I saw Lon Cheney having tea....

Okay, it's All Hallow's Eve. Whoopeedeedoo. Not a single trick or treater. I am not surprised, as we don't usually get any. In this day and age, it is just too scary to let the wee ones wonder from door to door, soliciting treats.

But since it IS that spooky day, I've a question for you, gentle readers. What gives you the heeby-jeebies? What is it that truly creeps you out, sends shivers down your spine, and keeps you up for three nights straight?

My "biggie" originated from a low budget horror film from the mid 70's, namely "Trilogy of Terror". This is movie with 3 (duh) different storylines, all interwoven, all starring Karen Black. In one of the stories, a woman buys a small doll on a trip to Africa. Supposedly, the doll contains the spirit of a cannibal warrior, which is contained via the oh-so-secure tiny chain it wears. Naturally, the chain falls off and the doll comes to life, chasing the woman throughout her apartment. Let's just say this really freaked me out. Can't stand moving dolls. Animated playthings. Ugh! Poltergeist? Where the clown doll tries to strangle the kid? Uhn uh! Chucky movies? Fuggettabouttit! Even "Toy Story" kind of creeped me out, a little.

There you have it. I am afraid of dolls. How about you?

Riding the storm out...

Let me tell you a story. This is the story of a strong, independent woman. Some of you out there may claim to be, and are, in your own right, but in my mind you don't hold a candle to this fine lady.

She grew up on a small farm in Pennsylvania, in a time when poor was the way of life, and they were poorer than most. But she survived.

She worked for well nigh on 50 years, to make money to survive, and survive she did.

She raised 5 children, practically on her own, providing and caring for them. She taught them right from wrong. She taught them that they must stick up for themselves, but moreover, to stick up for others. They learned to give what you can to help others, and to be independent and stand alone and not ask for help from others. They learned to face adversity and conquer it, to run toward trouble when others run away, as someone may need assistance. they learned to hide their own pain, as others may need nurturing, and would need a strong shoulder. They learned to be kind, and to be polite, and what to do when it was time to no longer be polite. She laughed, and gave them all a sense of humor to entertain, and to be able to laugh at themselves. They were good kids, and grew up to be good, responsible adults. None of them are terribly rich, but they provide for themselves and for their families. And they almost drove her crazy. But she survived.

She'd been through many disasters, including hurricanes and tornadoes, very lean times, accidents, broken bones, skinned knees and bruised egos. She survived, and so did her children.

She suffered a broken back, due to a poorly designed walkway, slick with rain. She gritted the pain, and survived.

She underwent cataract surgery, which went wrong, and left her with fuzzy, blurred vision in one eye, and she survived.

She worked long and hard, to provide for her own, and to give herself a little peace when it was time to retire. She sold the duplex that she owned, and bought a small manufactured home in a predominantly retired community. She made it her home. A place to survive, and to relax after 70 long years.

Then came a storm named Wilma. Wilma was not kind to this fine lady. It smashed her storage shed, which she used as a laundry room, to the ground. It carried her covered carport aloft and wrapped it around the tree across the street, 80' in the air. It completely absconded with her screen room, where she would spend quiet mornings, drinking her coffee, reading the paper, and filling in the inevitable crossword puzzle. It tore panels off the exterior walls and ripped the roof off like so much tin foil. Through some grace from above, the interior of the home survived, as did the bulk of her meager treasures.

After the storms of the year past, the insurance company decided that it was not worth insuring this haven any longer, so they dropped her. She is now left with a home that is untenable, and probably unrepairable, awaiting the mercy of FEMA, in the hopes that they will do what they were created to do, and help her. Otherwise, the meager nest she worked her whole life toward is gone. And yet, somehow, someway, she will survive.

In the event that you haven't figured it out, this fine lady is my mother, and one of my very best friends. She is one of the most amazing people I know, and I know quite a few. It hurts me so to see her suffer, and aches more knowing that there is little I can do for her. But I will do what little I can. And I will survive.

I know this is a bit of a serious departure from my usual lighthearted ravings, ramblings and mutterings, but I wanted to tell her story.

From the... Yucatan Penninsula.... she's a page....

Wilma. Fiery redhead that kept Fred in line? Or really, really confused storm?

The bad news is that she has stopped vacationing in Mexico, and is headed right for Florida. (Man, I really wish those forecasters would be wrong!) The good news is that she is only a Cat 3. This is still pretty bad, but is nowhere near the Category 5 that she'd whipped up to earlier.

