I love trashy talk shows. They're a non-stop form of entertainment. I don't actually watch  them, of course, but I do like to read the summaries.

I am nothing if not easily amused.

But it's a pastime I had not engaged in for several months, once the web site I had been using to get the summaries started charging for most of their content, the bastards.

Anyway, yesterday, I was minding my own business, when a dormant part of my brain (it's a vast area) which had been housing my love of trashy talk show summaries reminded me I hadn't pursued this intellectually stimulating activity in far too long. So I did a search to find new sources for summaries. And find them I did. A definite cause for celebration. I'll be posting those as I find interesting ones.

But all was not happy in my search. I found out, much to my almost horror, that Jenny Jones, the source of quite amusing titles which always rhymed and did their darnedest to use slang, is no longer on the air. And let us not forget Sally Jesse Rafael's show leaving the airwaves. So dug out some old summaries of Jenny and Jerry and the gang I had previously posted in some old ramblings, just for you, my readers. I know, you're all impressed. My comments are below each summary.

Jerry Springer: Surprise: I'm Having Your Baby!
(Jerry's having my baby?! He swore he was using protection!)

Jenny Jones: You Like to Floss That Body, But Are You a True Hottie?
(Isn't flossing something you do to your teeth?)

Jerry Springer: My Husband Is a Secret White Supremacist
(Not anymore)

Ricki Lake: I'm a Male Virgin and I Want You to Be My First
(No thanks, you're not my type)

Jerry Springer: Here Come the Hookers
(Where?! Will they be here soon?)

Jenny Jones: I Don't Care If You Agree, My Daughter Likes to Drink and Party With Me
(You know, it's good to see a family spending time together)

Jerry Springer: I'm Ending My Lesbian Affair With My Sister
(Can I just say, I'm for that? Ending it, that is. I'm not for starting it in the first place.)

Jerry Springer: I've Been Cheating On My Husband With Our Neighbors
(Okay, I'm curious about this one. Neighbors is plural, so I'm wondering exactly how many neighbors were involved. Two? Ten? How big is the neighborhood? I hope there aren't any apartment buildings nearby. That lady would be quite busy with all those folks. I could watch, but some things are just better left undiscovered.)

Maury: Please Stop Controlling Me!
(Is Connie Chung, Maury's wife, the guest? Who else would Maury be controlling?)

Sally: Face It: We're Over!
(Thank goodness! I've been trying to break it off with Sally for years.)

Jerry Springer: I Starred in an Adult Film With My Boyfriend's Brother
(... And my cat's mother's friend's owner's hairdresser was the director!)

Jenny Jones: I'm Smart and My Looks Are off the Hook, But Guys Don't Give Me a Second Look
(Maybe it's your obsessive need to rhyme everything. That can get really annoying.)

Jerry Springer: My Lifelong Dream Is to Be a Transvestite Stripper
(And they say kids don't know "good" old fashioned values anymore.)

Jenny Jones: Your Teasin' Wasn't Easy, But Now My Looks Are Off the Heezy
(Yet again, I don't have a clue what this means)

Jerry Springer: I Like to Wear Diapers
(Um. Okay. Good for you, Jerry.)

Jenny Jones: You Say You're a Pimp Who Makes All the Girls Holler: Are You a True Playa' Or Just Poppin' Collars?
(I have no ideas what this means. And you know, I'm okay with that.)

Jerry Springer: I Like to Wear My Fiancée's Underwear
(While they're still in them, or... ??)

Jerry Springer: Wine, Women and Thongs
(You know, I might watch this one.)

Jerry Springer: I Just Found Out My Girlfriend Is Really My Sister
(I can't tell you how often that's happened to me)

Jerry Springer: My Husband Drove Me to Have an Affair With a Transvestite
(He drove because he wanted to come watch, me thinks)

Jerry Springer: I'm Having a Lesbian Affair With My Midget Sister
(I'm just not sure what to say about that one)

And, finally, there's these two:

Jerry Springer: I'm Dumping the Man Who Got Me Pregnant for My Pimp

Jerry Springer: I'm in Love With a Dead Fish

I don't know what to say to either one of those, in all honesty. That Jerry Springer... always has his finger on the pulse of what really matters in today's society: pimps and dead fish. Maybe we should flush them all down the toilet and be done with it.

