Molly Update

Molly is now four months old. The bundle of fuzz we brought home looks like a miniature German shepherd these days. She's 30 pounds of playful energy and a joy to watch grow. If you wondered where I've been lately, I've been watching her. She'll chew anything in the house--including the house--if we don't watch her constantly. I had her here in my office a couple of times but had to stop that when I found her with a paperback in her mouth. Luckily, I stopped her before she damaged it. But I'll be along soon and play catch up. Hasta lumbago!

Good Golly, Miss Molly!

Meet Molly, who entered our family on Friday. She's an energetic bundle of fuzz who would chew the couch into a wad of leather and padding if you give her half a chance. Toby and the cat hate her and are showing no signs of relenting, though we remain hopeful. She's a full-blooded German shepherd about 9 weeks old. I tried to find a dog through two rescue organizations and the Humane Society. The latter was helpful but bogged down in ridiculous regulations. The rescue groups are useless cookie eaters who constantly beg for donations but don't seem to have any interest in actually placing a dog into a home, in my opinion. Just as well; we love the little devil dog and wouldn't trade her for a carload of Rin Tin Tins.

This and That

I had some KFC yesterday. I don't have it very often because I think it's overpriced. I also think, thanks to yesterday's sample, that the quality has tanked. I recall plump pieces of chicken so tasty I was tempted to eat the bones. Now, the scraggly road kill they offer is barely palatable. And the biscuits are garbage compared to the wonderful rolls they used to sell. The Colonel must be rotating in his grave like a chicken on a spit.

I was waylaid by some Girl Scouts outside Albertson's today and forced to buy a box of Thin Mints, easily the best cookie made. But $4.00 a box? Larceny. Are they training these kids to be good citizens when they grow up or thousand-dollar-a-night call girls?

My hot streak at the casino continues. Five straight winning visits for a total of about $750. Two progressive jackpot wins ($233 and $143). I may buy another box of Girl Scout cookies if this keeps up.

Who writes ad copy for TV commercials these days? I keep hearing "less" used when "fewer" would be correct.

Tomorrow is Daylight Savings. Spring ahead. I always thought that if I died before the Fall Back date I'd be ahead of the game. Not looking to do it any time soon, though.

Have a nice weekend.

Need a Laugh?

One of my daily must-visit blogs is Ken Levine's. His varied career includes writing for hit TV shows M*A*S*H, FRASIER, MARY TYLER MOORE, CHEERS), baseball announcer, director, playwright, and bon vivant. He's published a book about his travels called WHERE THE HELL AM I? Each short chapter, and there are scores of them, recounts a trip he's taken to somewhere, either for business or pleasure. His pithy, witty observations are guaranteed to have you laughing out loud.

You can buy the Kindle version on Amazon. Other formats are also available.

Remember the Alamo

On this day in 1836 the final assault on the Alamo resulted in the death of all the defending Texians. It was a costly victory for Santa Anna (estimated 800 casualties), and the 13 days he spent in the siege allowed Sam Houston to assemble an army and ultimately defeat the Mexican army at San Jacinto. The deaths at the Alamo were not in vain. Revisionists now say that Davy Crockett surrendered and was executed. I don't buy that. Right after the battle one of the non-combatant survivors, Susanna Dickinson, saw Crockett's body in the area of the chapel, surrounded by dead Mexican soldiers. He and his Tennesseans were assigned the defense of the low palisade, an open area between the chapel and high wall in which a makeshift defensive position was fashioned from wagons, boxes, sacks, etc. That's on the lower right on the accompanying map (#14), on the slant.

Sling Free

I officially got permission to stop using my sling today. That's the one for my right arm. My butt will undoubtedly be in a sling forever. Unofficially, I stopped using it two days ago. Good riddance. Now, if I wanted a Singapore Sling I'd wish to share it with a vintage Anna May Wong. Speaking of her, I've seen some people spell her middle name Mae. I have a feeling both spellings were used over the years.

