I HAVE BEEN SURVEYING THE WORLD OF PERFORMANCE A
RT.
It’s not hard to do –just look in your local newspaper for listings under “Live Entertainment and whenever you see something that boasts only one person doing the show, you’ve found it. But beware and tread carefully.
Fiction Saturday – Continued… 
My old Buick was running on fumes all the way to the gas station. So was I. A “fill ‘er up” and a vending machine cinnamon roll got me on the road out to the industrial edge of town.
I never expected a place called “Granny Sweet’s Bakery” to look so much like a steel mill.
I was able to get past the security guard at the gate by telling him I was there answering an ad for a baker. After I signed in as Tommy Dorsey he gave me directions to the personnel office, which I ignored, and hiked up the stairs to the top floor.
The Head Man is always on the top floor. They always say it’s so they can look out over their accomplishments. I say it’s so they can see who’s coming after them.
TODAY IS THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING – the day when people everywhere in this country are sleeping off an overdose of Tryptophan.
Turkey meat is chock full of tryptophan – a glorious endorphin that can make us relaxed, drowsy, and missing the second half of that football game we had planned on watching.
The guests who were invited to join in the dining event have all gone home, many with plates full of sliced turkey and stuffing in hand – “Care Packages” we used to call them.
Today is a day set aside for the giving of thanks. Thanks for all sorts of things.
For some of us those thanks are mighty and great, but for others they are small and personal. Both are equally valid.
Take this day to be with your friends and family.
IT MAY BE WEDNESDAY IN THE REAL WORLD, but in the blogosphere, where I live, it is Saturday morning
and we are having our first snow of the season. That picture is the view out of our back door. I didn’t even open it to take the picture. I’m in denial.
If you have followed this blog for a while you have probably picked up that I am not a fan of cold weather, winter, snow, and all of the associated bullcrap that goes with it.
There must be ten thousand “Urban Legends” floating around out there. They range from the one about the woman who thought she had purchased a Chihuahua puppy in Mexico that turned out to be a rat, all the way to the one below. I’m sure that 99% of them are false – but they make such good stories.
I’M FEELING IN A MAGNANIMOUS MOOD TODAY.
I feel like reaching
out to my fellow bipeds and seeing if I can be of help. So, I have declared that today is officially:
FREE BAD ADVICE DAY!
For today – and today only – I will be dispensing free bad advice on a wide range of topics.
Let the games begin!
Saturday Fiction – Continued.
“Bad News Travels Slow”
*****
“Who did this to you?” An obvious question from an obviously bored cop.
“I dunno. We didn’t exchange addresses. He was big, strong, and didn’t say much.”
“That’s not much of a description. How are we supposed to find the guy with just that?”
“Well, I’m sorry, Detective. That’s all I can give you. I was busy bleeding at the time. I’ll try to do better next time.” Why do I even bother?
Brace yourself, America! It’s that time of year again when,
all across the country, people will be preparing Thanksgiving Turkey Dinners by the millions.
For most it will be a joyous chore to feed family and friends, but for many it will be a challenge comparable to trying to fly to the moon in a lawn chair powered by some helium balloons from the dollar store.
Despair not, help is available!
YESTERDAY AS I WAS GETTING SOME TEA at St. Arbucks I was told an interesting and true story.
Don’t expect a lot of laughs today.
My Barista said that something upsetting had happened to her the evening before.
Sometimes it is the confluence of two separate, and seemingly unrelated,things or events that produce the most interesting results.
The two things that I am talking about today are the upcoming release of another Star Wars movie and me reading last Sunday’s Terre Haute (That’s French for, “May the Force be with you at Walmart”) newspaper.
SOME DAYS YOU HAVE TO PUT ON YOUR BIG BOY SHORTS, grit your teeth and go into the eye of the storm. I did that yesterday. I made a conscious choice and, of my own volition, went into Sam’s Club.
Sam’s Club, the wholesale, really big box version of Wal-Mart, turns into a battlefield this time of year. By this time of year I mean that, while it is still early November for you and me, for Sam’s it is almost Christmas Eve. They are in full-tilt Christmas Shopping mode.
SOMETIMES I THINK THAT HEARSAY IS BETTER than actually being a witness to something. A couple of nights ago was one of those times.
Now, I want to put a Caveat, with a capital C, in play here. The following anecdote was told to me by one of the notorious Usual Suspects. For that reason alone I take it all with a fifty pound salt lick. A grain of salt is just not enough.
Let me begin.
It’s Saturday Fiction time.