Oh, sure, I know the dead fish in question likely isn't an actual fish (although, really, with Jerry Springer you just never know), but flushing them down the toilet still might be the best solution.

HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN IS ON

In other news, I am happy to report Halloween is just 30 more days away. I am all kinds of pumped about doing the decorations in the yard, but have to wait before I can get them out of the garage, since the boxes take up so much space. At least the coffin doubles as a storage container... which could be because it was made out of a styrofoam storage container. It would be the logical conclusion.

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I woke up a few days ago (I like to do that at least once a day) and was immediately teleported into what seemed to be a Three Stooges movie, only I wasn't sure if I was Curly or Larry. I definitely was not Moe, because, frankly, he had terrible hair. Anyway, my mother, bless her heart, decided to fall down by tripping over a dog, which triggered a desk chair to fall on top of her. I heard her yell, so I quickly came to her rescue by trying to pick up the chair and immediately falling down on top of the chair, which decided to get tangled up in a blanket laying on the floor for the dogs (of course we have blankets on the floor for the dogs), and fell down on top of the chair, right on top of my mother's leg.

Needless to say, that wasn't exactly the best course of action. I had to crawl over the chair (and my mother) to get to where I could get up, before I could even begin to help her up. I wasn't hurt, but Mom is still a bit sore from the ordeal. Funny, that.

I would like to mention I had been jolted out of bed by Mom's yell, so I hadn't quite woken up yet. One can't be expected to be at one's best when one is still partially asleep.

Not that I'd do much better wide awake.

My mother, bless her heart, is finding great joy in reminding me of my questionable rescue. It reminds me (and her) of the time when, several years ago, I was at the state fair with my mother and sister. We were sitting at a table eating teriyaki chicken off a stick (well, three separate sticks, technically... we didn't share the same one), and my mother started coughing. She's always coughing, usually because she swallowed wrong, etc. So it wasn't really cause for alarm that day. That is, it wouldn't have been if she had stopped after a reasonable amount of time.

Which she didn't. Turns out she was choking on a piece of chicken and could hardly breathe. To my sister's and my credit, we did realize this. Eventually. To hear my mother tell it, it was days later, but that's ridiculous. We were still sitting at the same table on the same day, after all. Surely the fair employees would have sent us home if we'd stayed past closing.

Once we realized she was choking, we did the only thing reasonable adults would do, which is to ask her if she was okay. But she employed a glare which said, without any words, that she was not only not okay, she was also going to kill us at a later time for not noticing her plight sooner.

Once we squared away the non-okay-ness of my mother, we set about trying to correct the situation. We realized we hadn't a clue as to how to dislodge the chicken (and right here I would like to request all of you who do not know the Heimlich maneuver to please go learn), so we alerted some nearby fair employees, whose medium age was roughly 15. One of them, who claimed his mother was a nurse, proceeded to do an interesting form of the Heimlich by way of my mother's ribs and not just below them as is proper, which served to dislodge the chicken... to a lower place in her throat. Not to mention it hurt Mom's ribs. He meant well, but it didn't quite work as planned.

So he sent another employee to go to the medic tent several yards away from our location. Thusly dispatched, this employee set off at an urgent gait, which, if played in super fast motion, might look like she was walking at a normal speed.

Seeing the futility of this, yet another employee was deployed, and that one did make it to the medic tent in a fairly rapid manner, and a cart was sent for Mom. She was taken to the tent, where they eventually discovered they couldn't do a darned thing for her (and I would like to point out here my brother was a medic for several years, and I value their service to our society very much), so an ambulance was called, and she was whisked to the hospital.

