Weekend Jumble

The other night, there was nothing on television that I cared to watch, so I pulled out my copy of "The Big Lebowski" and plugged it into the machine.  I love this film simply because it is so nuts.  A lot of other people must like it too, because it has apparently achieved cult status.  There is even a yearly Lebowski Fest to celebrate all things "achiever".  In fact, there is a line of Lebowski figures that you can purchase.  Here are some pictures from the Amazon site.

The characters are, in order: Walter, The Stranger, Jesus and Donny .  Studying them, they all looked kind of cartoonish, except for Jesus, who just looks frightening. Not much resemblance to their counterparts John Goodman, Sam Elliot, John Turturro and Steve Buscemi. So I didn't see anyone but the most devoted fan of the movie buying them.  Besides, John Turturo's character was a child molester.

But then I ran across a figure I did like.  The Dude. And, impulsively, I knew I had to have him.  And here he is:

The Dude Stands Alone

Complete with bowling ball & mobile phone.

The Dude & Friends

I'm still not too sure why I bought this doll figure.  Maybe it was because I was too old to get a GI Joe when I was younger.  Any any event, it's more than likely something deeply Freudian.  Looking at the last picture, I think I need to buy some kind of shelf to display this shit.

Speaking of The Dude, Jeff Bridges is one of my favorite actors.  Along with Sean Connery and Clint Eastwood, he's the type of guy that you'll generally always watch if you walk by the televison and see that he's in a movie that happens to be on.  But, as often occurs, there are one or two films that each of these guys made that are just embarrassements, and you shy away from them. With Bridges, it's "King Kong", with Connery, it's "Zardoz" (nice diaper Sean) and with Clint, it's anything with Sandra Locke.

And speaking of Clint, I ran across this cartoon during the week, which made me snort:

And speaking of movies, I have two that I want to watch tonight.  "Terminator Salvation" and "Public Enemies". I'm so excited that I can't decide which to play first.  I just hope they both don't suck.  Have a happy and productive Saturday night!

Would Be Outlaw

This afternoon I was driving home ... lost in my thoughts ... minding my own business .... doing 63 mph in a 45 mph speed zone.  When I was slapped back to my senses by a short siren blast and the glare of Mars Lights.

It took about 2 seconds to realize that I'd been nailed for speeding, so I studied the shoulder and found a good spot to pull over.  I took all of my information out of the glove compartment, rolled down the window and waited quietly for the officer to approach, just like they teach you in drivers ed.

The officer greeted me, I greeted him and he told me that I had been doing 63 mph in a 45 mph zone.  I told him that was "unfortunate".  And he returned to his vehicle to write me a ticket.  No muss, no fuss.

By the way, I've found that the phrase "that's unfortunate" fits perfectly in so many situations.  Drop a glass of red wine on your carpet, say "that's unfortunate". Lose twelve thousand dollars in the stock market in one day, say "that's unfortunate".  Your wife tells you she wants a divorce, say "that's unfortunate".   Just those two words can make you feel ... and look calm and in control. Take it from me.

Anyway, the officer came back with the ticket for seventy five dollars, we both bid each other a good afternoon and went our separate ways.  I hadn't received any kind of traffic citation in over fifteen years and the difference in my reaction this time, versus all of the other times was gratifying.  I didn't care.

In fact, I kind of chuckled because after all of those years of being such a law abiding driver, I was finally a "bad boy" again.  And there's something about being ticketed for speeding that's different from other kinds of traffic citations.  There's an air of  free-spiritedness about it. Hard to explain.

So, I enjoyed swaggering around a bit this evening, a little bit excited about my rogue behavior.  But tomorrow, I'll have to toe the line when I'm driving.  One ticket is okay.  Any more, and you turn from just a "bad boy" into stupid idiot territory.

Funky Town

I had second thoughts about writing this post after reading Libby's eloquent explanation of her current state of funkiness.  But I'm in a funk too, as are the other two members of this household, Jan the wife and Sam the cat.  By the way, Jan is free to describe me as "Rob the husband" if she wants, but since she doesn't have a blog, she'll just have to refer to me in that term in conversation with her co-teachers and students.

I have identified the cause of my funkticity, and it is called the deep freezing bowels of Winter.

Libby seems to be taking a rational approach to her funk by couch sitting, wine drinking, television watching and thinking funkily.  I'm attempting to deal with my own funk by excess coffee drinking ... period.  I think I need to throw something else into the mix though.  Television watching is out, because Jan insists on watching "Bones" from the minute she gets home until bed time.  I never thought one program could be shown so many times on so many different networks, but apparently, it can.

I've tried "thinking Spring", but I can't project my mind that far ahead in time.  I do have one reminder of warmer weather as I look out my window here in the den ... a fly that has been stuck to the screen since last September, but I don't really want to start equating Spring with flies.

There's a boat show in Chicago right now, and nothing says warm weather like boating.  But nothing says "poorhouse" more accurately than boating too, and besides, all of the water around here is frozen.

Sam the cat is dealing with her funk by sleeping 23 hours and 57 minutes per day, but this probably wouldn't be an option for me, particularly at work.

The stark cruel truth is that my funk will only be lifted by the passage of time.  So, I'll just plod through my days and keep my sphincter tight against the icy winds until the swallows return to Capistrano and the flies return to Northeastern Illinois.

The Cat Whisperer

Another cat fell into our basement window well this past weekend.  I say "another" because this is the second time this has happened.

