Category Archives: humor

Tribulations of a Theatre Junkie

This is a Wrist to Forehead Sunday post. Seriously, I have spent at least portions of the last three days inclined to burst into tears at the slightest provocation, and, really, I must admit, the provocations in my life are slight. I really do have a pretty good life: like my job OK, love my husband, have a great dog. And yet, it’s just not easy being me.

I think I mentioned in a previous post being a theatre junkie. Some people might use a less polite word for it, but I think junkie works just fine, thank you. I became secretary of Ilion Little Theatre Club, pretty much because somebody asked me to. I am in two performances of Strike Story next weekend, just because somebody asked me to. And I have been at the theatre for the past two days and will be there this afternoon, because… if you guessed somebody asked me to, YOU’RE WRONG! Nobody asked me to! I volunteered!

Some people would say it is not a wrist to forehead situation when it is your own stupid fault, but I disagree.

I am at the theatre to sell memberships and subscriptions. Last night I also attempted to sell raffle tickets. We are raffling four tickets for our next show. I am, unfortunately, the opposite of a salesperson. I think I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing: I smile, I tell the people what we’re offering, I tell them the price. They say, “No! In fact, you should pay me five bucks for standing here listening to you!”

OK, that’s not really true. People are very polite, and some of them did buy the tickets.

It’s really not that bad of a gig. I don’t know why my wrist is anywhere near my forehead over it, unless it’s that I have nothing to wear. Or that I would really rather be home in sweats, crocheting and watching crime shows on a Sunday. Or that right now it is hanging over my head: I have to be there in two hours. I have to shower. I have to get my stuff together. I ought to be taking care of a few more chores before I go… Oh yes, the wrist is on the forehead.

Well, it’s yet another post for the sake of posting something. I’m not even apologizing for them any more. Oh, well, maybe once more: I’m sorry to post lame again. I’ll try again tomorrow.

First November Run

I worked till 11 this morning, and while I was at work, I had a vision of a certain residential area I sometimes run in. I could see that it was a grey day outside. I thought about running under the grey sky, possibly on wet roads and sidewalks, looking around at houses. However, I told a co-worker, “I’m just as likely to make myself an egg sandwich and take a nap.”

When I left work, it was cold. Cold! Who said it could be cold? It’s still autumn, isn’t it? Since when does November have to be so cold? And that shows you what a difference a day makes, because Friday when I stepped outside and it was cold, I said, “Ah! That cold air is reviving me!” I had been literally falling asleep over my book during the 2 o’clock break, and it’s not a dull book.

So I got home feeling I had every reason to talk myself out of it. Then I thought, I want to take a shower anyways. Why not take a short run first? I’d either be sweaty and really need a shower or I’d be cold and a hot shower would feel twice as good.

My temperature doo-dah (that’s the technical term) said it was 42. Normally over 40 degrees I wear shorts and a t-shirt, but I thought since this would be the first cold run of the season, long legs and sleeves was the way to go. I had a pair of silky long johns I had worn under a skirt last night (so much more comfortable than pantyhose). I dug out a long sleeved ARMY t-shirt. I found a knitted toque (rhymes with spook). I was off.

Were you hoping that this was a fun run? That I reached the “I can rock this” stage and stayed there? That I got a huge endorphin rush? Yeah, well, that would have been nice. Right away I wished I had worn a sweatshirt as well as my long sleeved t-shirt. I told myself to keep running, I’d warm up.

Traffic was not at all bad. I crossed German Street very easily and headed toward the hill at Valley Health, which I have had it in mind to run for a few days now. As it felt surprisingly difficult to run, I considered running into the unknown park instead. A couple of small hills, that was more my speed. But that was not where I had pictured myself running while at work. I ran by the unknown park entrance, reminding myself that I do know the name of the park now but thinking, “Really, if they want me to call it Brookfield Park, they ought to put a sign at the gates.”

It seemed to take a long time to get to the hill by Valley Health. I did not feel that I was warming up. I was very aware of my hips. They felt huge. Here was the hill. Oh dear. I reminded myself of the trick an army friend of mine learned from our drill sergeant, who would know, “Just look at your feet and shuffle up that hill.” I made it. That didn’t seem to take too long, so I felt encouraged.

I saw a group of healthcare workers (they were wearing scrubs; I can’t tell nurses from aides from attendants etc.). They were talking loudly and laughing, so that was nice. I don’t think they were laughing at me, but of course you never know.