AMC Ticks Me Off Again

It was bad enough when AMC started inserting long commercial breaks into their movies, usually at inapropriate moments, but now they've gone and sicced their PC Police on a revered John Wayne movie. Yesterday I managed to catch EL DORADO from the beginning while channel surfing so I decided to watch it. This, you may know, is a remake of RIO BRAVO, but with Robert Mitchum in the Dean Martin/drunken sheriff role, James Caan instead of Ricky Nelson, and Arthur Hunnicutt taking over for Walter Brennan. Charlene Holt in the Angie Dickinson role is no slouch, either. Anyway, in one scene Caan, Mitchum, and Hunnicutt are trying to sneak into the back door of a saloon, but find it guarded by a bad guy. What happens in the unexpurgated film is Caan disguises himself as a Chinaman, missing no stereotype, until he can get close enough to the thug to knock him out. In the AMC snipfest, Caan says, "Wait, I have an idea." The next thing you know he's slugging the owlhoot. I don't know about you, but I don't need some clown at AMC censoring my movies for me. What's this world coming to?

Baby Time

Granddaughter Sofia is three months now so here's a photo of her taken a few days ago.

Birthdays

I was off line most of Thursday-Friday so I didn't get a chance to mention my mother turned 88 on the 24th. Today, the 26th, my wife hits another birthday milestone. I guess I'm not supposed to mention which one. The photo is my mother about 70 years ago. Can you say Catholic Italian?

13 Days to Glory Commences

On this day in 1836 the siege of the Alamo began. The vanguard of Santa Ana's forces came up from the south and invested San Antonio de Bexar. Col. William Barrett Travis and Col. Jim Bowie brought their men to the Alamo mission, determined to stop the advance of "The Napoleon of Mexico." It would take 13 days for the battle's outcome to be determined.

Dog Heavies

Dog Heavies, the third and final Lucas Hallam mystery by L.J. Washburn, takes us to Texas. Lucas and some other cowboys who work in the picture business are sent to a ranch outside Fort Worth to teach a young actor, Adrian Tremaine, how to appear like an authentic westerner in an upcoming big budget movie. The ranch needs the money it's getting for hosting the group because their cattle are being rustled, but that doesn't endear them to some of the working cowboys, especially the foreman, Armstrong. Armstrong picks on Teddy White Horse, a Native American, worse than the rest. Nice guy. Other than a bit of huffing and puffing, though, things are working out fairly well. The kid is learning the ropes (including roping), and the real cowboys start to respect the intruders. But a murder changes everything. Hallan has to use his private eyes skills to help the accused and discover not only who committed the crime, but who's behind the cattle thefts. No small task when the local law is hostile to his efforts.

A nice extra touch is seeing Lucas Hallam back on the turf he roamed as a youth. He's not one for nostalgia, but being on the ground of his old home pulls at the heartstrings of his memory for a touching moment. There's also the rancher's beautiful daughter and cussed old cook on hand to add a fun touch to the proceedings.

I hope these books sell well enough in their Kindle editons to inspire Washburn to write more. Lucas Hallam is too good a character, and 1920s Hollywood too great an era, to wither away.

Turn Away, Bill Crider

More great moments from Paris here.

The Final Dapa-Em

In today's mail I got my final copy of Dapa-Em, #216. It will never be published again, and I'll miss it. The idea of an apa (Amateur Press Association/Alliance) is that a limited membership (35 in Dapa-Em)--usually fans of a genre--produce individual zines, print enough copies to cover the membership plus a couple of extra copies, and send these copies to a single individual, called an Official Editor, or Central Mailer, or Big Toe, etc. The OE then collates each person's zine into one large volume and mails the big volume, called a mailing, back to each member. In the next mailing people can remark or reply to what was in the previous mailing or discuss whatever they want. Dapa-Em was a mystery apa, the only one to ever exist. It started around 1974, under the leadership of Donna Balopole, but it really took off 35 years ago when Art Scott took the helm. I joined in 1979 and have missed only one of the bi-monthly mailings in all that time. But all things must pass, and Art needed a rest after so many years of remarkable service and punctuality. Kudos to him for an incredible service.

The illo shows one of the typical Dapa-Em room parties at a mystery con.

I wish.

Packers!

It's not that I'm that much of a Packers fan, but I hate the Stealers and revel in their loss. That said, it was an exciting Superbowl and the officials didn't interfere with the game other than that phantom face mask call against Green Bay, which helped Pittsburgh sustain a scoring drive. Now begins the lull in my sports year. I don't follow hockey or basketball, so until baseball season starts I'll make do with other entertainments. Like staring at Natalie Wood photos. Won't you join me?

