Kevin Nealon -- Not funny

Kevin Nealon:

Not funny.

Kevin Nealon:

Easily the worst news anchor Saturday Night Live ever had.

Kevin Nealon, SNL anchor:

Stumbled his way through newscast like a junior high illiterate. Half of his jokes were bits just thrown into some lame social commentary he was making. Punchlines would hit audience like a jello balloon into a brick wall and splatter into awkward silence.

Kevin Nealon:

My theory is he's trying to pull off the Fred Williard "funny-because-he's-so-unfunny" bit, but fails because he isn't aware he is.

Kevin Nealon:

His best character was "Mr. Subliminal," which shows just how lame his career has been. (Hans and Frans were funny because of Dana Carvey.)

Kevin Nealon:

Appearing on "Weeds." Won't be funny.

Longhorns I have known

Saw the news this weekend that Mack Brown has picked Colt McCoy over Jevan Snead to QB the Longhorns this season. Or at least the first game. Mack tends to have a difficulty keeping his mind made up in these situations.

Anyway, considering that I only care about what UT is doing for 1/12th of the season, this story caught my notice. I saw both McCoy and Snead play in high school.

In both instances I was stringing for the Reporter-News. I watched McCoy play as a sophomore and Snead play as a senior. And, not to throw in an "I knew it" kind of post, but I guessed McCoy would get the job (first).

McCoy played more with his head, and already had a great throwing form three years ago. Snead, taller, tends to play more reactionary. But I'm not declaring myself an expert. They played completely different offensive schemes.

What really made me pick McCoy, though, was Snead's overwhelming blondness. I'm thinking UT might still be a little gunshy on that.

The Nuptials: Overheard, said or thought

*

Agreed! We're getting married in Bermuda.

Do you have anything more Lords of the Ringish?

Towels are much better than knives!

Let me, once again, point out the importance of beer.

YESYESYESYES! LOVELOVELOVELOVELOVELOVE! Now jump, again.

You could go to a gay bar with that look. And they wouldn't think you were gay.

No, I can't tell you why I love Santa Fe.

Because I don't want to think about Bill Clinton naked.

It's OK sweetheart, they already think I'm an idiot.

We don't have the logistics to bring a stripper to Hico.

Townes Van Zandt and ABBA on the same playlist ... wow.

Well ... we're not dead.

I can't believe you don't know them. She was one of my best friends in high school. (circa 1956)

It's 9 p.m. on our honeymoon. Time to sleep.

I suppose they'll come and get me. They can't start without the groom.

Wow, the big moment ... The bride looks great. We've got a big crowd. And here I am wearing a flaming pink tie. Such is love. Such is love.

*Sorry for the generic photo, I've been having trouble getting actual shots.

And (yawn, scratch, sigh) We're Back!

And that was fun. Just wanted to start by thanking everybody who came to the wedding, and say we missed you to those who couldn't make it. We understand the celebration went on for several hours after we left, which gave us both a feeling of satisfaction. Me and Meredith spent our honeymoon in New Mexico, primarily soaking in a natural hot tub, so it's going to be a vacation I need time to recover from.

I'll be posting pictures and writing about the wedding later, but for right now I'll just say that I can't decide which was my favorite part: Making the grand exit while carrying a black trash bag for luggage, or jumping up and down like fools while the photographer screamed "YES! YES! LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!"

Yep, that's what we wanted: A wedding that was understated, but classy.

Also, on a serious note: My Dad had a heart test on Thursday, which gave doctors enough concern that they went ahead with a triple bypass operation the same day. It was shocking and the most serious surgery my Dad has ever been through.

It went well, though, and the whole family was there for support. He's recovering well. I was able to talk to him briefly on Friday morning and his personality is already coming back. If anything, the operation was a blessing because it fixed some things that could have caused fatal problems at any moment. Please keep him in your thoughts, if you will.

And that's all for now, will write more later, if my wife gives me permission.

On vacation

Folks:
I'm now dropping any pretense of trying to post anything for the next week. It's unfortunate, because I have important things to say about Bon Jovi. Anyway, I need the time away for right now, so please come back next weekend. I love you all.

Diary melancholia

When I first moved out here I posted this picture with a lot of cheerleader-like enthusiasm:

This was going to be my big project, turning a junked house into a sweet state of the art bachelor pad with plumbing.