My sister and I followed in her car, and then spent several minutes in the waiting room, watching a muted tennis match on the television in the waiting room. Before you ask, I have no idea who was playing, nor do I know who won. I think it was somebody with a racket and little yellow balls.

Which sounds funny, when you think about it.

Anyway, doctors looked over my mother and couldn't figure out how to get the chicken dislodged, so it was decided that they would have to go in after it. This was not a prospect my mother was looking forward to. I don't blame her. In a fortunate turn of events, just before they were to do the procedure, the chicken, having had enough of being stuck, decided to come out on its own. So, in the end, she was spared any invasive medical procedures.

She had a very tiring and painful day, but I am glad to say she did indeed survive, and for that I am forever grateful. I'm fairly certain she is, too, despite her obviously inadequate children. Both of these incidents have provided her with enough guilt fodder to keep her in business for many years. She has also said, bless her heart, she wants written on her tombstone "I told you I was sick." She also refuses to eat teriyaki chicken. Can't imagine why.

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I am proud to say, after almost 24 hours of being awake, I was able to sleep for a handful of much needed hours this morning/afternoon. This glorious experience provided me with enough energy to actually do some productive activities. You should all be impressed.

One of those activities was bathing two of my dogs, Lucky and Lucy. They're both sweethearts, so I didn't have any trouble bathing them. Afterwards, though, they did the universal doggy trippy dance, which involves running around the house at speeds upwards of 100 miles an hour, stopping to rub up against various furniture, walls, cats, etc., to rub off the water, then repeating the process until they collapse in an exhausted, slightly damp heap.

I've never had a dog who didn't do the dance. I don't know if it's a genetic feature built into dogs, or if there's some sort of group, probably called the World Organization Of Canine Furries (WOOF - the "C" is silent), which dictates such behaviors. Either way, it's universal, and quite entertaining.

At least Lucky and Lucy will actually get into the bathtub. Shasta, the rottweiler, steadfastly refuses to go anywhere near it, the shower, the hose, or the kiddy pool out back. Which means, of course, I have to place a towel underneath her, and give her something akin to a sponge bath, using a washcloth, the soap, and a cup to pour water over her. It's all kinds of fun.

It could be worse. I saw a man on the news who's dog, he says, refuses to drink any water but some he specially bottles from a spring. He is, of course, planning to sell the bottled spring water, marketing it for dogs.

Why not? If he can find people willing to buy it, then by golly, he should sell it to them. That's America, friends.

In Tango the Wonder Kitty news, you might not know this, but he is quite computer savvy. Today he put my computer on stand by with a single click, and he helped my mother print something from her computer by making sure the paper was coming out of the printer by sticking his paw in the slot to pull the paper out manually. Yesterday, he made some copies on my copier/printer/scanner/nuclear reactor/pasta maker. He has many skills.

I can't tell you how many times he's helped write email (not to mention delete it) opened browsers, and even shut off computers. He's really quite talented. Who knew, when I brought him home three years ago, I'd have such a technological wizard on my hands. A wise investment, indeed.

Here's a thought -- maybe, with his many skills, he can get a computer-related job, so he can start paying me back for the various things he's broken over the years. Knowing him, thought, he'd end up like Dogbert, swindling stupid people out of all their money and plotting to rule the world.

Not that that's a bad thing. He already rules this house, after all. He has plenty of experience.

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I am so not a happy camper. Yesterday I had to get up at the unnatural time of 7am to take Shasta, my rottweiler, to the vet to get spayed (she came through just fine). After dropping her off, I attempted a nap, which was thwarted by an insane guinea pig who kept rattling her water bottle, a dog, Lucky, who decided it was play time and was getting into stuff, and three cats who were using my bed to repeatedly climb up into my bedroom window in a complex revolving pattern only cats can achieve and which baffles scientists to this very day.