Pimpmobile, RIP

Today I said good-bye to my wonderful 1995 Oldsmobile Regency 98. Alas, it was becoming too unreliable to continue driving. In its place is a 2008 Chevrolet Colorado pickup truck (14,00 miles). I got a good deal on the truck, but it's a bare bones model and I'll miss such amenities as keyless entry and power windows and locks. I also need to replace the radio with a radio/CD player, but I have a very nice one in the garage and I'll have that installed soon.
And if that's not worth a look at Natalie Wood, I don't know what is.

Dead Stick

Dead Stick, by L.J. Washburn, is the second Lucas Hallam mystery. I talked about the background of the character and setting in an earlier post. Now, Hallam is hired by a studio to discover who's sabotaging their picture, a WWI flying epic. Suspicion is on a KKK group upset that one of the actors is a former German ace. Also in the movie are four American airmen whose squadron had been betrayed during the war., They were the only survivors. The German was part of the force that set upon the Americans. There are also a couple of jealous hearts in the mix due to some Hollywood bed-hopping, a brash stunt pilot, and an ex-jockey who runs a speakeasy and has a shady reputation. Washburn cleverly works parallel plots, so smoothly you're not aware of it, and brings the story to a satisfying, action-packed climax.
Liz Fletcher, from the first book, Wild Night, reappears, too. She moved from her ghost town saloon to Hallam's apartment building and got a job as an organ player at Graumann's Egyptian Theater. But she's not sure the city life is for her and, well, the course of true love never runs smooth.
Available on Kindle.

Am I Wrong?

Am I wrong or is this the anniversary of The Day the Music Died; i.e., the day Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper died in a plane crash in an Iowa cornfield? I was sure Bill Crider would have mentioned it.

Pictured are classic rockers (l-r) me, Dave "Evan" Lewis, & Tough Jim Gaston. We strive to keep the music alive.

Wild Night

Wild Night, by L.J. Washburn, takes place in Depression-era Hollywood. Lucas Hallam is a former lawman, Pinkerton, and cowboy who has also spent a little time on the owlhoot trail during his heyday. Now, in the 1920s, he works part time as a Western movie extra and also maintains a private detective business.
While scouting a ghost town as a possible movie location he gets into a shootout with a couple of thugs. The town's owner and sole inhabitant, Liz Fletcher, thinks they were after her stash of hooch. Back in Hollywood later that day, Hallam is hired by an evangelist, Rev. Forbes, to accompany him to a meeting that evening. They go, and in short order Hallam is knocked out and the two people they went to meet are dead, with the reverend standing over them with a gun in his hand. He swears he didn't do it but the cops toss him in the graybar hotel anyway.
Hallam is asked to clear the minister, and even though Hallam doesn't like the man, he agrees to help. Only he and Forbes know a fact about the night of the crime that no one else does, and they're holding it back.
As Hallam delves into the church and Forbes' past he finds himself the target of a gunman. Seems like someone doesn't want him to find the truth. Or does it?
Washburn writes a strong mystery with an extra twist in the end that I didn't see coming. Her prose is clear and eminently readable. Best of all, Hallam is a wonderful character--strong, simple, honest, brave, and nobody's fool. The early Hollywood setting--with its studios, speakeasys, and cultish temple--captivated this reader and rings true. Some of the luminaries of the day also step in for cameos. I've already started the sequel and I'm grateful that the Kindle has made these hard-to-find books available again. Check them out.

Scandal in Toy Soldier Land

Director Peter Jackson (LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy) is a toy soldier collector. He even had figures created just for him. Jackson also shopped at the Michigan Toy Soldier Company. Rick Berry, owner of MTSC, is now accused of using Jackson's credit card to steal $189,000. A sad moment for the hobby. Berry's excuse is that the economy has made it difficult to keep his business going, and that he intended to repay the money.

Have a Scar?

Just thought you'd like to see the pretty scar on my shoulder. The one the doctor said would be a couple or three inches. Rick Robinson asked for an update, and all I can say is that the healing continues apace. Today's physical therapy was the hurtingest one yet, but I hope that means it's working. I may be able to ditch my sling in a few weeks and that will be a real benchmark.

Speaking of benchmarks, I ordered a Kindle and it arrived the day before yesterday. Yesterday I ordered my first download, WILD NIGHT, by Livia Washburn. I find it easier to read than a book right now because of my sore shoulder, and it's not too tricky to learn how to use it. Now, I love books and have no intention of abandoning them, but there are a few things better loaded into a Kindle, and some things only available in Kindle format, and for these I'm glad I have the device.