And since then, just about nothing has happened to it.

A couple of weekends ago, the family took junk we're cleaning out from another house for the wedding and put it what was to be my sweet bachelor pad. A picture of this house today looks basically the same, only the landscape is more brown from the heat. It's kind of a bookend to my time here in Hico.

And it's depressing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to matrimony and stuff and it's still pretty unbelievable who I ended up with. Since my mind went into "Go" mode on marriage, there haven't been any second guesses as to where the time and money have to be spent.

But I hate seeing this project going to the end of a to-do list that now stretches way over the horizon, behind "get more dress shirts" and "put kids through college." I suppose I'll get back around to it sometime in my 60s. It'll still be sweet though.

Notes:

Camera: My buddy Todd has sent me a digital camera in the hopes that I'll use it to record the goings-on around here and make the blog a more vibrant, easy-to-read kind of place. He has done this by hacking into one of those "disposable" digital cameras you can buy at a store for $15. I'll have to add a cable or something. The hacking is the kind of project Todd enjoys. I recall this conversation when we were roommates in college:

Todd: I think I'm going to install hooks in the ceiling to hang my bike up.

Me: The ceiling is solid concrete.

Todd: So?

I'll add that Todd was not happy when I told him my first picture-taking goal would be to get a lot of photos of "all the bunnies." But they are so damned cute.

Mint?: I spent much of my awake time today going through the Cabela's catalog, looking for something that'd make a good gift for my wedding party dudes (I prefer "dudes" to "groomsmen and ushers", and it's damn sure going in the program as such). And I found nada. Sure, I could buy everyone the cheapest pocketknife they make, but I think I got a cheap pocketknife at a previous wedding, and I don't wanna do repeats.

I did however, find this:

This is a dish that keeps your dog's food warm. I was instantly reminded of the Will Farrell skit, "Teaching your dog obedience through the use of irony and angry sarcasm."

Farrell: Oh, is the food not warm enough for you? I'll be sure to tell the head waiter and lodge a complaint to the chef. Or maybe you can just eat it BECAUSE YOU'RE A F***ING DOG!

Oddly enough, they didn't have a dog water fountain that cools water. That's a freakin' necessity in Texas.

Horseshoes: The most dangerous game

Hmmmm... reminds me to get that horseshoe set for the farm. Didn't know I'd need disinfectant.

From the AP:

Man's Buttocks Impaled By Horseshoe Stake
NORTHAMPTON, Pa. -- Enjoying a relaxing 54th birthday in the yard, Mike Colwell went to move the sprinkler, backing up momentarily to avoid the spray, toward a horseshoe pit with a 1-inch-thick rusty steel stake.

“My two heels hit the back wall of the pit. The next thing I know, this thing just tore through me,” Colwell said. ...

Ghost stories

During the interview and later training session for my job at the home, I was warned, “This is a big building. It can make some weird noises at night.”

This went into a discussion about some of the things that could make weird noises: The air conditioner, the ice machine, foxes outside trying to get their grove on.

I didn’t think too much of it. The job is creepy enough: I see dementia. A medical industry that shoves as many pills down these people’s throats as possible. Old men eating pudding.

I didn’t need to add spectral beings to the list. I don’t believe in ghosts so much, but it’d be cool to see one, I’ve thought. So long as it wasn’t the ghost of a clown. That’d freak me out.

Anyway, I had heard that people had quit the graveyard shift before because the place can get scary. The building is full of antiques, there are some dark corners when you turn the lights off, and you never know when a resident is going to go stalking down the halls at 3 a.m. I did my best to get used to this, and it took about three months. The worst part at first was the combination of exhaustion and caffeine. Your brain gets jumpy and can’t focus well.

Still, after some time, I got to a point where I wasn’t really affected. Then people started telling stories. I guess they figured I wasn’t going to quit.

Maybe it’s just something I’m missing, but it seems that just about everyone around Hico says they’ve had an experience with a ghost. And, I’ve come to find out, most people who work with me have seen something on-the-job, usually while working my shift.

Everybody also has an opinion on the sightings: While the ghosts seem to be here, they don't last long as they don't want to stay.

