"Winner"

Master L has named the cat "Winner".



I haven't done the "box-training" thing in a long time. Basically,
it's like having an infant on speed running around without a
diaper. The good thing is: when he grows up he won't
write a book about my bad parenting (after he gets out
of rehab/therapy).

Cat Day Early Evening

He's orange. He bites. He claws. He mews.
He tries to pee next to the television instead
of in the litter box.
He woke me up at four in the morning to tell me some kind
of story, but unfortunately, it was in his native language.
I only understood a little. . .

The fun has just begun!

Blog Drano

Some random observations that I either
forgot in previous posts or didn't fit
anywhere else!!!

One:
The other day I ran into a bunch of police officers
who were on lunch break from some kind of
training session at the college down the street.
They were all wearing little ID badges for the
session. They were also wearing identical
black t-shirts that had their city's police
department logo on the front.
BUT, one officer's shirt had extra screening on
the back:

"24-hour baby-sitting service"
"Free pickup"
"Secure facility"
"Serving assholes since 1846"

You know, I hate to be a prudish parent, but
since I have to put up with other prudish parents
-- is it "appropriate" for an officer of the law to
have that stuff on a shirt? I guess the argument
would be that he's not technically "on duty".
But I'm sure he's getting paid in some way for
being at the training, and since he's obviously
a cop and has a .45 and a taser strapped on
his belt, there is really no question who he
is representing. A fine message to send to
my kid. . . maybe it should have read,
"Self-serving assholes since 1846".


Two:
The movie "E.T." was recently shown on television,
which reminded me that when it originally came out,
I laughed like hell when they found E.T. all shriveled
up and white in the ditch. I don't know why, exactly,
but I thought it was really funny. The woman sitting
in front of me in the theatre (with her two kids)
didn't share my enthusiasm. If looks could kill. . .
oh, well. I guess I was a bad person back then.
Yeah, that's right -- back THEN.

Three:
A conversation between Mrs and Master L, just
before my band played at the Fair this year. . .

Master L: "We'll get to see the animals, and I can
go on the rides, and. . ."

Mrs. L: "And you know what? There's a really
good band playing that we should go see."

Master L: "Are they on before Dad's band, or after?"

[Familiarity breeds contempt, and, in the manner
of Homer Simpson, "Why, you little. . .!"]


Three:
Sign at a local pharmacy:

"We will not disclose personal health information to
coroners, medical examiners or funeral directors
without your permission."

Um. . . well, you won't get it from ME if I recently
needed the services of any of those people, will
you???


Four:
I may have stuck this in a post somewhere, but. . .

I saw a truck with this advertising:

Dog-Gone-It Pooper Scooper Service

"If you're not picking it up it's piling up!
Don't let it pile up, call Dog-Gone-It today!"

I wonder if they supply "escort scoopers", like planes that
refuel fighter jets in mid-air?

Go Sox - But Make It Quick

The Red Sox are in the World Series (I guess Canada and the
US are "the world" by Major League Baseball's standards).

Somehow, and believe me, this is rare -- the games are
not scheduled on the same night as any gig of mine. Well,
any PAYING gig. This means there will be no last-minute
cancellation when the venue owner suddenly wakes up
on the day and thinks, "Hey, everyone is going to want to
watch the television. . . why should I pay a band? I think
I'll call them and cancel."

The only snag will be if the series goes to seven games. I
volunteered to help out at a "jam" that my brother is
running. Of course, if there's a big final game of the
baseball season on television. . . nobody is going to be there
and he ought to call and cancel me! It won't piss me off
since it's a freebie and I'd want to watch the game anyway.
Personally, I'd prefer it be over before then, but the
beer companies who advertise during the games feel
otherwise.

Whenever a team gets into the playoffs, there are
suddenly all these "fan" interviews in the streets
around the ballpark. Lots of people are camped (literally,
in tents) outside Fenway Park in Boston, waiting
for tickets for the series to go on sale.

I love it when they start up with the "appeal of the
players to the female fans" angle. You see an
endless parade of women saying "so-and-so is
SO hot!!", etc. What I want to know is, what woman
REALLY wants a guy who spits about twice a minute??
I mean. . . REALLY??? You don't think these guys
are disgusting little boys who never had to grow up?
Hmm. I don't get it. I've always wanted to get one
of those little hand-held counting devices that are
used to keep track of admission, etc., and find out
exactly how many times we have to watch grown
men spit during any given baseball broadcast.

But, I'd probably get some kind of repetitive-stress
injury in the process. So, forget it.

