Category Archives: humor

Best Lame Plans

It is not easy to write when you have a raging sinus headache.

My original plan was to write two posts on Thursday. Then Friday after work I would have only to hit “Publish,” and Steven and I could be off on our Mohawk Valley adventures.

Well, Thursday, I found out that it is not easy to write when you are dreadfully nauseous and laboring under strong emotions. Thursday’s post, in case you couldn’t tell, was composed at the computer with not a whole lot of time expended. Believe it or not, a great deal of thought was expended. It just didn’t seem to do me much good.

Fast forward to Friday (today) (oh, wouldn’t we Monday to Friday workers LOVE to be able to do just that). I was determined to write something that I could hurry home and just type in. After all, how hard could it be? It’s Lame Post Friday!

A little voice in my head is saying, “Cindy. Isn’t it time you stopped this obsession of posting every day? It was all very well for the first year, but now how many times a week are you craving people’s indulgence for another dumb post? Shouldn’t you be going for quality over quantity?”

To that voice I say, “Oh, do be quiet. Why can’t you say something interesting, like the voices in other people’s heads? Maybe something involving aliens and a tin foil hat.” I think I would look rather fetching in a tin foil hat. I wonder if it would do anything to alleviate the headache.

Cheese from Beyond Space

After enjoying our Whistler movie on Sunday, Steven and I arrowed down on the DVR list to It! The Terror from Beyond. It was not until we actually started watching that we discovered the full title is It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958). It is a misleading title. The terror in question is not from beyond space; it is from Mars, which is right in space (that’s not really a spoiler; we find that out early on).

This time we got to hear some commentary from Ben Mankiewicz, and I knew my instinct for cheese had not misled me.

“Campy? Yes. Cheesy special effects? Yes,” Mankiewicz says. What could be better? He goes on to praise the plot, which has been credited with inspiring Ridley Scott’s Alien. I remember being pretty scared at Alien, and a little grossed out. I also remember that I ultimately did not like that movie, because I don’t like movies where everybody dies — or everybody but one (sorry, Sigourney Weaver). I hoped everybody wouldn’t die this time out.

The movie opens with the sole survivor of a mission to Mars which came to grief. A second mission is going to pick up the survivor and bring him back to earth to face court martial charges of murdering the other eight (or is it nine?). We see a press conference where a guy announces this and all the reporters rush out of the room. I don’t know why they didn’t stay and ask any questions. For example, why would you thing such a thing?

Cut to the ship. Having picked up the prisoner, they are about to take off.

“Hey! Why is that hatch open?” The guy sees on a monitor that it is open; we don’t actually see it.

“Oh, sorry, I was dumping out some crates.”

Gee, I hope nothing got in, don’t you?

At this point I said to Steven, “Oh, I see what the plot’s going to be. The monster’s going to start killing people off and they’re going to think that guy did it.” The plot is actually nothing of the kind. Maybe it was a silly thing to think. After all, what could the guy gain by killing his rescuers/jailers? They’re on a space ship, for heavens’ sake! It’s not like a bus or car he can hijack and drive somewhere else.

Still, I think that would have made a pretty good plot, especially if at first even the audience isn’t sure there’s a monster. In fact, we see the monster right away and there is no doubt in the minds of the crew that someTHING is doing the killing. First we see the monster’s feet. Then his three-fingered, claw-like hand. Then his ugly head.

This is not as suspenseful as it sounds. I mean, we’re seeing the monster; he is not merely hinted at. Then again, the lessons of Jaws were over ten years away. I suppose, too, that guys in suits are never as scary as CGI or whatever it was they used in Alien. Still, they tried.

I bet the guy that was going to the court martial feels just a little bit glad when people start getting killed by the monster. Well, maybe not glad, exactly, but inclined to say, “I told you so!” Sometimes it takes drastic measures to fight murder charges.

There is a bit of a love triangle among one of the women, court martial guy and one of the wounded crew members. She does a lot of hand holding, and, as usual in these situations, I don’t know what she sees in either one of them.

I thought it was very progressive of them to have women on the ship. Of course, they were the medical personnel not real astronauts, but still. They were on the ship, and they did stuff other than scream and be rescued. In fact, I don’t think they did scream, be rescued or do any of the stupid movie female things I like to complain about. You go, girls!

I enjoyed the movie. Ben Mankiewicz was right: the plot is good. The one thing that cracked me up was that every so often they cut to a shot of the space ship moving through space. Like they need to remind us.