I continued my run, looking around at Halloween decorations that were still up. Some I had noticed before were gone already, but many people had at least left their mums and pumpkins out. Fall decor, I thought, can legitimately be left up from September 1 to December 1. Halloween stuff is really best in October. That said, Steve’s and my decorations are still up, and I enjoyed looking at other people’s as well. I do love Halloween.

I thought about the egg sandwich I had mentioned at work and it started to sound pretty good. I knew I had whole wheat English muffins as well as some cheese. Mmmmm… I remembered I had pepperoni as well. Even better. Then I remembered my enormous hips and rethought my menu choices.

As I got closer to home I thought I would prefer to run an extra minute over sprinting at the end. You see, I like to stop at the top of the minute and be exact when I put the time in my running journal. Sometimes I go a few seconds over, if for example I have stopped to pet a dog. That was not the case today. Two houses from my house I picked up the pace anyways. An extra minute is a long time at the shape I’m in right now (round and puffy).

It was really not a bad run at all. As always I felt good that I had run, and I made plans to run more often during the coming week. I enjoyed my egg sandwich, and I left off the pepperoni. Those hips are going bye-bye! Eventually.

I Was in the Mood for a Fiend

I think any movie with Vincent Price is worth a watch. Of course, you never know what you may be in for. I’ve seen him in the cheesy William Castle flick House on Haunted Hill and the stylish noir Laura, to name two of my favorites. When I saw something called Diary of a Madman on TCM, I reached for the DVR button on the remote.

Diary of a Madman (1963) is based on a story by Guy de Maupassant. I’ll have to read the story sometime so I can compare/contrast. However, I thought I would write this blog post before I did any such thing.

The movie opens on a funeral — always a good start for a horror flick. A “good man” is dead — at least, that’s what the eulogy says. One lady emphatically does not buy into that description. Several people meet, at the behest of the dead man, for the reading of his diary. That’s right, not the will, the diary. Didn’t you see the title of the picture?

Flashback to Vincent Price as a highly respected magistrate, going to see a condemned killer before his execution. The killer protests his innocence: it’s not him, it’s the demon that possesses him. Then he tries to kill Price. Well, I guess the demon tries to. Price kills the murderer first, so what do you suppose will happen to the demon?

That much we read in the description of the movie on the guide channel. To continue a plot summary would, I think, call for a spoiler alert. I don’t intend to exactly recount the plot, but just to be on the safe side, consider yourself alerted for possible spoilers.

The demon, it seems, does not so much possess Price as follow him around, taunting him and occasionally making him do things. And to my mind, not nearly enough things. Come on, the first guy the demon possessed — and this is just backstory — killed four people without motive. It takes forever for Price to start murdering!

When he finally does kill someone, he is not nearly as fiendish as we like our Vincent to be. There is a rather satisfyingly macabre bit involving a sculpture of somebody we don’t like much anyways, so that helps. Price was an excellent actor. He could play the tormented sufferer who wants to do right and it is a fine performance. I was just in the mood for a fiend.

The ending has a definite “Waaait a minute!” quality, but then, movies using a diary as a framing device often do. I mean, people are very rarely able to describe their own death in a diary before it actually happens (I didn’t spoil anything; remember? it opened on his funeral).

Perhaps they could have overcome the difficulty with a voice-over narration, something along the lines of, “This is what I plan to do. If you’re reading this, you’ll know it worked.” But they made no use of voice-over narration. Kind of silly of them, since Vincent Price had such a nice voice. Astute readers may remember my saying that I don’t like voice-over narration. True, it’s not my favorite. In this case, however, it may have enabled them to skip over a bunch of the boring parts before he gets around to killing somebody. Then they could have fit in a few more murders.

I guess it’s not the job of a reviewer to tell the movie makers how to fix the movie. I can see the director now huffing, “Fine! You go make a movie!” I guess they have a point. Reviewers ought to review the movie they saw, not the movie they wished they would have seen. Well, leaving aside the fact that I rarely do what I ought to (and brag about it), I’m not a real reviewer! I write a silly blog! Where do these movie makers get off, talking to me like I’m Leonard Maltin? They should just go make another movie. Maybe I’ll write about it next week.

Readers All About It

In yesterday’s dithery post, I said that when I tried to write about Strike Story, Ilion Little Theatre’s fall production, I got all bogged down and it was not good. Well, today, I looked at what I wrote and it really doesn’t seem too bad. Since I’m having another wrist to forehead kind of day, I’m going to type it in and see if it’ll fly as today’s post.