Mrs. L says the appeal is probably the multi-million
dollar salaries, not the guy himself. Which explains
why she picked me.

Right. Well, at least I don't spit.

Anyway. . . go Sox. . . get it over in six, please.
Thanks.

Thinking of Peeping?

If you've ever had the strange idea to get in your car,
drive to New England and hold up traffic while you
look at leaves when you should be paying attention
to the road, here's a fix for you:






Fabulous. Now you can stay home!

"Gay" Penguins Under Attack!

This is a story from a town dangerously close to mine:

------------------------------------------------------

"By Hiroko Sato
PEPPERELL — Author Justin Richardson didn’t make it up
when he wrote about two male penguins named Silo and Roy
that hatched an egg together and raised Tango the chick.

It actually happened at New York Central Park Zoo several
years ago. And many parents found And Tango Makes Three,
which Richardson wrote based on the episode, to be a
heartwarming book for children.

In the eyes of some others, though, the book means nothing
but pro-gay propaganda. They just want the book gone from
shelves at local libraries."

-------------------------------------------------------

You know, when it comes to being a parent, I'm usually
too busy with my son to worry about the possible
implications of penguin chick-rearing by a same-sex
"couple". UGH!!!!!!

Weekend, Oct 13

On Saturday, Mrs. L and I went out on a "date" to
the Joyful Noise Coffeehouse -- or, as their stage
backdrop says, "The Goyful Noise" . . .


. . . to see Karla Bonoff . . .


. . . whom Mrs. L said she's "wanted to see for the last 30 years."

I told her to tell Karla that, but Mrs. L declined. She
thought perhaps the "30 years" wouldn't be well-received.
Not sure why . . .

Update on the Great CD Challenge: I'm about 85 into it,
and have reached the Beatles. Here are the upstairs
racks:


I will not be deterred!!

What the hell IS this???

Is this a gopher? Or a groundhog?


Is there a difference??

Whatever it is, why isn't it eating the damned leaves
for me?

Camping

Over the weekend, at the request of Master L, we went
camping. I haven't camped since I was four, so that
should give you an idea of my vast camping knowledge.

This was only the second time Mrs. L and I set up the
tent. Here is our humble abode:



Note the Dunkin' Donuts coffee - a sure sign that we were
"roughin' it in the great outdoors" !

A view from the tent:



Mrs. L relaxes and surveys the neighbours.


Later that night, it poured rain. And I mean POURED. And, since
we are camping novices, we hadn't correctly secured the "fly",
or tarp, that goes over the tent. Sure enough, we had some
flooding. We also learned that if you touch any part of the ceiling,
it instantly creates a pathway through the fibres for water to
come in. I felt a little better in the morning when I found out
that almost everyone around us had taken on water - even the
"veteran" campers. Later, we found a message (left during the
torrent) from my sister-in-law on the cell phone - "If
this hard rain is falling there too, don't touch the walls or the
ceiling, or the water will come right in!"

Um . . . too late. But we'll know next time.

Oh, and that's another thing. Does it seem right that
campers were hiking up the mountain while talking on
their cell phones?!? Isn't that sort of the opposite of
the idea of camping? "The Great Outdoors - now
with electronic tethers!"

So, a little flooding, a lot of aches and pains from hiking
and setting up the tent . . . still, it's good to get away from
what's going on in the world, right?

Ah, but it finds YOU. An incoming Blackhawk helicopter:


Yep, landed right in the campground. As you can see,
the natives swarmed it in case it was an enemy
combatant:



You never know - some "terrst" could have hot-wired the thing
and decided to take out the squirrels. But no. Crisis averted!

I'm not sure I'll ever be a true camper. Our stuff still hasn't
dried out - so, now at least I know why all camping gear
smells of mildew. . . the camper's aphrodisiac!

Thur-Fri Fun

On Thursday night I gave Master L his second shot
at serious tinnitus. The first was a John Mayall
concert when he was very little. This time it
was a Steve Vai concert. Man, his band is
LOUD. I assume he needs a lot of stage
volume to facilitate the feedback "hotspots"
around his monitors, but . . . well, these old
ears . . .

Fortunately, I brought earplugs for both myself
and Master L - but he kept taking his out, putting
them back in, etc. I guess you can't make someone
understand tinnitus until they have it. I have it.
Leave your message at the tone . . . what's that?
You don't hear the tone? It must be in my head.

Master L declared the Steve Vai band to be "the
best concert you've taken me to see" . . . so I
expect the teen years will involve a lot of feedback and
whammy bar action.

On Friday, I had the joy of driving to a medical
appointment during the peak of morning solar
glare:




Where's the road? Are those cars in front of me?