I thought for sure I'd be able to sleep last night since I'd slept so little the previous two or three nights. But it was not to be. Shasta, dear lovely groggy Shasta, decided to camp out on my bed and zonk, leaving me no room to lay, and I can't sleep, anyway. So, here I am at 5am, not awake enough to get anything productive accomplished, and not sleepy enough to head off into dreamland. Instead, I'm watching a Roseanne   (it reminds me of home) marathon on Nick At Nite.

Okay, I was   watching Roseanne, but I just couldn't take the Ovaltine commercials the channel kept showing anymore. If giving a child Ovaltine (the chocolate wonder drink) makes he or she as ridiculously happy and annoying as the children are in the commercials, I think it should be banned and all stock should be destroyed.

In other TV news, I sat through an entire hour of Paula Zahn Now   (now what, is what I'm wondering) on CNN yesterday waiting for them to show an interview with the wise and wonderful Dave Barry, humor columnist and leading booger expert, but they didn't show it. They made me suffer for an entire hour, but they didn't show it. They say   they're going to show it tomorrow, but I don't know if I can take watching the show again.

If it were Anderson Cooper's show on CNN, I could handle it. I love Anderson. He's the epitome of spiffy. But Paula... I just don't know if I can take it again. Is Dave Barry worth it? Okay, silly question. Dave Barry's like a humor god in my eyes, so of course I'll watch. But let it not be said I haven't suffered for my humor god.

I'm off to give sleep another shot. Farewell, friends, for I may not wake until the morrow. Or, knowing me, I'll have to go to the bathroom in an hour. Either way, have a happy day... and sleep some for me.

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I'm not sure, but I think this may be a sign of impending global doom. I'm not, of course, talking about the current state of politics or the various wars raging across the planet. No, friends, I'm referring to the fact it's morning and I am, once again, awake.

I hate it when that happens. I can't even place the blame on a dog or cat. No, I woke up all on my own, so I have no one to blame but myself. Oh, sure, 7:30am may not sound early for most of you -- I can hear several of you know, grumbling about having to get up much earlier than that to go to work, school, etc. That is a very valid complaint.

But when one works at home and is very much a night owl, 7:30am in my world is akin to getting up at midnight when you don't have to be at work until 10am. One just wouldn't do that unless one was insane.

Huh. Maybe that's why I'm awake. Okay, never mind. On to new topics.

In other news, my brother and his family were here for a visit, and my 11-year-old niece and I were discussing the important and vital topic of Halloween. She had never seen our decorations before, since she used to live with her mother in California. Now that she lives here, she gets to trick-or-treat fo the first time since she was four. She's rather stoked. So she was giving me ideas for how to decorate the yard this year, and I must say she had some great ideas. I always knew she was a smart child.

She wants to dress up as the grim reaper (always a wise fashion choice), so I get to put to use the entirely too much Halloween makeup I bought last year on sale at 75% off... you know, rotting flesh, glow-in-the-dark lipstick, etc. She'll be the best looking grim reaper this side of Hell.

Speaking of Halloween, I just discovered a rather nifty Halloween Clipart site. Visit it this very second.

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While, technically, Talk Like a Pirate Day, ended yesterday, but I see no reason why the festivities must end. That is why I am presently watching one of my all time favorite movies, The Pirate Movie.

I was laying in bed earlier, spooning with Shasta, my rottweiler (it was her idea, I swear), and I realized sleep was just not going to come. So out came one of my favorite movies, The Pirate Movie, and now I'm happily watching pirates pillage and plunder, and Kristy McNichol... well, she's just beautiful, and quite easy to watch, no matter what she's doing.

If you aren't familiar with this Oscar worthy movie, it's from the early 80's, and is chock full of cheesy 80's music (it's a musical, after all), and is a spoof of The Pirates of Penzance. Did I mention it has Kristy McNichol? Did I mention she's beautiful? She more than makes up for any short comings the movie may have. It's just an adorable and incredibly silly movie.

I first saw it at a friend's house when I was but a child. There we were, watching it with my friend's parents, when, for reasons unknown, my friend decided to go outside and play. I, on the other hand, was captivated by the movie, and stayed to watch it through to the end. It was love at first viewing.