Here’s a quick list of what I’ve heard:

The girl: The ghost of small child who reportedly runs up and down the halls playing. While several people have told me about this, I find it to be the most unbelievable. What would the ghost of girl be doing here? Was she just so hacked at mom and dad that she decided to haunt Memaw?

The whistler: Recently, while two employees where talking in the dining room, they heard someone whistle behind them. When they turned around, no one was there. They looked at each other, one went to look outside, saw nothing, while the other said that it had definitely come from inside. They shrugged this off as run of the mill and went back to work.

The guardian angel: While doing rounds one night, a staffer glanced out a window and then did a double take. Standing (or floating) outside of a resident’s room was some kind of figure, white and translucent. She said that it could only be described as an angel. It stood there for a bit and slowly faded away. It was discovered next morning that the resident in the room had passed during the night.

The reverend: A man who had been a preacher died quietly in his room one night, and the death was so gentle that he probably wasn’t aware of it, said the attendant who told me this story. For several weeks, his door would be open after being shut, lights would be on after being turned off. The staffer who told me about this said she eventually went to the old room and announced that it was time to go. She felt a breeze on her face and the incidents stopped.

The screamer: I can’t call this a ghost, but it is my experience, so I’m putting it in. After about a week of working, I was getting close to finishing my nightly setup in the dining room when I heard something out in the hall, I went outside and had just reached an intersection of two halls, when I heard this ungodly, full-throated scream of terror. I froze, looking down the hallway where I thought the sound came from. Nothing. I walked down the hall, listening at doorways to see if whoever had yelled was still making noise. Silence. I eventually gave up and went back to work. When the morning staff arrived, I told them about the experience. They reacted with, “Uh-huh, that’s interesting”, and let it go.

I’ve since learned that people in the early phases of Alzheimer’s can have horrific nightmares, and they often wake up unable to tell reality from their dream. On the other hand, people in the building who supposedly were suffering from the ailment were in a different location. I’ve heard the scream about two more times. I think it’s a resident, but it’s unnerving as hell.

Stupid lyrics I

Say that you are dating a sweet young thang who is also a budding musician in the Amarillo area. Say that your sweet young thang has decided that you can't connect with her because of your troubled past.

Now, say that she comes to this conclusion at the same time she has decided to go west and take a shot at a serious music career.

So she breaks up with you. Your response?

Well, according to Miranda Lambert's "New Strings," it's:

"You'll never get too far with a tank of gas and an empty heart!"

Really? What the hell kind of artsy cowboy poofball was this girl dating in Amarillo? Bitch breaks his heart and he starts talking about her gas tank?

Plenty of women have broken up with me to go "find themselves"*, and I've reacted with anger, befuddlement, or a pathetic playing of the nice guy. But I've never broken out with an incoherent metaphor about the impending failure of her career choice.

Stupid lyrics.

*As in, "I done found myself a taller man with a huuuge wallet."

NOTE:
Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been adding much lately. That'll probably go on for a while, as I'm getting close to zero hour on the wedding, and I'm spending most of my spare time attempting to get into decent shape. And get a better score on EA NCAA Football. God I miss football. Regardless, I will be adding some more stuff soon, as some ideas are sucking up headspace.

On Dr. Who

And now, a contribution from Mer*:

Back in April, an unfortunately long layover in England left me bunked down for the night at a motel. Instead of acting like a normal tourist and taking the subway to see Big Ben or the Millenium Wheel, I chose to order gobs of room service and watch TV. Flipping around all the scaredy-cat reports about the first case of bird flu in the UK I found a gem -- “Doctor Who” is back.

Since I don’t have cable or a TV antenna (by choice!), I had no idea they started the series again.

The ninth Doctor Who, Christopher Eccleston (first photo), is far better looking than the trolls who came before him. And the new shows are really cool, too. Camp and sci-fi perfectly wedded. (Fanatics hoping for ascension to Gallifrey needn’t bother spamming me. I do not claim to know much about the series.)

I am thrilled that the first season came out on DVD a few weeks ago. Thank goodness for Netflix.

But I have sad news. Just as I began to get used to the new Doctor he leaves. A tenth incarnation. And not a very handsome one is this David Tennant (bottom photo). Lock him in the TARDIS and throw away the key.