It is a long, tall ship, looking a lot like whatever number Apollo was going to the moon when I was in first grade (roughly 100 years ago). I remember at that time being amazed that most of that big ship was fuel needed for take off. In this case, it’s all ship. The interior has a kind of a town house design. Each floor is accessed from the one below via a steep stairway and a center hatch which closes very slowly. There were a couple of times I would have been jumping on that hatch trying to make it close quicker.

I probably would have broken it and then the monster would have gotten us all. Maybe leaving one survivor. Just like in those movies I don’t like.

Another Whistler Tale

Spoiler Alert! It is possible I will give away almost every plot point for the following movie. But I promise not to tell who the murderer is (there now, you see, I just gave away that there’s a murder!).

Saturday before last when I perused the listings for TCM, I was delighted to note a Whistler movie. After I reviewed two Whistler movies in this space, a reader told me there were eight Whistler movies. Naturally I would like to see them all. I even hoped this would be a weekly thing on TCM — a Whistler movie every Saturday for eight weeks. Alas, this past Saturday offered no Whistler movie. No matter; I still had The Voice of the Whistler on DVR. We watched it Sunday afternoon.

I noted that the movie was directed as well as co-written by William Castle. That boded well. The movie opens a little differently from the other two Whistler movies I’ve seen, with a shot of a lonely lighthouse on a rocky cliff with crashing waves. Still, a lonely lighthouse is good for a scary movie — remembering a movie I’ve reviewed recently whose name escapes me but which featured a character named Vi who gets pitched out of the lighthouse onto the rocks below.

We hear the familiar whistling and see the shadow, this time on a wild, craggy shore instead of a back alley in a city with a thousand secrets (I guess “city with a thousand secrets” sounds more Raymond Chandler than William Castle).

The entire movie is a flashback. Steven has pointed out that this is a common technique in old movies. The flashback is of course a time-honored fictional technique in many mediums. In general, telling the whole story as flashback is going a little far, but in this case it is appropriate.

We are introduced to a woman who despises and fears loneliness yet lives alone in this abandoned lighthouse (complete with cat). Why? It is a result of greed and murder. At least, looking back I can’t quite remember if the Whistler actually mentioned murder in his intro. But why would the Whistler be telling a story that did not involve murder?

As it turns out, we have to wait a long time for the murder. First we meet an industrialist. This movie is unusual in that we actually get to see what his business is — he makes cars. At least, he bought the manufactory and made a huge success of it. Perhaps he has other businesses to make a kind of an empire. At any rate, he’s filthy rich and has no friends.

Just about the time he decides to get a personal life, he has a heart attack. En route to a boat cruise, to relax and regain his health, he collapses again and ends up in the care of a cockney cab driver living in one of those movie working class neighborhoods I would love to live in.

Sparrow, the cab driver and easily the most likable character in the picture, begins to teach Rich Guy how to gain friends. It seems Sparrow was once a boxing champ, plenty of money but no idea who his real friends were or how to enjoy life. Now he walks down the street, greeting folks by name, asking about their families, and basically giving Rich Guy a lesson in a better way to live.

At a clinic to which Sparrow brings Rich Guy, we meet a beautiful nurse, who will eventually become Lonely Lighthouse Lady (complete with cat). She is engaged to a young doctor but is putting off marriage because she does not want her kids to grow up in the poverty she sees at the clinic.

Excuse me, what? The neighborhood is peopled with friendly working class salt of the earth. The clinic is a compassionate haven that strives to treat the whole person. Yet it is a hole of squalid poverty from which the nurse is determined to escape?

Everybody loves her. In fact, Rich Guy falls in love with her, after a series of events that I won’t spoil for you. Eventually the stage is set for murder.

I have to say, the Nurse/Lonely Lighthouse Lady (complete with cat) is not a consistent character. She veers from being a generic beautiful movie girl, to a dame with a hardscrabble past determined to make something of herself (by marrying; this is the ’50s, after all), to being a shrew witch, to being, you know, Lonely Lighthouse etc.

Her young doctor lover — “the young man who doesn’t have to be rich but doesn’t dare to be poor,” according to a later conversation — is hard to get a grip on too, but that may be because he is busy reacting to his girlfriend’s changes.

Rich Guy, in the meantime, seems to have forgotten the life lessons taught him by Sparrow. Did I say Sparrow is the most likable character in the picture? On second thought, he is the only likable character in the picture. Except for a few really minor players who we see only once or twice briefly.