THE KNIFE IN MY BACK WAS A GOOD SIGN. If I was dead I probably wouldn’t have noticed it was there.
SOME DAYS I THINK I AM SO FAR OUT OF THE LOOP that I am in an alternate universe. Today is one of those days.
One of the Usual Suspects handed me a clipping from last Sunday’s paper about a popular therapy being used on athletes to help them heal quicker:“Cryotherapy.”
We’re not talking about putting an icepack on your head to sooth a headache. Nope. We’re talking some serious cold here.
IT WAS A QUIET SUNDAY EVENING at home watching the Colts beat the Denver Broncos when I heard my wife, the lovely and eloquent, Dawn, call out, “What the heck is going on?”
THIS PAST SATURDAY WAS ONE OF THOSE MARATHON DAYS. I use the term Marathon in the sense of a long ordeal, because there is no way on earth you are ever going to get me to run 26 + miles for anything. In fact, you are not going to get me to run 26+ feet for anything. Let’s consider that issue settled, shall we?
Moving on –
I TURN ON THE TV AND THERE IT IS. I open my Facebook and there it is again. I’m almost afraid to open the garage door lest it is hiding there waiting to spring. Everywhere it is: “Who will be the new James Bond?”
If my sources are reliable, as they most always are – Daniel Craig has that job already. There is a new “Bond Movie” opening momentarily with Craig and he is contracted to do at least one more. That sounds like job security to me.
According to the latest publicity-driven hype that I’ve seen the speculation whirlpool is centered around these four actors to replace Daniel Craig.
Idris Elba, Damian Lewis, Michael Fassbender, and Tom Hiddleston
I am familiar with Idris Elba from the Brit Cop and Robber series, “Luther.” He’d be good as Bond. The other three dudes – No. For one big reason – they all look like a bunch of wimps who would need Idris Elba to help them keep their lunch money from being stolen at school.
I want a Bond who has a “lived-in” face, not someone who looks like he’s shooting the film between modeling assignments for the Sears Catalog. I don’t want a Bond who is constantly worrying if the camera is getting his best side.
Daniel Craig has a face that looks like it has been around the block a few times and it was in a rough neighborhood.
Sean Connery had that face and, like it or not, every actor since then has been held up in comparison to him. Few have come off well in that contest.
I know that this is just my opinion – but I’m right. Daniel Craig is the best Bond since Connery in my opinion – and again, I’m right.
Some people want a suave and sophisticated Bond who looks good in a tuxedo. After that, they don’t care. In that case I suggest they take that fantasy to the nearest tuxedo rental store and leer at the mannequins.
I’m not suggesting that Idris Elba is the only possibility out there to assume the role of 007 when the time comes. I’m sure that there are a hundred decent actors walking around who could do the job superbly without looking like a refugee from the advertising inserts in the Sunday newspaper. But of the four being touted by the Image Machine all over the place today, I would vote for Elba. He is a good looking guy, but when he looks at you, you know that you’ve been looked at. The other three look at you wondering if you’re an agent with a modeling gig for them.
Of course, it comes to mind that there is one man they are overlooking. One man who could do the job of making Bond come alive like no one since Sean Connery. One man whose presence would leap off the screen and slap you in the face if you looked away. One man who has thrilled audiences, chilled audiences, willed audiences to cry, willed them to laugh and willed them to tip their waitresses. One man who could take his Walther PPK and dispatch the bad guys without spilling his cocktail.
(Cue the Music.)
“Make mine Metamucil – shaken, not stirred. The name is Bond. James Bond.”
It could happen.
MY OFFICE IS CROWDED TODAY. Of course, “my office,” also doubles as a corner table in the Starbucks a few blocks from home. I can usually shut out the hubbub and foot traffic around me, but today, for some reason, it is all getting on my nerves.
“A Safe Place” – Conclusion
“Show me. If you didn’t kill her, who did?”
He pulled out one of the photos and held it up facing me.
“He did,” he said, pointing to the dark haired man who was younger than either of us and in a lot better shape.
“Him,” I said? “What makes you think it was him? Just because he was…” He interrupted me before I could finish my sentence.
“He told me he did it.”
Off in the distance we both heard sirens. He looked at me, an anger beginning to build in his eyes.
“Did you tip off the cops that I was here?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t tell anybody, but you better talk fast. They’re getting closer. He told you that he’d killed your wife? When” Why?”
“I told you. While I was in jail.”
I nodded, not knowing what else to do to get him to keep talking.
Down the Hall on Your Left 