It doesn't look like we'll get much at all, here in G'ville, other than a lot of rain, but she is headed for South Florida, which is where most of my family lives.

Much as I dread uttering the cliche, I've got to say it: hunker down guys. I'm praying for you.

And to you West Coasties: I know most of you are not likely to be in the path, but if you need to run, c'mon up.

Oh yes, they call him the streak.....

Okay, folks. This is, in all probability, not a record, by any means, but it was a first for me.

Friday eve, I'm working my usual bar shift, and it is dead. Dead, dead, deadsky. First hour of sales were $31. That's right, from 10-11, I'd sold $31 worth of drinks. Okay, that's not entirely true. I'd ordered dinner thru the kitchen, so $5 of that was for me. The rest was due entirely to two "gentlemen", who kept ordering Coronas. And not tipping. At the end of the 4th round, I'd had enough. I had no other customers, so I couldn't exactly delay them by helping others, but I simply refused to serve them any more.

By the end of the second hour, my cumulative total was $142. Yeah, the second hour was busier, but nothing near a normal Friday night. Or even a Monday night, for that matter. Then, about 12:15, it hit. Out of nowhere. One moment there were, maybe, 30 people in the entire bar, the next, 150. I don't know where they came from. Just "poof", and they were there. I went from being completely bored, to frantically trying to serve 4 orders at a time. My final sales were over $1K, so I did most of my business from 12:30-1:30 (last call). That's about $800 in one hour. That is not the amazing part of the night.

Around 12:30 or so, my manager, who doubles as my barback when I get slammed, nudged me and said, "Get a load of this!" I looked in the direction he nodded, out the front doors, and there they were. About 300 of them. Running down University Avenue. Nekkid. Wow. As I said earlier, it probably wasn't a record, for number of streakers, but it was impressive. (So to speak.)

There was no police involvement. By our way of thinking, 300 naked college co-eds would not be easy to round up, so they let them go on their merry way.

It was one of those moments that somewhat puts one at a loss. See one streaker, and think, what an idiot. Two or three would make me think someone lost a bet. Up to ten, I'd think it would be an initiation of some kind. As many as there were, my mind kind of shut down, and all I could do was borrow a quote from Mr. Izzard, "Ummmm.... well done."

Cat's in the Cradle...

Cats....everywhere..... I was making a break from work on Tuesday to attend the local SCA meeting (seeing as how I'm the Baron, it is kind of important that I show up....), and was taking the back route, as I am wont to do. Let's just say it takes me through a somewhat.... depressed... section of town. On the side of the road, sitting oh-so patiently, as if waiting for an unsuspecting ultra-superstitious person to drive by so that it may dart out in front, causing a rash of bad luck, was a rather large black cat. I was driving rather slowly, as it is a small road, filled with speed bumps, and as I neared I received the cocked head glare, as if it was thinking, 'naw, this one's not worth it'. As I passed, I noticed, perched throughout the vacant lot, were five other black cats. Six in all. A veritable smorgasbord for the folklore impaired...

After the meeting, on the way back to work, I stopped at a local BK Steakhouse (that would be Burger King, the tragically unhip) to pick up dinner. Waiting in line in the drive-thru, I noticed, lounging in the grassy knoll between the order menu and the building, a, you guessed it, black cat. Moving up through the queue, I noticed movement in the passenger side mirror. A black cat was stealthing it's way behind the truck. Same one? Nope, the other was still lounging in the grass.

Having received my bag o' delectables, I continued my journey back to the shop. A couple of miles down the road, I noticed a, say it with me, black cat hauling arse down the sidewalk, as though the devil was on its tail. Was it the devil giving chase? No. Care to surmise? A black cat.

That's nine! I may not hold much truth to old wive's tales, but this did give me some pause. (Paws?) Is nine significant? As far as cats go, anyway? Ah, well, I'll just chalk it up to Halloween being so close, and all..... ::shudder::

On a bit of sadder cat news, my friend and squire, Michael, had a little cat named Whiskey. Whiskey was, to me, tiny, but then again, most cats appear so, compared to my behemoths. This cat was too cool. I was helping carry groceries up stairs to their apartment, and Whiskey met me at the top. She had one little kitty arm raised and was pawing at the air. I put my hand down to her level, saying "Give me five". She did. I freaked. Too cool. Well, poor little Whiskey apparently had a hidden case of feline leukemia. It flared up suddenly, and she was taken away. I didn't really get to know her that well, but she will still be missed. I wonder if I can teach my mammoth mousers to give me some paw? Probably not. My brobdingnagian pets are wonderful companions, but they don't peg real far on the brightness scale.