Health Update

I've been sleeping better and feeling saner. Better yet, I've been able to sleep in my bed as of yesterday, to the relief of everyone in the house. Physical therapy starts tomorrow. And tomorrow is another day.

Say hi to Anna May Wong.

Another Honor

Not for me, of course. I just read that my old buddy Dave "Evan" Lewis won the Robert L. Fish Award for his Skyler Hobbs short story "Skyler Hobbs and the Rabbit Man" in EQMM. Atta boy, Dave.

Pictured is Dave on the left, me in the middle, and Tough Jim Gaston on the right. Collectively we are The Moops.

A Visit to the Invalid

A friend wrote and asked me how I was doing. What follows is my response. Anna May Wong appears courtesy of my fever dreams.

Kill me! Don't wait another day, just killllll meeee! This is not living. There is no quality of life here. Sleep is elusive. Concentration is minimal. Food is unpleasant or dull. Time is a snail. For all I know I'm going cold turkey from the meds, which I'm trying to eliminate. You don't even want a hint of what my digestive tract is up to. There is no succor in TV, I can't read for long, I can't do anything that requires two hands, and I stink. Tomorrow I'll shower and sign up for physical therapy. Maybe go see the baby. The rain and gloom aren't helping, either. I have to sleep on the couch and it's very noisy out there when it rains. This was not what I expected from retirement. The good news is that it will all go away eventually and I'll be my old self again, perhaps even better. But until then life sucks.

Thank you for asking.

Yes, It Hurts Just Fine.

Since I got home from the hospital Friday I've slept, popped pain killers, and watched TV. Go Seahawks. That's it. I'm still wearing the same clothes I put on Friday morning, haven't shaved, and could stop a charging rhino with my offensive underarms. Not a pretty sight. Today I plan to shower, shave, and don fresh clothes. I'll also apply a new bandage to the incision.

Under the Knife

In a few hours I'll go in for rotator cuff surgery. I expect to spend the next 6-8 weeks as a one-armed man and doing even less than I normally do, which isn't much. This morning I practiced putting on my socks with my left hand. It's not easy. One of the pre-op instructions tells me to write YES on the shoulder that needs the surgery. I'm thinking of writing CONTINUED ON OTHER SHOULDER under that, and on my left shoulder writing ...WE HAVE NO BANANAS. Surgeons aren't the only cut ups at the hospital.

I forgot to mention that my daughters' Chihuahuas celebrated their 8th birthdays on Jan 3. Many happy returns, Toby and Tiny.

Can't get enough of Anna May Wong, so here's a picture of her when she was very young.

Back From the Cold

Yesterday I returned from a cabin outside Mt. Rainier Park where I spent five days doing nothing but eat, sleep, read, talk, and watch movies with four other fellows. The event is yclept Tankon. It was cold. The heaters didn't work well and the Franklin stove wannabe went out at night. When it was time to go home I found my car's doors and trunk frozen shut. It snowed a few inches. There's no running water, thus no chance to wash. We use an outhouse. One night the power went out three times, but not for long, thank ghu. And we all had a swell time. We don't have TV, radio, Internet connections, phones, or newspapers, but we have movies. We saw two movies with Anna May Wong and a documentary about her. It piqued my interest in this Chinese-American beauty and I did some web surfing about her last night. I felt very sad for her. She was an intelligent, talented, accomplished woman who never reached star status in the US because of the prevailing bias against minorities. In fact, she was forbidden by miscegenation laws to kiss any white actors on screen, even if they were appearing in yellow face as Asian characters. She died of heart failure at age 56, way too young.

Happy New Year.

Happy Christmas Day

By now you've all opened your presents, eaten to surfeit, and are basking in the afterglow. I hope it was a fine day and you got what you wanted. I ended the day at the casino, where the spirit of giving was alive and well. The place was packed to the rafters.

Merry Christmas Eve

Allow me to present a small token of joy in the spirit of the season. I plan a long, busy day with a house full of in-laws plus my daughters, granddaughter, and her daddy. What's not to like? Any football on?