Our basement has no outside door, so I imagine building code dictated that the builder install some kind of egress in the unlikely event that the homes occupants found themselves trapped in the basement by fire or some other catastrophe.  The only problem is that this particular window well is 7 feet below ground level and is half covered by the chimney.  I'm 6 feet tall with weak arms, and Jan is just over 5 feet tall with weak everything.  So I guess rather than be burned alive inside the basement, we could be burned alive outside trapped in the window well.  That's so much better.

Anyway, the first cat that fell in the well was someone's pet, and was rather cute.  We got lucky and found the owner.  He came over and managed to coax the cat into leaping 7 feet in the air into his arms.  I am not shitting you.  This thing didn't even have a running start and leapt that far.  This weekend's unfortunate victim was the ugliest fucking cat I have ever set eyes on.  It looked like some mutant combo of cat, skunk and ferret.  Frankly, when I went down to do the laundry on Saturday, and saw it peering at me through the window, it almost scared the shit out of me.

My first thought was to let it rot there, but then I would have had to look at it for days on end, so that wasn't an option.  So I went outside, took the latticework off the top of the well and stuck a board down at an angle so that the cat could walk up it and get out at it's leisure. The angle was kind of steep, but nothing it couldn't handle if it was motivated to leave.

And then I promptly forgot about it.

Sunday morning, I went down to the basement again to do more laundry.  I thought the cat would have taken the hint and made its way up to freedom.  But no, it still sat there, staring at me and hissing.  When I looked up, I could see that a couple of it's feral cat buddies were peering down at it, perhaps cheering him on.  But then I remembered that they were cats and were too stupid to do anything of the sort.

Did you ever wish something would happen to save you from an unpleasant chore, but the wish never comes true and you have to do the chore anyway?  Well, I had to do something to get that damned thing out of the well.  Jan suggested that I lower a basket down on a rope.  She said the cat would crawl into the basket and I could haul it up.

Yeah, right.

It had to be taken out by force, preferably without me getting my face eaten off.  So, pulling my best MacGyver, I fashioned a makeshift net out of a pole, wire hangers, a pillow case and a half a roll of duct tape and went after it. Fifteen minutes later, after convincing the beast that it was better to crawl into the pillow case rather than have it's butt beat to death by the pole I wielded in my other hand, I hauled it out of the well, carried it to the far end of the yard and dumped it out on the ground.

Where this cat/skunk/ferret hybrid decided to attack me. Luckily, I was well insulated with clothing and well armed with my net pole, so I managed to win the day and the cat retreated from the field of battle, hissing at me.

If this ever happens again ... and it probably will, I'll tackle the problem in an easier way.

I'll just drop an anvil on the damned thing.

Mommy Mayor

I live in a village situated in Northeastern Illinois.  I once thought that the place was a little too big to be called a village, but I guess it started out small.  In case this ever comes up in conversation, there are 4 designations for areas where people congregate to live.  They are in order from smallest to largest: Hamlet, Village, Town and City. I think I would have preferred to live in a Hamlet, but a Village is okay too.

Our village elected a new mayor several years back.  I learned about it when I saw her name affixed to the village limit markers.  This was either a very quiet election, or I was unusually unobservant and missed it. Her name is Susan Lahr, and I can remember it only when I think of Bert Lahr, who played the cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz.  I don't know if Ms Lahr is related to Bert, but I'd like to think so.

I guess Ms Lahr does an adequate job as mayor.  The snow is removed, the trash is picked up and village trucks and equipment zip around the streets on a regular basis, doing whatever it is they do.

At the beginning of each season, the village sends out a newsletter.  The newsletter contains all sorts of chatty information.  A new patrolman is hired here ... a village secretary there ... the Halloween parade is such-in-such a date and a special garbage pickup is scheduled for the end of the month.  That sort of thing.  Just general information so all of the village residents are kept in the know on important municipal things happening in their little community.

At the beginning of this winter, the village newsletter showed up in our mailbox.  And as usual, Herzzonor the Mayor had a message for her brood on the front page.

And the bulk of her message told us in no certain terms to stop bellyaching about the weather.

She let us know that sure, it was winter, but that was no reason to sit around and complain.  We should feel fortunate to live in an area where there are 4 distinct seasons in the year, and that even if it was cold, we should get off our collective asses, get outside and do something recreational.

My first reaction was to mutter "fuck off".  In fact, that was my second and third reaction too.  Things are sorry enough in this cold climate without the mayor telling us to get on our coats and mittens and go make snowmen. I don't know about the rest of the people here, but I left my mommy a long time ago and like to make up my own mind about how I feel about the seasons.

Anyway, I read the rest of the newsletter, and seeing nothing more informative than a scolding from mom, I threw it away.

Several weeks later, I happened to be looking at the local paper and saw an article that grabbed my attention.  The village announced that it was raising the water and sewer rates 9 percent starting in February of this year.  I'm sure the Mayor knew about this rate hike long before she penned her "winter doldrums" piece for newsletter, but the fact that we were going to be tapped for an extra 9 percent in water/sewer fees slipped her mind.  Perhaps she didn't want her holiday season spoiled by the local citizenry descending on city hall with torches and pitchforks.

Maybe she'll mention something about the rate hike, after the fact, in the spring newsletter.

It'll be right after her op-ed piece on how we should all get off of our asses and go fly a kite.