Purpose in writing this? Just wanted to let other busy people know an oldster show I enjoyed as a teen was back. Oh, and to gush about Christopher Eccleston.

* The views expressed in this post may not be the views held by "News From Hico" staff. Hell, we've never seen the show and would never had heard of it save for the fact that Nick, this dude in college, was a fan. Or had a poster in his dorm room. Nick was a stand-up guy, but also an English/philosophy major who enjoyed putting old latin phrases into his poetry. We therefore say the jury is still out.

Lord of the Rings. Dogs.

So I wrote a bit last week about the frustration/luck I have with not knowing how I can go full tilt with my geek knowledge on “The Lord of the Rings.” Some one wrote a comment that I would find a way and that it “was my destiny.”

While out biking Monday I pass two dogs playing in a yard where a young woman is working. The dogs, a pit bull and German shepherd, notice me when I pass and start chasing. At the time, I’ve just climbed a hill, I’m tired, and I wouldn’t want the hounds to chase me for a mile down a highway in the first place.

So I stop. The shepherd is friendly, and happily allows me to pet him. The pit doesn’t act aggressive, but keeps his distance and barks.

Eventually the girl makes her way across the street, grabs the German shepherd and calls the pit bull. His name? “Frodo.”

She doesn’t want to get into a conversation about it, what with the cars stopping in the middle of the road and me probably being a weirdo. So she grabs her dogs and takes them back, I ride on. The wee hamlet this incident took place in is called “Fairy.”

Weird. Definitely weird.

And I personally think a pit bull would be more dwarvish.

*My fiancée says that “Clerks II” has an interesting comparison on Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, but I’m not so sure that I’m going to happy-slappy down $8 to see the movie. I can wait for NetFlix. But for those who may be interested, there it is.

Fake newspaper slogans

• The Abilene Reporter-News: We know Potosi.
• The Waco Tribune-Herald: Mostly news. Mostly accurate.
• The Lubbock Avalanche-Journal: Strange name. Stranger paper.
• The Tyler Morning Telegraph: Bubba likes the funnies!
• The Abilene Reporter-News: A group of trained journalist from across the country, brought here to join the conspiracy against your city, your church, your son’s little league team, etc.
• The Corpus Christi Caller-Times: Like warm urine for the jelly-fish sting of ignorance.
• The Victoria Advocate: Yes, we exist.
• The Amarillo Globe-News: Make people think you read.
• The Odessa American: Like you’re going to find something else to do.
• The Beaumont Enterprist: Covering crazy folk for longer than you can count on your seven fingers and 12 toes.

*Not all of these are mine. Contributions welcome.

Lubbock Drudged

I cringe any time I see my hometown linked through a headline on the Drudge Report. (Article)

Apparently Drudge thinks it's noteworthy that Lubbock officials are asking people to pray for rain. I don't see the big deal. Maybe I'm tonedeaf, living in Abilene, our city officials were asking people to pray all the damn time.

I do think the Lubbock mayor's comments are a bit over the top, and I don't get why fasting has become an in vogue thing for people to do. I grew up in churches and I never heard a minister talk about the joys of fasting until a year ago. It seems like a much more personal decision to make.

"Nobody is going to tell God what to do and what not to do, but we are in a serious drought in West Texas and since he is the man who controls the rain clouds, we're asking him for his mercy and his help," Mayor David Miller told the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal.
The City Council and the Lubbock County commissioners are expected to adopt resolutions this week asking local residents to both pray and fast for rain this Sunday.

Happily nerding along

In a conversation where person brings up an Everquest character name: Melkor.

"Melkor?" I say. "He was the greatest of the Valar, and became known as Morgoth at his downfall into evil.

"Morgoth was the first evil head guy in Tolkien's universe, later replaced by Sauron."

I look at 10 more names from Everquest, all of them Tolkien related, I point out.

And the thought hits me: This sucks. I post once about Star Trek and get five comments, but Tolkien fans don't get near the traffic. (I have to admit I've been to some websites on Tolkien, and they all suck.)

So there's nothing to do with knowing this stuff. Star Trek fans can speak in Klingon and wear makeup and go to conventions.

What the hell can I do? Buy a sword that'll get me arrested if I carry it in public. Teach myself Elvish?

It's not fair.

Of course, the fact that we can't put our nerd kink on full glory is one of God's little blessings to Tolkien fans. So I won't complain too much.