I mentioned before how Strike Story replaces Dirty Work at the Crossroads (postponed till May — watch for it!), how it was originally presented at Little Falls’ Black Box Theatre, and how it was written by a Angela Harris, a local writer, telling the story about the 1912 textile strike in Little Falls.

The play is unusual for Ilion Little Theatre and for me, because it is Readers’ Theatre. The actors have the script in their hands and basically read the story (hence the term Readers’ Theatre) (I bet you already figured that out). It is more stylized than a regular play. In some productions the actors don’t get up at all. In one piece I saw, they did the whole thing behind a screen, pretending it was a radio play (I actually thought that was kind of silly, but what do I know?)

I know some of my readers are theatre people from way back (Hi, Rachel!), and that pedantic paragraph was wasted on them. Oh well.

In Strike Story, all the players are on stage the whole time. When our characters have lines we stand up and move around the stage. Many of our lines are directly to the audience, but there is some character interaction. Sometimes the drama comes from characters not speaking to each other but telling the same story from differing points of view.

It is an interesting story that could spark some heated political and social debate among viewers. I won’t say more than that, because Mohawk Valley Girl stays off politics. It is a fascinating look at local history.

The play runs November 2, 3, 9 and 10 at 8 p.m. and Nov. 4 at 2 p.m. in Ilion Little Theatre, Remington Ave, Ilion, NY. For more information, visit their website at www.ilionlittletheatre.org their facebook page.

In My Defense, It’s Halloween!

Maybe I need to start a feature called Wuss Out Wednesday. I know I had Mid-Week Middle-Aged Musings, but I don’t feel up to musing.

Last week I seem to remember writing “In My Defense, I’m in a Play.” I started to write a more extensive post about the play and I got all bogged down in talking about Readers’ Theatre and it went downhill from there.

I saw a cool Vincent Price movie I’d like to write about, but my movie posts tend to run long and often need editing after consulting references. Will I have time for such a thing? No! I’ve got trick or treaters to greet!

That was as much as I wrote while at work today. I just finished greeting about a million trick or treaters. I’m cold, I’m tired, I’m irritated, and I haven’t eaten supper yet. On the brighter side, it was fun when we ran out of candy and I told everybody it was because Steven ate it all. The last dozen or so kids got Halloween pencils and other prizes we had previously purchased for Halloween parties past. I’ve been wanting to get rid of those pencils for years.

Steven just called up the stairs that dinner is ready, and I am just barely over 200 words. Happy Halloween, everybody! See you in November!

Mohawk Valley Morning

Saturday Steven did not have to go to work till two, so we had a Mohawk Valley Morning. And I don’t need anybody to be a wise-ass and tell me that since we live in the Mohawk Valley, every morning is a Mohawk Valley morning. I already know that.

We started out by walking with our schnoodle, Tabby, to First Source Federal Credit Union in Herkimer, NY. We had to deposit a check into our mad money account. This gave me an opportunity to imitate Carolyn Jones in House of Wax: “I don’t need any mad money (tee-hee-hee); I never get mad!”

We walked home by way of Margaret Street, so I could show Steven some Halloween decorations I had noticed earlier in the week. I just love when people get into the season. I admired pots of mums on many front steps. We envied some hanging ghouls, a vampire with Elvis sideburns and several gravestones. We don’t have any gravestones, or any mums for that matter. Come to think of it, our vampire doesn’t have sideburns. Improvements to consider for next year.

After we got Tabby back home we headed for the H.A.L.O. Trash to Treasure Sale at the Mohawk American Legion. As usual I said I wanted to sit on the legion’s front porch some nice day. They have a couple of wooden glider swings I like.

H.A.L.O., I’ve mentioned before, is the Helping Animals Live Organization, a no cage, no kill cat rescue. It’s run by some pretty nice people, and we support them whenever possible. We went to their Trash to Treasure Sale last year (I believe I wrote a blog post about it) and were happy to have a chance to go to this year’s.

The sale was huge with many nice things, some possibly antiques (I’m not that knowledgeable, but they looked pretty good to me). I found a purse that might work for my character in Dirty Work at the Crossroads (next May at Ilion Little Theatre — preview of coming attractions). I also picked up a Green Mountain Coffee thermal mug. It’s always good to have a few extra thermal mugs around, in case somebody visits from a distance and you want to send them on their way with a cup of hot coffee.

After shopping we were feeling a little peckish so stopped for breakfast at Mohawk Diner. While there we asked where Mohawk Fire Station was. As soon as the waitress told us, I said, “Oh yeah, I’ve driven by there a bunch of times. Silly me.”