What the hell am I doing taking pictures while
driving blindly?!?!? No worries - I'm going
to the hospital anyway! If I end up finishing
the ride in an ambulance, I won't have to
pay to park in the new parking garage.

For some reason, since the day the garage was built,
you can't get in and out of the hospital in less than an
hour, even if you're only picking up a document. Do you
think there was a board meeting about making sure
higher parking fees are collected?



Nah - I'm just paranoid!

Hey - let's ingest radioactive particles and climb
inside a huge magnet! Woo hoo!



Even better! Let's see how much the insurance
company covers!!

Wait - that's not funny.

All's "Fair"

Yesterday was the annual Fair gig. It used to be a reunion of
the original lineup of the band, but injuries and other
commitments seem to have put an end to that particular
angle. So now it's just another gig on the schedule.

Mrs. and Master L practice their "pre-show mulling":



The sax player arrives, carrying all that heavy gear that
horn players have to lug around:

"We tune because we care":

The mighty bass rig stands ready to shake the foundations
of both the stage and the audience's pre-conceived notions
of "bottom":
Note the bottle of ibuprofen on the top right . . . used as both
an anti-inflammatory AND a percussion device!

Master L with duck on head:
. . . um . . . OK . . .

The "show" gets underway:

Banished to "stage Siberia" for not having to carry heavy
gear:
Oh, all right - it was only an optical illusion:

Another year at the Fair in the books. Packed up all the gear
and went with Master L to feed the hens and roosters, and
watch chicks hatch. Also, pulled the "no guilt if it comes
from someone else's plate" trick by confiscating chunks of
fried dough from Mrs. L.

I forgot to bring the hot sauce for the guitar player's sausage
sandwich (the vendor hasn't been stocking it for the last
two years). My bad. It's not like I don't have dozens of
bottles of it around, it's just that I have no short-term
memory. Huh? What??

I'll bring the sauce NEXT year!

"Getting" Golf

In response to my last post about golf, Melissa said:

"I simply don't get golf. playing, watching, you name it.

I don't get it."

All I can offer is my experience.

On the day I got married, my brother-in-law said to me,
"I know you think golf is stupid. But - now that you're
'one of us', you'll see the beauty of it very soon: golf
is four to six hours away from the wife . . . no yardwork,
no 'honey-do' lists . . . just peace and quiet. Even if
you never get good at the game, it's still FOUR HOURS
away."

Mrs. L completely agreed with that concept - she bought
me a set of clubs!!!

Hey . . . wait a minute . . .

Golf, Or Something Like It

I got an e-mail last week from one of my old coworkers.
It was time for the annual company golf tournament
and he needed a fourth player for his team.

I haven't worked for that company for over twelve
years. But . . . would I go play golf for FREE?
Sure, why not? Weird golf course though - this
was the first hole:


A 90-yard par 3. Not something you see every day!

The "theme" of the tournament ("golf" is usually enough for
me, but I wasn't going to argue -- it was free) was "James
Bond". It's a software company, so my team was called
"Spyware". Um. . . clever, eh?!? :) We never saw who
was on the "Octopussy" team . . .

There were "James Bond" trivia questions posted at every hole.
The team with the highest number of correct answers apparently
would win a prize. I know NOTHING about those movies.

Here's my team captain phoning in suspicious activity
to HQ:

Actually he was taking a call from his wife. But that's the real HQ.
We didn't win. But did I mention it was free???

Stories were recounted. My famous exit interview was revisited.
A fine time was had by all. Same time NEXT year?!?

This company had (and still has) a policy of "free soda". They
give it away at the office, and they had coolers all over the
golf course. I think the owner must be diabetic, such is the
obsession with soda.

On Sunday, I played my "home course" with the usual bunch
of smartass perverts. Heh. I guess you'd have to know them.
Don't all the lost golf balls in this water hazard look like
some weird kind of fungi??

. . . or maybe lots of bird poop . . .

They really were all golf balls though. Except for the 38th
one from the left -- that one IS bird poop.

You know what's funny about golf? When you play every day,
you get better. Weird. And too bad it was only those two days.
Ha . . . I'm probably back to sucking by now.

Hey, remember my CD challenge? "You have so many, you'll
never listen to them all" ?? Update: I'm a month and a half in.
I started at the "1" discs ("15.60.75 The Numbers Band") and
have moved up to the "B" discs (currently "Bantam: Suicide
Tourist"). 68 discs into it. I have a long way to go. Hey --
just like my golf game.

I just hope it wasn't our lousy play that killed Miss Moneypenny!