At the brake shop, need sleep

"That pad is worn, but that rotor is FUBAR."

I nod my head like I can tell what the dude is saying. I only understand the abbreviated cursing.

He goes on for a bit and begins telling me what each piece is going to cost individually. $30 for the brake pads, $40 for the rotor, $?? For the labor.

Not that the labor is a question, I just stopped paying attention. I only care that the final price isn’t going to go way the hell beyond what I thought I was going to pay.

I want the grinding to stop when I brake. It’s like riding in a car with an exterior made out of chalkboards.

Cost for job: A little over $100.

Fine.

Interesting what they put on the walls in these places.

A collection of 27 Illinois license plates. One goes back to 1926. In 1954, "Land of Lincoln" appeared on the plates. I know this because the owner conveniently put the 1953 and 1954 plates right next to each other. A major coup for the collection.

I wonder if they still put "Land of Lincoln" on. My guess is no, the trend nowadays is away from license plate slogans. This is of course proven by the New Mexicans’ insistence on putting "Land of Enchantment" on all their cars, and they tend to be about 30 years behind out there.
Hobbs, New Mexico – "Land of Enchantment."

George Carlin had a bit on license plates. New Hampshire’s slogan at the time was "Live Free or Die" whereas Idaho’s was "Famous Potatoes."

"Somewhere between those two, lies the truth," Carlin said. "And it’s probably closer to ‘Famous Potatoes.’"

The shop lobby has a big wooden cutout Christian fish sign. I’m wondering if any other religion ever advertises with its sign. A Star of David over a pizza place, a rainbow over a plumbing outfit, a fish thingy with feet for your atheist landscaping needs.

I drive over to the oil change place, called "Oasis Oil Change." I wouldn’t care so much if only the lobby offered something oasis-like, such as water.

I walk in as the radio is playing "Seven Spanish Angels," with Willie Nelson and Ray Charles.

The car goes into the garage.

After Seven Spanish Angels, the DJs mention that Ray Charles is blind, then spend the next three minutes talking about how they are going to get into trouble for mentioning that Ray Charles is blind.

"Cause, you know, you’re not supposed to have fun with that. You’re not supposed to notice that he wears sunglasses all the time. Ha! Ha! Oooohhh, I’m in trouble."

I recall a South Park episode that had a wacky chase scene of NAMBLA members running after 8-year-old boys. That caused barely a ripple. Somehow, in these United States, I think the Stephenville DJs will survive.

The oil is changed. (Or so they tell me.) I drive to get gas, a full tank for the first time in at least a month.

The grinding in my brakes has stopped, but the daily grind that is life goes on.*

*All lame endings will now be typed in italics. Thank you.

Thank you SPAM

Logging on to read my e-mail, my inbox is full of comment messages.

"What the hell?" I think/say.

First message:

Very pretty design! Keep up the good work. Thanks.

Second message:

Nice colors. Keep up the good work. thnx!

Third message:

Nice idea with this site its better than most of the rubbish I come across.

And so on.

All messages were sent at 3:44:16-17 p.m. on Thursday. And most were really impressed with the generic design and colors I picked from Blogspot.

I may be so new to this "Blogging" thing that I still have to put the word in quotes, but what the hell is this about? Positive SPAM? For what reason? Huh?

UPDATE:
So, thanks probably to the guy who sent the messages in the first place, I've been notified that each spammed comment contains links that take you to probably not so honest advertisements. I went to one for Paxil. I'm not going to do anything about this unless it becomes a problem, and I'm thinking most people here are smart enough not to go. It's either that or make the comments pre-approved, which I'd rather not do.

Showered

Going into the weekend, I had already made up this joke, "It's called a 'Shower' because after all the false sincerity you have to show to people you don't know for giving you stuff that you don't want, you need a shower. -- Ha!"

But I actually had a good time at my Aunt's house, the people were all good friends and the gifts will prove to be invaluable. Thanks to everyone. And thanks for the job tips. Perhaps I still am employable. We'll see.

In the meantime. It continues to be hot (For those of you who don't pay attention to the weather). I had to pray to my air conditioner's inner Scotty the other day when the fan overheated and stopped spinning for a bit. It came back on about 15 minutes later, but those were 15 minutes when my summer was really looking screwed.