The whole movie is really more of a character study than a thriller, horror or murder movie. Which would have been fine had the characters been better developed. As it is, by the time we finally get to the murder, it is too little too late.

And then it’s like they ran out of time, because the Whistler comes back on as a voice-over and wraps everything up. We are left with the image of the Lonely Lady in the Lighthouse, petting the cat. And the hope that TCM will show a more exciting Whistler movie soon.

Paltry Pedestrian Post

Readers who pay attention to that sort of thing may have noticed that I did not have Saturday Running Commentary yesterday. I still felt under the weather from giving blood on Friday. I suppose by now I’m going to have to begin running all over again, as I have done many times in the past. But I won’t be doing it today. Instead I took my schnoodle, Tabby, for a walk. A Pedestrian Post will have to do.

Steven left for work about quarter to nine, and I went to the grocery store (NOT worthy of a blog post). When I returned, I thought, “Oh dear, now what?” In fact, while I drove to the store I thought I probably could go running. It would not be too hot. It might be a good idea. I couldn’t talk myself into it. I could not talk myself into all the cleaning and other household chores that awaited. Well I’m sure to Tabby, a walk was the most important activity I could undertake.

I put on my crazy old lady hat. It was not particularly sunny out, and I did not expect rain. But I would feel a little more incognito in the hat. Not that I expected to run into anybody I knew, and if I did they would probably recognize me with the hat if not by the hat. It still made me feel a little better.

Then I was glad I wore it, because the sun came out. I suppose I should have expected that, with our Wait Five Minute Mohawk Valley Weather. I could even have used my sunglasses. Never mind, the hat would have to do.

We walked to Tabby’s favorite Historic Four Corners, as usual. When we started down Main Street, however, I saw a dog sitting in front of a Sam’s Deli. He was just lying there minding his own doggy business, but I could hardly count on him remaining still as another dog walked right in front of him. I could not see if he was on a leash or if his person was nearby. I convinced Tabby to cross the street.

This put us right near our church, Christ Episcopal, which, I’m sorry, I was not attending this Sunday. I was afraid Tabby would pull me right up to the door, certain there would be someone inside wanting to pet her (there probably would be; lots of dog lovers in my church). Instead we walked back up Main Street, giving me the opportunity to admire once again the old courthouse, a lovely red stone building.

Then Tabby wanted to cross right back over Main Street and go back the way we came. Oh come on, Tabby! I don’t like walking right back the way I came. She was insistent, though, so we crossed in front of Herkimer Reformed Church. Tabby spent some time sniffing the iron fence around the cemetery in the church yard. They recently re-painted the fence black, so it looks nice, although still a little bent in places. It is an old fence, and an old church (hello! Historic Four Corners; I guess the church would be old!).

I managed to talk Tabby into going up Prospect Street and down German, so we did not walk back exactly the way we came. Not much of note happened on the walk. We met a dog named Sasha, who was more interested in sniffing Tabby than in having me pet her. And I saw a lady who from a distance looked a little like Maxine from the comics. I mean this as a compliment, of course, but I’m not sure it would be taken as one, so I leave out any identifying characteristics of where this happened or who the lady may actually be (I don’t know her, but she seemed nice; she said good morning).

I had meant to have more Mohawk Valley adventures this weekend so as to have a better quality of post today. Sorry about that. Still, it is a nice day for a walk, and Tabby and I enjoyed it. We may take another walk later with Steven. I may write another blog post about it. Just so you know.

The Post I Had Been Going to Write

Yesterday I previewed the title “Dirty Break for Dirty Works.” It’s quite possible that some reader somewhere was looking forward to such a post. It is possible that some reader or even readers was looking forward to this blog becoming All Dirty Works All The Time, as I had previously threatened (I confess to feeling some anticipation for that myself). It is also possible that I just like using the phrase Dirty Work in as many sentences as possible.

Welcome to Lame Post Friday.

I had meant to write a real post today, since yesterday’s was pretty sad (although I hope somebody somewhere derived some entertainment from it) (that’s really not so far-fetched; some people are highly entertained by saying, “What a dumb post!”) (but surely none of my readers are so snotty and superior).

The post I had been going to write concerned the postponement of Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play being directed by my delightful husband, Steven, for Ilion Little Theatre. We are now hoping to do the show in the spring, in which case I will have the opportunity to use “Dirty Work” in many future headlines.

I was going to make a whole big story of the saga, but as I sit here, pen in hand (I’m writing this on a break at work as usual), that is really all I want to say about it. So here is my blog post about what I am not going to write a blog post about. Sufficiently lame for a Friday, I trust.