The Fire Station was holding a Chinese Auction. We love those. This was a good one, 100 tickets for $5. I had a ten so bought us each an envelope.

“After all, it’s for the fire department,” I told Steven when he suggested that 100 tickets for both of us might have been sufficient.

We took our time walking around and deciding what to try for. Did we win? Could be. Then again, we MAY have won something that MIGHT be a Christmas present for someone. I’ll never tell.

Just Sew the Head Back On!

Spoiler Alert! I’m going to tell most of the plot of today’s movie. I’m really more interested in commenting about it than in being circumspect.

We continued our enjoyment of Peter Cushing as Dr. Frankenstein with Frankenstein Created Woman (1967).

I was a little disappointed that the movie did not pick up where Revenge of Frankenstein ended. On consulting Leonard Maltin, however (Leonard Maltin’s 2007 Movie Guide, Penguin Group, New York, 2006), I find that this movie is in fact the sequel to Evil of Frankenstein, which I did not see. That explains it.

The movie opens similarly to Revenge, however, with an ominous shot of a guillotine. The intended beheadee this time is not Dr. F but a common or garden thief and murderer. He is laughing at his fate until he sees his son in the distance watching.

The guillotine certainly makes for a chilling beginning, especially when we see the bloody blade being raised after the head drops. The guillotine, of course, was an efficient means of execution. That guy with the big ax sometimes missed, I’ve read. But guy with ax or guillotine, one thing you can say about getting beheaded: there was no chance they were going to bury you while you were still alive. Come to think of it, in a Frankenstein movie, I guess that’s not much of a fear anyways, because he digs up bodies. But I digress.

Flashing forward, the executed man’s son is all grown up and passes by the guillotine every day on his way to his job as — did you guess? I didn’t — Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant. Dr. F is also assisted by a bumbling old fool of a doctor, who is actually pretty endearing. I was reminded of Holmes and Watson (which is a little blog foreshadowing, by the way, because I also DVR’d The Hound of Baskervilles, starring none other than Peter Cushing as Sherlock Holmes).

Things get a little weird for a Frankenstein movie. He doesn’t sew any dead body parts together. So once again, the possibilities of the guillotine are wasted. Well, I guess not entirely, but that part comes later.

This time out, Dr. F is interested in the soul, which he says does not leave the body right away upon death.

“Where does it go?” asks Bumbling Old Doctor. I don’t think Dr. F has a good answer for that one.

As the movie progresses, we find out that Hans — that’s the guillotined guy’s son — is in love with the daughter of the owner of the local tavern. She is scarred and crippled. The origin of the scars is not explained, but it looks as if half her face has been burned. However, since she has a Veronica Lake thing going on with her long red hair, she is still cute. The crippled thing is harder to disguise, especially when some drunken upper-crust louts demand she wait on them, so they can make fun of her. Oh yes, the audience is wanting these guys to be cut up and used for body parts.

Ah, but this is a different Dr. Frankenstein. He wants to put somebody’s soul into a different body, and he gets his chance when Hans is sentenced to the guillotine.

I know what you’re thinking: “Just sew his head back on! It’s what you do!” That is what I was thinking it. But now that I think more about it, I remember that in Revenge of Frankenstein, he said he couldn’t put a dead brain into his patchwork body. But now it’s all about the soul, and the brain is not even mentioned (insert brainless joke of your choice).

You know, the more I think about it, the more I think Cushing’s character is just a regular old mad scientist, and they named him Frankenstein to buy into the franchise. Canny marketing strategy. I mean, I would have watched the movie anyways, but you can’t always go by me.

Where was I? Ah yes, Hans’ soul is put into the dead body of his girlfriend, who drowned herself in despair after he got guillotined. Yes, I’ve skipped a few plot points. You know how I am about details.

So what happens to the girl’s soul is a question nobody asks, but I think the answer is she’s still around, although she has no idea who she is or how she got there. However, she is now a beautiful, unscarred, uncrippled blond. I guess it’s a good thing she doesn’t know who she is or the first words out of her mouth may have been, “Thanks a lot, Doc! You couldn’t have done that while I was alive, I suppose?”

Just about the time I was complaining, “Isn’t there any comeuppance for those louts?” Blondie turns into a murderous vixen, commanded by, yes, Hans’ dismembered head, which she has apparently dug out of the grave (the doctors let him get buried after they got his soul).

Hey, maybe if Dr. F would have known what Blondie was up to, he could have put the louts’ souls into other people’s bodies, too. That would have made for a much longer movie, though, so I guess it’s just as well.

