the library. I couldn't even talk in a normal voice in my school libraries. Civilization is crumbling. Obama is to blame. I bet he whammied my back too.

Your Sister's classroom bookshelves are stocked to provide a variety of literature for the kids. One book is Enemy at Home, an infamous screed against the "cultural left" by a Westerner raised in a Muslim family. The author's claim is that the West exports secular liberalism to an Eastern culture that can't abide it. This is why we were attacked on 9/11:Al Qaeda was defending the Muslim culture. I knew of this book. It's one of a hundred of rants blaming someone else for 9/11.

This one lumps all the alleged bad guys together. He says the left is working to the same ends as Al Qaeda and cites such inflammatory practices as homosexuality, abortion, and feminism. Then he starts to lump in "working women," and one realizes he's not protecting the sanctity of Muslim dogma, he wants to rewind the hourglass back to global patriarchies. 9/11, he's saying, is a high-tide buoy signaling the world has gone too far afield.

Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson said the same thing when we were attacked. It was the feminists and secularists and abortionists that brought this upon us. I tend to blame the people who actually planned and attacked us, but then I'm not using end-times rhetoric to make a buck. The same babble comes from those claiming 9/11 was an inside job. The allure of imagined conspiracy blunts the horror of a real-life conspiracy. It's pathetic.

Your Sister defends the book's presence in her classroom. The kids need a spectrum of perspectives. They need to build critical muscles to agree or denounce such material. I agree. And I agree, of course, that he has the right to peddle his wares, hokey as they may be. But a muckraking huckster is still a muckraking huckster. The book ends with an Enemies List of the people he claims made 9/11 happen with their comments and actions. If you're pinning the deaths of 3,000 people on Rosie O'Donnell and rationalizing the schemes of Bin Laden, you are wearing crackpot undies. You've lost your way.

I'll read the book, as I promised Your Sister I would. She thought my initial comments were unwarranted. I say no salient examination of moderate Muslim indignation can rationalize 9/11. So far, I'm not reading anything to change my mind.

Moving Picture of the Day
Here's the Wednesday concert's best moment.

Bruuuuuuuuuuce

According to the Census Bureau the midwest stretches from North Dakota to Iowa to Michigan. Fuck. I owned up to it on the drive to Greenville last night. I confessed I will not look up its definition of Texas; I didn't want to lose two battles in one day.

I got home a little early, and, we zipped down the mountain to see Springsteen. We batted around ideas for your t-shirt, and I'll send you sketches this weekend. They aren't finalized notions, but they can spark brainstorming. I saw the seating chart for our tickets yesterday, and they were almost behind the stage near the roof. When we handed them to the last ticket checker, he took them and upgraded us to dead center. No one sat in our original section, and they squished the audience together to face the stage. We found ourselves sitting in the row of people who won tickets from local media outlets. The woman on my right just got her tickets a few hours earlier.

All I knew about Springsteen shows was that they are long and they are religious experiences. I'm not a big fan. Your Sis loves roots rockers like Bruce and Fogerty and Mellancamp. I know some of his songs and suffered through dily play on the classic rock station during my alt-weekly paper days. I suspect DJs play Born to Run when they need a bathroom break.

This was transcendent. We were buffeted by the music for three hours. They took the stage at 8:17 and left the stage at 11:07. They did not stop. There was no intermission. The encore has more than half an hour. Bruce accepts requests from the audience on handmade signs, and the band played the Stones' Satisfaction for what they claimed was the first time ever. It was the best version I've heard. In fact, every song last night was my favorite song. That band brings the gospel of rock and roll. It's a tent-revival meeting with 15,000 people screaming for three hours. I am beat up. Not as badly as I was after Nine Inch Nails, but still. I knew much more of his songs than I thought and sang as loudly as my lungs would let me. Your Sister couldn't stop smiling the entire time.

We drove back home up the mountain forests listening to the remastered Beatles tracks, and they are a revelation. The music has more character. It breathes more. I'm hearing pieces of music cut off on my original CDs. A Day in the Life, for example, has a weird Number 9-like coda. Paul's vocal range is clearer, and Ringo's drumming gets a lot of love here. This is worth the money. I suggest Abbey Road above all the others.

Starbucks got us down the mountain. Pepsi got us back up the mountain. Caffeine is proof Odin loves us.

Picture of the Day
My new hunting trophy.