That is as much as I wrote at work today. I see now I have indulged in some inaccuracy, or is it irony, in my headline. This is not, in fact, the post I had meant to write. On the other hand, it is a post about the post I had meant to write. Is that half-baked philosophy or circular reasoning? Or a lame, not to say random observation?

In my defense, I gave blood today. It makes me woozy. I have no brains left to improve upon what I have written. Happy Friday, though, and for anybody who happens to need a pint of O Positive, if you get mine, you’re welcome.

Pre-Lame Post

Lame Post Friday is not till tomorrow. Yet here I sit with NOTHING to write about.

I’ve been thinking lately that I want to do more posts about bad movies. They are fun to write, and people seem to like them. Then I thought, will people think I do nothing but watch bad movies? Then I thought, what do I care what people think? Then I stopped arguing with myself and tried to finish writing this post.

I seem to watch a lot of television. In my defense, I usually crochet or knit while I watch, so I get projects done. Sometimes I write in the TV Journal, which is fun to do and fun to read later. I’d like to think that it is my legacy to future generations, but I rather doubt that future generations will bother to decipher my handwriting.

I often run into people who sniff, “I don’t have time to watch television.” Some of these people can still tell you the last couple of people to get voted off Survivor and which husband Kim Kardashian is on (I don’t know these things myself; what does that tell you, if anything?). Or maybe they truly do not watch television, but spend hours working on their fantasy football team or playing Farmville. To each his own, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow.

My point being, don’t sniff at how I spend my leisure time; we are none of us as productive as we could be. Oh, all right, I suppose some people are. I’m sure many, many people are at least more productive than I am. Don’t brag about it to me, though, or I will lampoon you in this blog as a thoroughly obnoxious person (ooh, scary threat).

Where was I? Nowhere, really. The real reason I’m at a loss today is that I have not been doing much this week. I actually have a topic I would like to write about, but I think that needs to wait till tomorrow at least. So I guess that’s a preview of coming attractions. Here’s a teaser: I’ll tell you my tentative title: “Dirty Break for Dirty Works.” Intrigued? Stay tuned!

Not Your Average Ghost Story

Steven and I continued our Sunday Horror Classic viewing (hey, that’s what the box calls them!) with The Amazing Mr. X (1948). We selected this movie using the most stringent criteria: it was the other movie on the disc with the first one we watched.

I am hesitant to write this review, because I really really don’t want to give anything away. As twists and turns go, this is the twistiest one yet. So I guess this is your Spoiler Alert. I’ll do my best not to, but…

The movie does not start out twisted. It starts out like a common or garden ghost story. A widow of two years’ standing is getting ready to go out on a date with a man who is certain to propose. Her spunky kid sister, who has a date herself, is all in favor of Widow getting on with her life. Sis picks out a sexy white dress for Widow to wear instead of the black one she had intended.

Good for you, Sis! Let’s be a little more obvious, shall we, Widow? Come on! A black dress — and not an LBD, mind you — on a date where a guy is going to propose? Shame on you!

Ah, but she remembers her husband fondly. How he loved to swim! He would run down to the ocean yelling, “Last one in’s a chicken!” Hmmm, that’s not foreshadowing, is it?

Widow decides to walk along the beach to meet her date. It will be quicker and she will enjoy the walk. Through the sand in high-heeled dress shoes. Good idea. As she walks, she seems to hear her dead husband calling her name (which I don’t remember. I think I mentioned yesterday that I watch these movies casually). I thought he sounded hoarse, even for a ghost.

Then Widow meets a stranger — handsome, of course — who tells her all about herself. He gives her his card. The card does not identify him as, nor does anybody ever call him Mr. X. I suppose that’s mere quibble, though, because he is kind of amazing.

That night the Widow is visited by a ghost — or is it only a dream? Cue spooky music. It is after this point that the plot begins to thicken. Widow visits the mysterious Mr. X (which may have been a better name for the movie, but nobody asked me), determined to contact her dead husband.

But is Mr. X a charlatan? New Fiance and Spunky Kid Sister are convinced he is. What do to? Kid Sister sets out to prove it by visiting Mr. X as a new client. Now how dumb is that? You think the guy is a charlatan, that he cleverly found out all this stuff about Widow, not that he knew it psychically. Don’t you suppose in his research he might have come across the fact that Widow has a Kid Sister?