True Grit

True Grit opened today and I caught the 12:50 show. You probably know the basic plot: 14-year-old Mattie hires grizzled Deputy Marshal Rufus "Rooster" Cogburn to track down Tom Cheney, who'd killed and robbed Mattie's father. Also on Cheney's track is a Texas Ranger, LeBoeuf, who wants to return Cheney to Texas on a murder charge. This doesn't sit well with Mattie, who wants Cheney to suffer for the crime against her father. This leads to conflict on the trail as the trio set out to find their quarry, believed to have thrown in with the Ned Pepper gang.

The movie is by turns gritty, funny, touching, suspenseful, and uplifting. Mattie's sense of moral purpose and Cogburn's world-weary manner provide a fine contrast and grist for many an amusing exchange. The same goes for the one-upmanship moments between Rooster and LeBoeuf. Also, the grim experiences Mattie has along the trail transform her from a pushy kid to a more self-aware young woman. The actress who played the part is excellent, as are all the other players.

I hope this movie will be enjoyed by the great unwashed and not just Western fans, and it leads to more quality films in the genre being produced. I loved it. Even the damn fool on the other end of the aisle who felt the need to audibly react to every scene didn't sully my enjoyment of the movie. I loved it and recommend it wholeheartedly.

As you might have guessed, the illo here has nothing to do with the film.

Catching Up

I've been silent lately and there are reasons. One is my right shoulder. I have a torn rotator cuff (all those years as a big league pitcher took their toll). Typing for more than a few minutes is very painful. I'll probably have surgery in January for that and it'll take about six months to be back to normal. For part of that time I'll be a vertiable left hander, and that will make typing very difficult, if not impossible. Today I talked to a doctor about prostate cancer. I don't have it, and I'm in a low risk category, numerically speaking, but just to be safe I'm going to have a biopsy, also in January. I've also been doing the usual Xmas stuff and corrupting my older girl with a couple of trips to the casino (I'm ahead $122, she won, too).

Pictured is my granddaughter, Sofia, at about three weeks, with her mother.

It seems like the latest overused phrase in advertising these days is "amazing." Seems like everything you can buy is amazing. Amazing salad, amazing service, amazing experience, amazing scarf. How easily are people amazed?

Remembering John Lennon

I'm a huge fan and admirer of John Lennon. I clearly remember my sorrow the day he was murdered, and my anger when I learned his killer got life instead of death. Thirty years ago today he died, but his music is as fresh and enjoyable to me today as it was then and all the way back into the sixties. When I was 17 I was in a garage band called The Violations. This was 1965 so of course we sang a lot of Beatles songs (those we could, a lot were beyond our ranges). I usually sang the John parts in our harmonies, making me feel an extra kinship with him. I sure wish he was around today.

Remember Pearl Harbor

A day that will live in infamy, or until a few generations pass and everything's forgotten. Well, the Cap'n remembers. I had an uncle who was wounded during the attack and since I grew up as a Navy brat most of the adult males I knew were veterans of the war in the Pacific. Here's to them.

Happy Birthday Kristine, Again

I wanted to show a more recent photo of the baby. This is it.

Happy Birthday Uncle Georgie

On this day in 1839, American hero and soldier George Armstrong Custer was born in New Rumley, Ohio. He died for our sins at the Little Big Horn on June 25, 1876.

Happy Birthday Kristine

My baby is 20 today, and every moment has been one of pure joy.

Done and Done

Retirement. As MLK said, "In the words of the old Negro spiritual, free at last, free at last, thank God A'mighty, we are free at last!" That's the editorial we, there. It was a quiet, uneventful day. I did my final processing, cleaned out the few remaining items from my locker, said adios to a couple of people, and drove away. I admit to giving vent to a rousing rebel yell as I passed through the main gate, but otherwise there was no celebration. I didn't want one.

When I was working I always hoped for jury duty. I found being on a jury interesting and I prefered being at the courthouse to being at work. Plus, I still got paid and didn't have to take leave. But I didn't get tasked for jury duty this year, until...
I got my mail this afternoon and found a jury summons therein. My reporting date is the same day as my official retirement in January. Nice timing, people.

One More Day

Really, six-tenths of a day. Today I got signed out by a bunch of organizations/sections (clinic, finance, pass & ID, etc) and tomorrow I do the final two. I made sure I gave back my Restricted Area Pass and Flightline Competency Card so I can't do any work tomorrow. It'll be soooo nice to stay in bed in the morning, to avoid the freeway traffic, and to get busy on my many projects around the old homestead.