I rank it right up there with other spoof and/or just plain silly movies I love -- Airplane! (don't call me Shirley!), Caddyshack, and so on.

In other pirate semi-related news, I have a question for you. Have you ever had the burning desire to use your mouse to fling little stick figures to their deaths as they try to pillage your castle?

Of course you have. So, to fulfill this desire, head on over to Defend Your Castle, an online Flash game where you can fling those stick figures till your heart's content. I spent many minutes doing just that until my hand and wrist crumbled under the strain. Good times were had, friends.

In other news, I have a zit on my chin the size of Cleveland, and it's not at all pretty. The zit, not Cleveland. I'm sure Cleveland is a perfectly nice city, though I've not had the pleasure of seeing it first hand.

Anyway, the zit is huge. It's so big, I'm afraid it may develop sentience and try to strangle me in my sleep. At the age of 29, you'd think I wouldn't have as much of a problem with zits as I do. But, alas, it is a constant battle to keep the critters at bay. I've pondered wearing a mask at all times to cover them up, but frankly it's just to difficult to wear my glasses and a mask at the same time. I tried that last Halloween and couldn't see a thing.

Speaking of Halloween, I bought some very nifty makeup last year on sale which looks like rotting flesh. I plan on wearing that this year as part of my Halloween costume. Hey, here's an idea! I could wear this makeup at all times to cover up the zits! Yeah! I could start a new trend. The rotting flesh trend!

Uh, yeah. Maybe that's not such a good idea after all. But it's 3:30am and I can't sleep, so don't expect too much from me right now. Or at any other time, for that matter.

I'm going to go fling stick figures and watch them fall to their deaths now. The splatting noise they make when the hit the ground is my favorite part.

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As any Dave Barry fan knows, today is Talk Like a Pirate Day. I am proud to say the two guys who started it are from right here in Oregon. Yes, friends, you will find creative and not at all strange folks such as these here in this fine state, so all of you should come visit right away.

For now, be sure to talk like a pirate. That's an order, ye scurvy dogs.

In other news, I made an appointment today to have my rottweiler, Shasta, spayed next week. We were told when we got her from the rescue she had already been fixed, but the original owner told us later that was not the case, and we knew it for certain when Shasta went into heat a couple months ago and took a decided interest in our chow chow, Tai, the only male dog in the house. He's fixed and an old man, so he was decidely not a happy camper having Shasta wave her hind end in his face at every opportunity. Since Shasta won't quite fit on the back of my scooter, a neighbor will be her chauffeur to the vet's office. I, of course, will be her escort.

Take care, me hearties. I'm off to go pillage t'fridge for some grub.

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Greetings, friends. I'm trying something new, and having this blog sent to my Random Ramblings mailing list. I've been pretty remiss in posting there as of late, so I'm hoping this blog will help fill in the gaps. Feedback on this is welcome (uber@wvi.com). I won't post to the blog more than once a day, and maybe not even that much. If anyone feels it's too often, let me know.

In other news, some relatives from Idaho are here visiting with my mother this morning, which means I had to get up very early this morning. Let me rephrase that. I had to get up this morning. I'm very much a night person, so getting up before noon is against my genetic makeup. But awake I am, and sitting here, pretending to work. Instead, I'm watching Return of the Jedi for the 98,000th time, and I swear I'm not watching it just because Carrie Fisher is in that nifty gold bikini thing through part of it.

I lead an exciting life. Part of that life at present is trying to calm down my rottweiler, Shasta, who's rather annoyed she's stuck in the bedroom with me while I'm "working" instead of out in the family room visiting with the relatives. She's bouncing around the room, whining and nudging my arm repeatedly. She wants to visit, too. After all, she's people, too.

The two springers are in another bedroom, also whining, and not happy campers. The dogs are wimps and incredibly spoiled. I don't know how it happens, but the instant an animal comes in our house, they immediately become spoiled, through absolutely no fault of my own. I swear.