Speaking of my children, they are just fine. Gray Kitty has taken to sitting in the hallway after bedtime, whining at the top of his substantial lungs. I suppose he is just confused and can't find anyone, so he hollers until someone hollers back. It's usually "Shut the hell up!", but it is a response.... Oliver is still Oliver. He still delivers the unsettling tap on the shoulder from behind, when I am playing on the computer. Man, that's creepy.... He still delivers the "silent meow". And, since we've now a child in the house, has discovered his true passion. Balls. Not the kind he no longer has... Little plastic and rubber ones. He absolutely delights in batting them around the house. It's kind of cute, actually. I like seeing the kitten in him come out and play. GK will even give it a stab. As long as one of the balls comes close enough to where he's laying.... Heaven forbid he should get up to play...

Speaking of Gray Kitty, it is late, and time to give his vocal chords a workout....

and Mary Ann

Okay, so the Prof didn't go over so well. Not too many responses. Maybe this line grows a bit wearisome? C'mon, just one more! Can't leave out good ole Mary Ann, can we?

Mary Ann did all the cooking, cleaning, washing, etc., on the island. She was the wholesome, girl next door. The "everygirl" qualities that men look for. The girl you bring home to meet mom.

What are your "girl next door" qualities that you look for in a mate? (Okay, for some/most of you, it'll be "guy next door". Work with me, people!) What traits do you find most appealing? What do want in a partner? What's the perfect gal/guy in your life like? Okay, you can give the spouse pleasing answer and say "your spouse" (talkin' to you, Marius...), but tell me why.

This is a fair question (I mean you, D). No limits. No quals to the question. Let 'er rip!

The Professor...

Okay, I won't launch into a diatribe about how the professor could make batteries out of coconuts yet couldn't patch a hole in a boat... Nor what a man who holds six degrees in various subjects, including psychology, botany, biology and chemistry, and speaks multiple languages was doing as a "high school professor". I'm not even going to going to go into the fact that he was so oblivious that he couldn't see that Ginger and Mary Ann both wanted him, bad...

The professors skills and merits do play into the next "Island Question". If you had access to a man like the professor, who could build practically anything out of anything, what invention would you have him create? (Apart from the too obvious means of rescue...)

At this juncture, I'd have to go with a biorhythem monitoring device that would tell me when I'm about to do something that will result in pain and/or injury to my body....

Strange Days Indeed

It was a very odd day, yesterday. Working at a bar, especially one right across the street from a major university, you get used to regulars coming and going. It usually happens at the end of the semesters, when folks graduate, and at the beginning, when a new crop comes in. But last night, which does not happen to fit either of those categories, there was a whole new crowd in. I did not recognize at least 95% of the people in the bar, and yet they all seemed to know me. Maybe I'm becoming a fixture in this town, which is, I think, kind of sad. Weird, at any rate.

I got several comments on how I am the "best bartender in Gainesville, which is not all that unusual. People suck up to bartenders all the time, looking for freebies. It is just very odd to have people speaking with you as though they've known you forever, when you've never seen them before in your life.

It was also a bit more of the fraternity/sorority crowd, when our usual clientele is a bit more, how should I say, casual. Mine is not a dress up kind of bar. It is more of a relaxed atmosphere.

One young lady, who "loved me, I'm the greatest" even felt compelled to come behind the bar, several times, and squeeze my buttocks. Maybe I should have found this thrilling, but it was more of an annoyance. I had not even served the young lady at all, and there was no prior flirting of any sort. Just boom, squeeze. What the heck?

Then there was the older gentleman, who had been in earlier with a younger man, who apparently abandoned him to our care. I had to warn him a couple of times, as he was flirting heavily with several of the young ladies in the bar, who did not appreciate the attention. Near the end of the evening, our waitress informed me that he told her he "had a lot of money, a hotel room, and was desperate". I informed him he needed to leave, immediately, and, lucky for him, he complied.

After the bar closed, I was restocking my liquors, and picked up a bottle of Jagermeister, which is kept refrigerated, and because it was sweaty with condensation, it slipped out of my hands, bounced off my toe, and shattered. The perfect end to a perfect evening. I really am getting to old for this crap....

Time may change me....

Wow. I hurt. A lot. A great big mess of whole lot. My only conclusion is that I am not nearly as young as I once was.

Okay, maybe I should back up a little bit.