Two Days to Go

I plan to spend as much of my final two days (one day, six hours to be exact--I work 10-hour days) clearing the base. That is, going hither and yon getting boxes on a sheet of paper signed off by various people in various sections.

Evan Lewis wondered what image I'd use to illustrate two. I thought about The Dynamic Duo or one of the better comedy teams, but these innocent lasses from the brush of Milton Caniff seemed more appropriate.

Lately I've seen a lot of people using "hoard" when they mean "horde." A hoard is hidden or stored fund or supply (I looked it up) and a horde is a swarm or throng, as of people, animals, or insects. If you're going to write or edit, you need to know these things.

Three Days to Go

Three days. Two days, six hours, to be exact. Three is a good number. My beloved Three Stooges claimed it and I'm soitenly glad they were part of my life.

It looks like I'm leaving work just in time, too. Today we learned that we're now subject to random drug testing, and O'Bama wants to freeze our salaries. Not that I'm in much better shape financially by retiring since Barak also wants to cut Socialist Insecurity.

I don't use drugs, but I can't see any reason to implement the testing. Supposedly it's because of our sensitive positions. Like urinating into a porcelain bowl that has three mirrors and a witness isn't a sensitive position. At least none of this will take place until after I'm gone, so to hell with the lot of them. I just chalk it up to one more reason I'm glad to be out of that little Bedlam. Bitter? Me? Not really, just fed up.

Len Moffatt

Since most of you read the same blogs I do, I'm sure you know by now that Len Moffatt has passed away. Len was a cornerstone science fiction and mystery fan, a Sherlockian, a John D. MacDonald expert (along with wife June), and a Marine in WWII. He wasn't very tall but he filled a lot of space with his kindness, wit, energy, and achievements. Without the Moffatts there wouldn't be a Bouchercon, period. At the recent B'con in San Francisco I shared the honor of being named the Don Sandstrom Award winner with the Moffatts, and I'm glad Len was able to receive this recognition while he was still alive. My sincere condolences to his family and large circle of friends.

Lispers

I've been watching a lot of Robin Hood TV shows lately. The ones made in England starring Richard Greene. An actor named Alan Wheatley was cast as the Sheriff of Nottingham and I noticed he had a minor but unmistakable lisp. That got me to thinking of other actors who had lisps. Humphrey Bogart and Boris Karloff come to mind. Daffy Duck? That's a stretch. I once had a girlfriend with a little lisp, too. Can you think of any others?

Four Days to Go

Yep, just a Fab Four days left til retirement. Next week will do it. To be exact, three days and 6 hours, or 36 hours.

I visited Baby Sofia earlier this evening. She was perfect; slept the whole time. I say this because my mother likes to read about it.

The last two days have been a football tsunami. I saw two games and part of a third yesterday and as I type this I'm watching my third game today. The first two I saw at work. We had a down day at the base and there was nothing to do but watch TV. On a regular work day there's ALMOST nothing to do but watch TV. I really enjoyed the Alabama/Auburn game, which Auburn won 28-27 after being behind 21-0. I don't know why I'm anti-Bama, but that's the way it is.

I picked up my younger girl's birthday/Xmas present today, an electric keyboard. She's very musically talented and I can hear her playing downstairs as I type this. I can also hear the Boise State-Nevada game, as alluded to earlier. The store where I picked up the keyboard is near the Tacoma Mall, and while there was a lot of traffic it moved quickly and my parking karma was in force when I needed a space. I also had a 15% off coupon, which was good for today only, so I was determined to use it no matter what the crowds were like.

Have a nice weekend.

Happy Birthday, Baby

After two days of agony and discomfort, my girl Stephanie gave birth to Sofia via c-section. All is well and everyone is fine, thanks. Here's a photo of her at about 20 minutes old. They put some gunk in her eyes to make them look runny, but it's not a problem. She's 7 lb, 11 oz and 20 1/2 inches. We like her.

Happy Birthday to Me

Seems like only a year ago I was marking another birthday. I'm starting to feel it more and more, too.

As mentioned yesterday, my little one took me to see the new Harry Potter movie. I liked it, as usual, and since it has been so long since I read the book I didn't recall anything. I could probably make the same claim if I'd read it last week. This installment sets up the final confrontation that will happen in the next movie, so there were some moments of exposition and quite a lot of time Harry and his pals spent camping out on the English countryside. Also some exciting action scenes, only one of which had the annoying MTV effects I'm always carping about. My daughter loved it and couldn't wait to call all of her friends and urge them to see it--with her in most cases. I see no reason to miss it unless you're disinterested in the HP penomenon.