Kid Sister quickly falls for Mr. X herself and the plot continues to thicken. And then come the plot twists that I intend to keep to myself. It gets exciting. I especially liked the dramatic climax when… Hah! Thought I was going to let something slip, didn’t you? I recommend this movie for fun, casual viewing. Steven is sorry he slept through it.

Mike Brady But Not Vincent Price

“Don’t ask any questions. Just do exactly what I tell you to do.”

“What do you want me to do?

“I said no questions!”

Those were lines from a cheesy horror flick Steven and I watched on Sunday. OK, the last line wasn’t in the movie; I said it. I thought it was witty, or do I flatter myself?

I asked Steven to pick out a monster movie. When he read the description for Blood Lust (1959) on the DVD box for this one, I had my doubts. A group of teenagers find themselves on an island owned by a bad man. He used to import exotic animals to hunt, but he got bored with that and started to hunt people. In other words, no monsters per se.

Hunting people has got to be one of the hoariest fictional cliches going. I first encountered it in a short story I was forced to read in seventh grade called “The Deadliest Game.” I think it was here that my lifelong aversion to short stories began.

In seventh grade I took most things at face value. Now I ask questions like, how is a man with no gun more dangerous than, say, a lion? Men have no natural defenses. They have no instincts and natural wiles for hiding in the forest. They don’t even blend in particularly well. It seems to me a man would be a pathetically easy target for somebody who used to hunt big game.

And yet the hunted almost always win in these stories (now I’ve given away the ending, and I left off the Spoiler Alert. My bad).

The DVD box (50 Horror Classics) (they use both terms loosely) lists for each title the most well known actor in the cast as the star. In this case, it is Robert Reed.

“You know, Mike Brady,” Steven had to tell me (I don’t have to explain Mike Brady to my younger readers, do I?).

As the opening credits roll we find out Reed is not the star but a featured player. I think he actually did have the biggest part, as the main teenager. I must say it was kind of odd to see Mr. Brady as a teenager. Of course movie teenagers are usually in their 20s at least (hello, 30-something Steve McQueen in The Blob). That doesn’t bother me. It was the wise father voice in somebody who wasn’t supposed to be old enough to drink that I found disconcerting. I got over it, though, and settled in to enjoy the movie.

It starts out with four teenagers on a pleasure boat in the ocean. One couple is fishing and the other is skeet shooting. They can’t figure out what scared the fish. Oh yeah, they’re deadly game.

Apparently they are on vacation and have hired this drunkard to drive them around in his boat. they spot an island they’ve never seen before. When the boat guy passes out, they decide to row ashore and explore till he sobers up and can drive them home.

Excuse me, what? I guess this guy has been piloting them around all week and they are not perturbed by his dipsomania (how’s that for a $4 word?). As they row away in the row boat (Mike Brady can pilot the boat close enough to the island to go ashore in a row boat, but he can’t get them back to the mainland) (seriously, this is what he tells the others), the pilot wakes up and yells after them to not go to the island, you fools. Then he passes out again.

I’m afraid I started to lose track of the movie at this point, but they soon meet Bad Island Guy and his many henchmen. I think the folks that made the movie really really wanted Vincent Price for the part and the actor they got tries his best to oblige. Sometimes this kind of thing works (notably in Mrs. Santa Claus, where the guy playing the villain channels Tim Curry). This time not so much.

Eventually our teenage adventurers find out what going on and the hunt begins. At first it seems that Bad Island Guy gives his prey a sporting chance: limited crossbow arrows for himself, a gun and chance to find ammo for the hunted. I don’t think I’m giving too much away by saying he turns out to be a dirty double-crosser.

The girls get to be a little brave and clever, although the day ends up being saved by… well, you didn’t think I was going to give that away, did you? There are some decidedly creepy moments along the way as well as a few twists and turns. Perhaps I would have seen them coming if I would have been paying more attention. Which is a pretty good argument for watching these silly flicks as casually as I do.

63 Degrees in the Sun

Since I have been suffering from one of my periodic bouts of lightheadedness, I have been unable to partake of any Mohawk Valley adventures this weekend. Saturday was fine, since I could write about my run. But Sunday? Oh dear, what to do? What to do? Finally I thought I would take my dog Tabby for a walk and write a post about that.