Or maybe not. Maybe I'm the wimp. But they're all rather cute and lovable, so it's okay.

Right?

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It's gone, all gone, and I have no idea where it is. I'm so depressed.

I'm not, of course, talking about my Purple Plaything (still a Honda scooter, and not a sex toy). I know where it is, and it's fine. No, I'm talking about my scooter keychain, which was also purple in color but didn't go anywhere near as fast as the Purple Plaything. But it was adorable, and looked remarkably like the Honda, and I miss it dearly.

Yes, I miss a piece of molded purple plastic. Live with it. I do. I don't even have a picture of it to remember it by.

It was hanging from the zipper handle on my purse, but somewhere along the line it disappeared... and, I'm afraid, it's gone forever. I looked for a new one at the store I bought the original one, but there weren't any of them left.

*sigh* This just sucks, friends. People who saw me in stores around town would look at the keychain and recognize me as the person who rides the Purple Plaything. It was my calling card. And now it's gone.

But I am strong, and I will survive... though the void in my life will remain forever more.

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Those who know me know I love to decorate for Halloween. It's not an idle interest. No, friends, it's a serious, serious thing.

So it's really painful to go to stores and see really nifty new decorations for sale and not have the money to buy them. It's agony. That fog machine I saw today would be the perfect thing to really bring all the decorations together, but, alas, it will have to fog someone else's yard and/or house. Someone with money.

I know, of course, there's a war going on in Iraq and people are starving and homeless all over the world, and I don't really need  these things. That's not the point. The point is I'm weak, and I love to decorate for Halloween. And there's cool stuff out there which I don't have. Oh, sure, I already have plenty of cool stuff, but I want more, darn it! More! More!!! Is that so WRONG?!?!

Um. Uh, sorry about the outburst. It won't happen again. Maybe. You never know.

Did I mention I really like to decorate for Halloween?

Did I also mention I need serious help, in the mental sense?

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This has to be the best cover for a book I've seen in some time... take a look:

'Plot? What Plot?' by Mavis Applewater

The book is filled with incredibly spiffy short stories of the tastefully done lesbian erotica-type stuff, with actual plots and everything, despite what the name of the book says. The stories are damned good. I don't have the book yet, but I've read 'em online... whew. Check 'em out:

Finding Mavis

You may not believe this, but I actually read the stories for the plots. I know, I'm sick. Anyway, she has some full-length novels there, too. All good stuff.

Warning - if you aren't 18 or older or it's illegal to read tastefully done erotica-type stuff. Grab some ice and commence the reading.

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My inner child is ten years old!

The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost in a good book, or giggling with my best friend, I live in a world apart, one full of adventure and wonder and other stuff adults don't understand.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla

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I am happy to report my Purple Plaything, a spiffy Honda scooter and absolutely not a sex toy, has reached a new milestone -- 4000 miles.

Yes, friends, I have scootered 4000 miles around my small town over the last two and a half years. That may not be a lot for a car, but on my little scooter, which can't go outside city limits, it's pretty darned good.

Of course, now that I've mentioned this, it's going to break down in the pouring rain or something.

And, yes, I know it looks blue in the photo. It's purple, I swear.


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One of my dogs (I have four), Lucky, is quite the little thief. Today she stole a loaf of bread off the counter while I was in another room, and ate half of it before I discovered what she'd done.

She's stolen before - bread, leftover dinner, etc. And she just loves to get the garbage can out of the cupboard below the sink and spread it all around. We have to keep rubber bands on the cupboard doors so she can't get in them, and we can't leave anything on the counter because she is big enough to put her front end up there to steal whatever's available.

It used to be my cat, Tango the Wonder Kitty, who was the thief. He's apparently gone into semi-retirement, and has passed the reigns on to Lucky. Tango still knocks things out of the cupboard where his catnip is stored in an effort to get his human's attention, and he still gets into the cupboards in the bathroom, but overall, he's become somewhat mellow.