Five Days to Go

I can almost taste it now.

On the baby front, she may be here by Tuesday.

Harry Potter, on the other hand, will be here tomorrow. I plan to see it with my younger girl.

Six Days to Go

We had a windstorm Monday that knocked out the power. I stayed up late to tend the fire in the fireplace, so I took Tuesday off. As you might know, the weather here stinks right now. But I worked today and that X's one more off the countdown calendar.

Yesterday was my daughter's due date, but no baby has appeared yet.

I'm in a good mood, though. Visa reversed a charge I'd disputed and the jackass who worked on my roof accepted the amount I sent him, so that's done with. Oh, and the windstorm blew all the leaves off the roof.

Seven Days to Go

Lucky Seven. Magnificent Seven. The 7th Cavalry. Come on, Seven. Better yet, even though I went to work today it was a down day so all the high sheriffs stayed home. No one disturbed me when I caught my daily cat nap in the break room.

Seven Days in May. The Seven Little Foys. Seventh Avenue. Seven Come Eleven. Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. Seven Cities of Gold. Seven Keys to Baldpate. The Seven Percent Solution. The Seven Seas. The Seven Samauri. Seven is a good number, as you can see, and a popular one. Lucky Seven smiles upon me today and I like it.

Vet's Day

I'm a veteran but I don't feel like I need any special recognition. The ones who were hurt mentally and physically deserve it far more than I. But I want to offer my personal salute to my brothers and sisters in arms on this special day set aside for us. I'm proud to be a member of the club.

Now then, I was sent a list of all the businesses that would be doing special things for vets today, like a free donut at Dunkin' or a free meal at Applebee's. On that list was a free 6-inch sub from Subway. So since I was near the local Subway I went in and asked if they were giving away subs to vets. The kid at the counter didn't know what I was talking about so he asked the manager/owner. The answer was no. That kind of ticked me off since I have bought a lot of subs in there over the years. But never again. The next one is only a few miles farther down the road and I'll go there from now on.

Dave Niehaus, RIP

Dave was the voice of the Seattle Mariners as long as I can remember. Last year he was inducted into the Announcers section of the Baseball Hall of Fame. When you consider the team has had about half a dozen winning seasons since it came here in 1977, that's a remarkable achievement. He had to sit through almost all of those games and keep people entertained, and he was damn good at it. I noticed last season he stopped working the TV side after the third inning and I assumed he went to the radio side. I had the feeling they were preparing the viewers for a new announcer, but I thought Dave would retire and he'd have a few good years to enjoy himself away from the ballpark. Alas, it is not to be. I'll miss his enthusiam, strong voice, love of the game, and decency.

It would be too much to hope that Jon Miller, just released by ESPN, would be his replacement. Without the unbearable Joe Morgan, of course.

Buddy

I'm saddened to announce that Buddy, my daughter Stephanie's dog, was put down today. He was 11 and in poor health for some time. Buddy was a sweet-tempered, amiable guy, large and a little clumsy, but always happy to see you. He loved attention and would take all you could give. A very good boy. He'll be missed.

My countdown continues. Eight working days left. You might be happy to note that I actually worked hard today. Well, maybe not hard but steadily. I'm also cleaning out my locker piece by piece, shredding cerificates from our countless annual training BS, taking home reading matter that has accumulated, and deciding if I want to donate my salt and pepper shakers to the break room. Salt, probably; pepper, no. I'm using a salt substitute at home but I use regular pepper and that stuff's expensive.

Tomorrow: Holiday!

Nine Days to Go

Nine is my favorite number. When I was a radio man in the Army I learned the proper way to say nine on the radio was niner. Niner. That's funny. Our First Sergeant's call sign was Scrub Throng Niner Alpha, so we wise guy RTO's referred to him as Niner. Behind his back, of course.

All this Army talk reminds me of the sweat mags of the fifties. On the left is a sample of the fine fare they offered.


And the countdown continues...

Ten Days to Go

Nine days and six hours if you want to get technical. But since it means 10 days of waking to the alarm at 0530 I count it as 10 full days. I can't wait. I can taste the freedom already. I can hear myself crying poverty within a year, but what the hell. And how about that Shirley Jones?