The movie ends pretty abruptly, with almost everybody dead, except Dr. Frankenstein. So he is all set for another sequel. I hope TCM shows it next Saturday.

Can’t Be Too Cheesy

Spoiler Alert! I’m not going to give away the whole plot, but I might ruin a surprise or two.

TCM has not shown any Whistler movies lately, but they have obliged with a few Hammer Films.

I made a note of “It’s a Hammer Film” in the TV Journal when we watched The Revenge of Frankenstein (1958) last Sunday. Last night I found I was correct to do so. Ben Mankiewicz, in pre-movie commentary to another Frankenstein movie, informed us that Hammer Films became known for the horror genre.

Revenge of Frankenstein stars Peter Cushing as the mad doctor. I first became aware of Cushing many years ago, when he had a part in the first Star Wars movie (that’s the first MOVIE, not the first “episode,” of which I know very little). Cushing, as I understood it, was one of a couple of older, highly respected actor’s actors brought in to class up the operation. Now it’s a name which, when I see it in a movie, I say, “Can’t be too cheesy.” Still, any horror movie from the ’50s or ’60s is going to have a certain kitsch factor, especially one about Frankenstein. Hello! Sewing together dead people to bring them back to life! Even Kenneth Branaugh could bring only so much weight to that.

The movie opens with Dr. Frankenstein facing the guillotine for his crimes. Apparently this is not the first Frankenstein movie in the series (“Revenge of” kind of clued me into that already). But there is no problem following the plot from where they start, no need for lengthy flashbacks. Actually, in a Frankenstein movie, flashbacks look a little silly. I mean, we all KNOW the story or at least enough that we can follow along (I, of course, know the whole story; I read the book) (sorry, didn’t mean to sound smug).

I was a little disappointed that Dr. F didn’t get beheaded and sew his own head back on, but that would have been a whole other movie, I suppose. Instead, the scene changes before the blade clangs down and I don’t think anybody is too much surprised to learn that our “hero” escaped execution with the help of a confederate (that’s all we’re told about how it was done. I personally would have liked a flashback showing the trick) (after all, you never know when you might need to know these things).

The next thing we know, a certain Dr. Stein (subtle!) is practicing medicine in, oh, I forget where. Presumably a country with no extradition policy or no guillotines. The local medical association is a little miffed he hasn’t tried to join or otherwise seek their permission before stealing all their patients.

It seems the ladies love Dr. Stein. Hmmm. I guess the young Peter Cushing had a sort of charm. Maybe it’s that crisp, businesslike aloofness. That unattainability that drives some women nuts.

At any rate, Dr. Stein’s waiting room for his upper crust patients who pay through the nose is always full. He uses this income to subsidize his free clinic for the poor, which is another thing that the ladies love about him. So unselfish! So dedicated! They don’t realize he is using that clinic as a source for body parts (but you knew right away, didn’t you?).

I do hope he washes the parts before he uses them, because a lot is made of how the poor people don’t wash. One fellow in particular — I think he is employed at the clinic in some menial capacity — brags his head off about how that’s why he’s so healthy. Um, he does not literally brag is head off, although I guess that would have been appropriate in a Frankenstein movie that opens with a guillotine.

Dr. Stein has a crippled assistant named Carl, and he acquires a young doctor protege. The young doctor recognizes who Dr. Stein is, but does not think he is evil. He thinks he is brilliant and wants to work with him and learn. There is a also a beautiful, young, upper crust girl who volunteers at the clinic, and the stage is set.

And that is about as far as I want to go, because, spoiler alert aside, I really don’t want to give any more away. There are some unexpected twists and turns. You may see the ending coming, but it’s still pretty satisfying. I didn’t see it coming a mile away, but pretty much guessed it just before it happened. I felt pretty pleased with myself that I guessed right.

I Ran, I Commented, I’m Done

I wondered if any of my readers missed Saturday Running Commentary, so I thought I would run and comment today. I never ran till after 2, when Steven went to work, but I figured you can do that in the fall.

The trouble with waiting to run is that you’ve got plenty of time to talk yourself out of it, which I almost did. I went to the store to buy groceries instead. As I was pushing the cart back after loading three big bags into my truck, I realized I was happy to be outdoors, because it was such a nice day. Well, self, I thought, there is one good activity that will get you outdoors for a little longer.

Of course, raking leaves is another activity that would get me outdoors and that definitely needs to be done. Still, I’m trying to get back into running and it is not going to be easy due to certain other time commitments I have recently made. I decided to run.