It was yet another long weekend. This, in and of itself, is not big revelation. It is football season, so every home game weekend for the Gators is a long weekend for me. I'll work at the coffee shop, and at the bar, and put in 35-40 hours between running between the two. One would think that this is enough for one person. But noooooooooo. I had to go and add to the schedule.

My boss and squire, Michael, was driving around last week and happened upon a flag football game. He stopped and watched for a while, and found out that it was a local league. He decided that the coffee shop needed a team. He put up a signup sheet in the shop for the employees. Three of the girls signed up, but none of the guys. He pleaded with me to join, so he wouldn't be the only male, and after some whining and needling, I finally gave in and said I'd play. The first game was early this morning. Very early. We were scheduled to play at 9am, so met at the shop at 8. Bear in mind that I got home from the bar after 5am. That's less than three hours between, after having worked a 16 hour day. But a promise is a promise, so I stuck it out, and showed up.

The team we were supposed to play did not show up, so we figured that we'd get a forfeit, and at least one win. The officials decided that they'd reschedule, and set up a game for us with another team. The second play in, Lacey and Michael collided while diving for an opponant's flag, and she hyper-extended her knee. We had to take her to the hospital. We played the rest of the game out with only three players (in a 4 person game). In the process, I happened to blow my knee out as well. Twinged it, actually, but I stuck it out for the rest of the game.

I then came home in time to grab a shower and head out to lunch with the roomies. Then it was home for a nap. A long nap. A nap one might consider to be a full night's sleep. I woke up 9 hours later. Refreshed? Well, if you consider a knee that was throbbing in pain and thighs so sore that I walked like an extra from a bad mummy movie refreshing, then yes, I was refreshed. Otherwise, I feel like an 80 year old man.

I guess some part of me, deep down inside, was trying to hold on to the days of youth, and maybe, just maybe, push myself to the edge, to see what the boundries were. Guess what, gentle readers? I found 'em. I pushed the envelop a little too far this time. Yes, I admit it. I did too much. I'm paying the price for it. But time will heal.

Will I quit the team? No. I can't let Michael down. But I'm going to insist we get more people on the team, so we're not all playing every play. We can have substitutes. We can get some rest. And some of us can afford to take a game or two off....

In the meantime, I'm going to take a small handful of Advil, and go back to bed.

The Movie Star....

Okay, you're probably thinking that this one should have been the title to the "bad movie" question, and you'd probably be right, but I'm taking a different tack with Ginger.

As you sit on your little tropical isle, dreaming of the day you're rescued, the thought occurs that Fox would probably buy the story rights in a heartbeat. So, now that you know (strongly believe, anyway) that your ordeal is going to be (quite possibly could be) a made-for-TV movie, who shall you cast to play you? Which actor/actress is going to portray you, suitable capturing your character and personality, or just plain looks like you, or better yet, looks even better....

Personally, I'd have to go with Lewis Black. I'm told, a lot, that I look a lot like him (though I can't see it), and sound like him, especially when I go off on one of my rants....

Dawn of the Dunderhead...

::Heavy sigh:: She's got to go. It's that simple. We have to fire an employee because she is just too stupid. We employ a young lady who is, to be polite, a complete and utter twit. It seems that every day she works brings a new and not-so-exciting problem. Tuesday evening I had to travel to the other store 3 times to fix her little "problems". The final one involved her counting down the register and ending up $180 short. I went over there, counted the register, got the same numbers she did, and found that the drawer was $1 over. We have a spreadsheet set up so that a monkey could balance the drawer. You enter the amount under the denomination. It's labeled. Count the 20's, put the amount down in the 20's column... She had the right amounts written down on a piece of paper, for whatever reason, but had entered a completely different set of numbers... I think she just made them up.

Today, she rang up the same order 4 times, because the drawer wouldn't open. (This is the 2nd time she's done something like this; the first time because she'd locked the drawer with the key that is not kept in the lock - why she put it in there in the first place, I'll never know...). Luckily I happened to be dropping off supplies at the time. She looked at me and said "The register needs a new roll of tape, and I didn't know if I should change it. Oh, yeah, the drawer won't open..." Hellllllloooooooo?? Did ya stop to think that the two just might be related??? And I'd already berated her for ringing up the same item multiple times the first time she pulled this.

Michael obviously did not give this one the "Lab Test" before hiring her. (Supposedly, you can test a labrador puppy's intelligence, but throwing a towel over it's head, and seeing how long it takes to get it off. I think this girl would have the towel on her head to this day...)

Stupidity should be painful. At least she'd feel some of the misery from all the headaches she's been giving to me...