I get he's finally grown up. He did just turn three after all. He's a big boy now.

Do you have thieving animals? Leave me a comment below.



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... And it's introduced yet another serial killer storyline. They're apparently going to kill off some longtime characters, and I'm rather annoyed. It's enough to make me want to stop watching it.

But I won't. Believe me, I've tried may times before. Oh, sure, it sounds easy enough to just stop watching, and not give it another thought. But I've been watching the soap since I was in the womb (literally), and, as with any addiction, it's just not easy to give it up. I don't like any other soaps, so I can't replace it with another.

*sigh* I don't know what I'm gonna do... well, except keep watching, of course. If the show ever goes off the air, it will be a period of serious mourning for me. Despite the stupid storylines, the sometimes questionable acting... oh, and the stupid storylines, I will continue to watch until I can watch no more.

• Dustin's Day of our Lives Page - my favorite Days site
  

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You will no doubt be thrilled to learn I was able to find a new bulb for my lamp. It was a full $5 cheaper than the bulbs for my old lamp, so I'm a happy camper.

I also discovered they (The Heresay Experts for You!) make flood-style black lights. This is a significant discovery. Next month is Halloween, after all, and I must prepare.

Normally, I use to normal flood lights to illuminate my rather... uh, expansive Halloween display each year. But black lights will allow the glow-in-the-dark stuff (makeup, etc.) to show up, whereas the regular lights just kill the effect.

I have various small children to scare. It must be done properly.

Actually, the younger kids aren't the ones who refuse to come to the door. It's usually the older ones... around 12-13. Boys, mainly. Last year, a boy about that age wouldn't come to the door, so his father had to come up and knock and explain the situation. I went outside and walked past most of the decorations before the kid ran up, very fast, got his candy, and ran back down the driveway.

Maybe I won't use the scary sound effects this year.

But I'm still going to use the coffin, and the ghosts, and the wearwolf, and the talking skeleton, and the tombstones, and the cobwebs, and the lights, and the strobe lights, and the scary masks, and the hanging skeletons, and the pumpkins, and the candles, and the witches, and the spiders, and the bags o' bones, and bloodly hands, and the bloody meat cleaver, and the blood-filled goblets, and the gypsy fortune teller lady (with all due respect to gypsies and fortune tellers), and the cool decaying flesh makeup, and various other things I can't think of off hand.

Maybe I will use the scary sound effects, after all. With all the other stuff, the sound effects are really needed to create the propery atmosphere, don't ya think? Yep, me too.

Some photos of Halloweens past:

• Halloween 2002
  
• Halloween 2000
  

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I acquired a new lava lamp a few weeks ago, and the bulb just died. I call my lamp Harry, because it looks vaguely like a wizard... with stars and moons on it, a pointed hat, etc. Reminds me of Harry Potter. The picture at the left isn't of my lamp, by the way... mine's blue/yellow. But you get the idea. I know you were wondering.

Let us mourn this bulb's passing, and pray to any applicable gods the replacement bulb is cheap and long lasting, and the Harry the Lamp's ooze will... um, ooze forever more.

Okay, that sounds dirty. Oh well.

I just looked up my lamp online, and discovered it's called the Wizard. I guess it's time to gather up Dorothy and Toto to see if we can find that bulb so we can... *sigh*... see the Wizard once again.

In other news, today is September 11th, the second anniversary of the WTC and Petagon terrorist attacks. I'm torn as to how to commemorate the day -- watch the news broadcasts, sit in silence, go about my regular activities... nothing seems fitting, or enough, or worthy. All those people died, and the threat is still very real and out there. But so is the human spirit. "All we need is love."

"I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are really good at heart." ~ Ann Frank

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You know, there are approximately 590,000,000,000 blogs already out there. I don't need to add another one. But I am. Why? Why am I bring this upon myself?

Heck if I know. I don't really care. Anyway, I'll put things here as I think of them.

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