What sucks is that my only exercise options are outside, and I can't exercise outside because of the heat, but I need to workout so I won't sweat like a fat Fin in a Turkish bath anytime I walk outside. Sucks.

One other note:
On my last post on how to react next time I'm asked the question, "Why do you write?" in a job interview, Todd suggested I force the following conversation:

BILL: My dear boy, do you ask a fish how it swims?
WINKELMANN: No . . .
BILL: Or a bird how it flies?
WINKELMANN: No . . .
BILL: No sirree, you don't! They do it because they were born to do it. Just like Willy Wonka was born to be a candy man, you look like you were born to be a Wonkarer.

I should then break into a rousing rendition of "The Candyman".

WHO CAN TAKE A SUNRISE,
SPRINKLE IT WITH DEW,
COVER IT IN CHOCOLATE AND A MIRACLE OR TWO?
THE CANDY MAN
THE CANDY MAN CAN
THE CANDY MAN CAN 'CAUSE HE MIXES IT WITH LOVE
AND MAKES THE WORLD TASTE GOOD
WHO CAN TAKE A RAINBOW
WRAP IT IN A SIGH
SOAK IT IN THE SUN AND MAKE A STRAWBERRY LEMON PIE

I should carry a lot of jellybeans in my pockets to fling about at appropriate moments.

And one more suggestion from Todd if that doesn't work:
"Why do I write? Why do you read?"

Troll Trek

Last week this blog had its first visit by a troll, who commented on a discussion (actually, a correction and thank-you exchange) on one of my more random comments on Star Trek.

He was a polite troll, sorta.

“Anoymous, you sound like one of those 40+ year olds who can fluently speak klingon and have developed arthritis in your right hand for many years of making the Spock, "live long and prosper" peace symbol. Take a lesson from Sulu. Even he came out of the closet. As Shatner once said collectively to trekies -- GET A LIFE!

I mean no offense really. Just came across this and wanted stir things up. Adios!”

Funny how he left his name space empty and criticized another dude as “anonymous.” Anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who wrote the criticized comment and am sure he can take of himself.

Anyway, this got me to thinking. I wasted a good deal of time wondering about the blog and what I’d like it to be. Maybe something larger, someday. Whatever, I’m staying away from politics.

Right now, it’s a way to keep friends up to date and practice writing. And to post pictures of my dogs. If it keeps my seven people a day coming back (hello Britain) I’m fine with that.

It’d also be weird if the comments section turned into some kind of angry free-for-all (and by weird I mean “cool”).

Other stuff:

• Maybe it’s the summer, but I’ve become lazy enough to watch some TV in my off hours, and I’m getting into “Treasure Hunters” on CBS. The premise is that different teams, ranging from a few token families of fat people to some real hotties, race around finding clues that’ll eventually lead to treasure. It’s formulaic, but the clues have to do with history, and I like formula. So far, the ugly teams have been dropping like flies, whereas the purty ones (one is made up of beauty pageant contestants, I shit you not) somehow struggle on. I’ll admit I cheered last week when the dumb redneck team, which was mean to the team with black members, went down in flames for not knowing that “L” is a 50 in roman numerals. The redneck leader had a mullet and kept saying that he believed in “Kharma.”
  
• I’ve also caught some of the PBS documentary on Bob Dylan. I’ve never listened to much of his music, and since I’m ignorant on all things musical, I can watch the show and always be surprised. I have to catch it in bits and pieces, but there’s two things I’ve picked up so far:
  

  1) In the 60s, Dylan was booed by half the crowd at every concert he played anytime he started playing rock as opposed to the "pure” folk music they wanted to hear. Which is a good example of what happens to people once they become radicalized. And:
  
  2) During one interview, a French journalist asked Dylan why he sang. Dylan looked at her confused. “Why do I sing? … I don’t know, because it’s what I do.”

I’ve been through several job interviews that came to a screeching halt when the interviewer asked me, “So, why do you write?” and my mind went fleeing for some kind of answer that sounded articulate and not full of B.S. I could never really come up with anything. But next time, I’m going to tell the Dylan story, ending with “And if that’s good enough for Bob Dylan, it’s Damn sure good enough for me. So suck it!” Then I’ll knock over their pen and pencil holder and walk my ass out of the room.