The first thing that struck me was the difference between indoor and outdoor temperatures. I had been lounging on the couch reading a romance novel (hey, it’s Sunday and I’m lightheaded; I’m allowed). I felt cold! I had on pants and a sweatshirt, and I put the hood up. When I looked at our thermostat, I noted that it was more than 10 degrees cooler outside: 63 as opposed to 75. Still, I took off the sweatshirt. I found my crazy old lady hat and grabbed my prescription sunglasses. It wasn’t particularly sunny out at the moment, but I figured, wait five minutes.

The temperature at first felt a little cool. I may have been more comfortable in a sweatshirt or perhaps just a long-sleeved shirt. Never mind, it was mid-afternoon. Shade was not plentiful and the sky was not completely overcast.

Sure enough, I hadn’t gone a block when I put the sunglasses on. Ah, that was better. Tabby pulled me toward Herkimer’s Historic Four Corners, one of her favorite spots to walk by. I let her stop and sniff a light post, thinking I really did not need the jacket.

She nicely did her business a mere block and a half from a trash can I know of. Sometimes she is a convenient kind of dog. I had another poop bag in my pocket, in case of the rare occurrence that she poops again. Fellow dog owners will appreciate my concern.

We walked down Main Street. I noticed Sam’s Deli, a new business we have not yet patronized, carries Steven’s favored brand of cigarettes. Oh, I know, it would be a good idea for his health and our finances if he quit. You tell him; I’m not that kind of a wife.

I felt bad as usual as we passed other closed businesses as well as buildings that haven’t housed businesses in recent memory. I admired the old buildings, though, and keep thinking I will bring my camera downtown one day and take some pictures.

Tabby wanted to walk through the little park by Basloe Library. A young man was sitting on a bench, having a loud conversation with a laptop computer. Or maybe it was one of those cell phone ear attachments and he just happened to also have a laptop computer. I did not nosily look too closely or try to listen.

After the park, Tabby pulled me down Prospect, then left onto Park Avenue and back to Main Street. More closed businesses and a few open ones. Tabby looked speculatively into Pete’s Tavern, but I reminded her she was not 21. I looked longingly at Crazy Otto’s Diner, but reminded myself I had already had breakfast. We did not go into Hummel’s Office Plus for once, and Belly Up Pub is not yet open.

By now the breeze had died down and the sun was quite warm. I was wearing dark clothes, so that didn’t help. I was happy to get back home and into the 75 degree temperature that is inexplicably cooler than 63 degrees in the sun.

Lame Is As Lame Does

I had started to write this week’s Friday Lame Post, heavy on the half-baked philosophy and full of literary erudition (well, full of something), all about “Ode to a Grecian Urn,” but I feel philosophically unable to finish it today. Perhaps another Friday. Or it may do for a Middle-aged Musings Monday. That is for the future.

I seem to remember having kind of an existential crisis trying to write this week’s Monday Musings. It was supposed to be easy and it was not. Likewise with Lame Post Friday. I’m supposed to sit here rattling off a few random observations and some half-baked philosophy, then get on with my weekend. I can’t have two existential crises in one week. At least, I suppose I can, but I can’t very well blog about them both. So please, dear reader, ignore this paragraph, continue reading and pretend I am having an easy time of it.

Actually, as I type, I begin to think, “I can rock this.” And there is some writerly half-baked philosophy: Once you start putting words down, it is really not so difficult as it seemed when you were staring at the blank screen (or page, as the case may be). That is scarcely an original thing to say, but bear with me. I may come up with something better.

I randomly observed the most adorable little dog sticking his head out of the window of a car in front of me as I drove home today. I hoped he would not get excited and jump out, but if he did, I was prepared to throw on my emergency flashers, put the truck in park and run to the rescue. Then I saw he was sitting on a little boy’s lap, so I figured the kid would keep track of him. Good thing. That little dog could have outrun me with no problem. I probably would have been no help at all and just antagonized the motorists behind me.

I got pretty antagonized myself as I hit every light red, sitting through a couple of them twice because there was so much traffic. The other day I gave a co-worker a ride, hit most of the lights green, and observed to her how some days hitting the lights red bothers you more than others. Today it bothered me and then some. It would be nice if I could come up with some half-baked philosophy about this, wouldn’t it? Something to put it in perspective, maybe keep myself from getting so agitated next time. I’m thinking, but nothing’s coming. I guess I’ll fall back on my stand-by philosophy, “You’ll have that.”

I spent a good portion of my time at work trying to think of a lame headline. I don’t think that is a particularly good one, but it will have to do. I’m over 400 words now, so I think I can start my weekend. I’ll try to have some Mohawk Valley adventures to share, and maybe next week we can talk about “Ode to a Grecian Urn.”