I was not immediately glad I did. Sometimes waiting till later in the day is a good thing: your muscles are not stiff and just waking up, you’ve eaten something nutritious (I hope), OK, that’s all I got. My muscles felt that they had been working enough (only walking, but you know how leg muscles are). My body acted as if it hadn’t been fed in days (like that’s ever going to happen!). I just kept going.

A friend of mine has been mentioning to people lately how I run up the hill to Herkimer County Community College. I have not run that hill in at least a month (too lazy to go downstairs and look it up in my running journal), but I figure if Phyllis is going to be talking about it I’d better get back to doing it. Only not today. I turned in that direction, though, because there are a couple less intimidating hills I thought I might be up to.

Finally I settled on the Unknown Park. I recently learned that it is in fact Brookfield Park, but I am so used to calling it the Unknown, I may continue to do so. There is a pretty good upslope as soon as you turn in. Wasn’t fun. Ran it anyways.

A couple of young girls were walking towards me, but they crossed to the other side of the road when they saw me. That was good, because it put them on left side facing traffic (of which there was none just then). I don’t think they did it to be safe, I think they did it to avoid the crazy old lady (me), but I was glad to see it nonetheless.

As I ran through the path in the woods I stopped to pet an adorable black pug, with the owners’ permission. I think he was just a puppy. He was so wiggly and cute, I ran on feeling refreshed. One more short upslope, I told myself, and then it’s downhill all the way. I felt good about that, because I knew I wasn’t lying. Not like on the Boilermaker when they keep telling you it’s all downhill from here and you know darn well it’s not.

Back on the road, I was going to turn left where it said “No Left Turn” as usual (must be a rebel, after all), but I saw a group of male college students walking in the opposite direction, right side with traffic, of course. I had no reason to think they might say anything rude, yet I did not feel inclined to run right into them. I thought, I never go straight at this intersection, I’ll go straight for once. Not that it was a road less traveled, because I run on that stretch of road all the time going toward the college. Still, a different direction is at least something different.

I stopped to pet two more cute dogs on German Street. They were the shaggy kind, Llasa Apsos or Shih Tsus or something. One backed off, the other was friendly. Then as I ran on the shy one ran after me.

“Now she wants to be petted,” the owner said, with a laugh. I turned around and obliged. “She has to play hard to get,” the owner said.

I ended up running longer than I had run Tuesday or Thursday, so I felt pretty good about that. Other than that satisfaction, though, I felt tired. I managed to spend a little time raking leaves, just because I thought I ought to (I know, I say I never do what I ought to, but I guess once in a while I do). Then I felt beat. Dare I say, too beat to write a decent blog post? Yet I see I am over 800 words. I’ll say today I went for quantity, not quality.

Off the Lame Cuff

So Wednesday I never wrote my blog post till after 6:30 at night and I sat at the computer and wrote it off the cuff, and I got eight likes. Can I get away with it again today? I sure hope so.

In my defense (guess I can’t get away with using that in the headline twice, can I?), it is Lame Post Friday. And I was still studying my lines from the play. I came up with some half-baked philosophy while I was at work. If only I could remember any of it.

Here is a random observation: I saw a little dog pee on one of those blow-up Halloween decorations. It was a great big old spider with four giant purple and black legs creating an arch with its body. The arch was right over the people’s front walk, but they had caution tape around it so apparently nobody was supposed to walk underneath the arch. As Steven and I drove by it tonight, their cute little dog walked right up to and lifted his leg.

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in several weeks,” I said.

Actually, I made myself laugh at work today. Bill was looking for Ed, but I had not seen him.

“He did not share with me his plans,” I said, because, you know, that’s how I talk sometimes.

Then Ed came back and asked where Bill was.

“He’s looking for you,” I said. “And I said, ‘How the hell do I know where Ed is? He goes where he wants to go! He don’t tell me nuthin’!'”

“Well, where’s Jeff?” Jeff is the boss.

“How the hell do I know where Jeff is? He goes where he wants to go! He don’t tell me nuthin’!”

“Where’s Hal?” He only asked because he knew where this was going.

After I wrote the preceding, I went back and changed all the names, to protect the innocent. In fact, my name is now Evelyn (cue the jokes on whether or not I’m innocent).

I note with some satisfaction that I am over 300 words. A lame post? Assuredly, but it is Friday after all. Amusing? Well, it amused me, so at least one of us is happy. Hope to see you Saturday.