• People should wink more often.

It’s a slow read. Sorry, but it’s the mood.

Odd weather. Really, I’m perfectly happy if it’s 97 and dry. 89 and wet though makes me miserable and turns my armpits into gravy cesspools. (That observation brought to you by my still active 12-year-old self).

Grasshoppers have made their appearance. I didn’t know until this year that it had to do with time, I used to think that they were good some years and bad others. Nope, I hadn’t seen one until last night at work, with this khaki-green hopper that wanted to end it all by jumping into the garbage disposal.

Then I get home and two more ju mp on me before I can walk inside. I always liked grasshoppers growing up. They were plentiful, easy to catch and didn’t seem to mind so much when you put them on a hook.

Now, I think that I’ll have to spray my plants again. I’ve shepherded the mint and sage through the hot, dry spells, I can get them through the grasshoppers, by God.

It’s strange -- how seeing something I planted put out a flower brings a feeling of personal achievement to me -- and yet I still have no urge to kiss a guy. My precepts of masculinity might have been wrong.

Anyway, time passes by at an unbelievably fast rate nowadays. We’ve brought in furniture for the new room at the farm house, and the place has a nice look of completeness. My Dad has been working on this thing, in his mind, since he was in his 20s.

Now in his mid-seventies, I wonder what he’s going to do next, or if he has a slightly empty feeling now that the project is almost over and done. I don’t know the answer, because we don’t talk about that crap.

The wedding closes in, and me and Meredith have gotten to a point where we essentially think we’re done with the planning. Actually, we know we’ve missed something but have no idea what it is, and have ceased caring so much.

Anyway, enjoy the season with a picture of Jimbo. He’s kind of like Forest Gump. In all the still photos in the movie, Forest has his eyes closed. In all pictures of Jimbo, his eyes are closed, or his tongue is hanging out, or he’s showing his happiness in an inappropriate manner. But I feel guilty about not getting his picture out, so …

Gun review: The West that was … eh

Sorry folks, but it's

Geek time

It took me about a week and half to play through “Gun” (The straight up X-Box) version. And I can say why the average reaction from critics was that it was average.

The idea of a video game story is that it sets you up for the action and makes you give a damn about getting the character to the next, and then the next part. This can be done fairly simply with some basic plotlines that may ring cliché but get the job done. Or it can be some overwrought, “let’s hire Kris Kristofferson for a minor voice bit and completely overthink ourselves,” kind of thing where you spend half your time rolling your eyes.

Not only do you blow away half the Indians in the Montana territory, you understand their language and become good friends with all of them that you didn’t kill.

Which illustrates the problem behind this game -- and with most movies nowadays while were at it -- you spend one moment brutalizing anything that moves and the next spewing politically correct invective on the plight of the (fill in the blank).

Really, as I’ve said, it’s not that hard to do this right (Halo comes to mind). Set up a character, isolate him against a non-redemptive enemy that wants him dead, start shooting.

Here, your first big battle comes because you want to talk to prostitute. Other people aren’t trying to keep you from her, they just want to “talk” to her first. This is understandable, and quick bar fight could be expected. Instead, you end up shooting through about 40 people so that the conversation can go on like nothing happened. Boring.

The game is rated Mature for Tom Skerrit. Also, the creators decided that to get the 12-year-old demographic, (which should not be playing it), all violence should be over the top. Hence you don’t get to just shoot people and watch their head explode, you also get to scalp them.

I’ve got no problem with violence in games, that kind of steam release has always served a useful purpose to a lot of people. Here, though, the violence is just this random thing you do before moving on to the next plot point.

That said, the good parts of the game almost make up for it. This was a big time production that spent a lot of money on actors you recognize and music from some other big western movie or something.

The atmosphere of the west is charmingly displayed and it’s fun just to ride a horse around and explore the world (which is disappointingly small). The play is pretty clunky at first, but you eventually learn to get around it and enjoy such facets as a quick draw and the ability to knock people off their horses. The graphics are done well, and I can only imagine what it’d look like on the X-Box 360 (One day it will be mine).

Which I suppose is what makes the enterprise a disappointment. You see the potential with the acting and technical ability, but they were just too lazy or in too much of a hurry to pull it off right.