Spooky Dooky!

The boys and I are not built for horror, hallowed or otherwise. We tend to avoid shuddering fear whenever we can. We offer a universal "No, thank you" to creepy movies, haunted mansions, paranormal activity and any skeletons wearing glad rags. We enjoy daytime! And sunshine! Fluffy little animals that sing and dance to popular music! Everyone who thinks we should have Easter twice a year, say "Aye"! Aren't twisted childhood flashbacks of driving around in a car with the seatbelts purposely removed enough to contend with? How about trying to eat a grilled cheese sandwich amidst ashtrays and coffee cups with gobs of red lipstick on them? Oh, C'mon! Let us have our Kitten Party already! If I wanna give myself a good scare, all I need to do is park my green car between two work vans at the Home Depot on a Saturday morning. Or look inside Rory's ears after a day at the beach. Ack! Here's an idea. Why not eat six big pieces of an orange and chase it with some candy and a Capri Sun after the Halloween parade at school? Then go run around the playground and see what happens... Now, there's a little something special for Desmond's book of memories.

Bend over, Dover!

Here’s an interesting fact you probably didn’t know about the White Cliffs of Dover. High above the town is a shaft carved through the rock, leading from the base of the cliffs to the Western Heights. Inside this passageway are three concentric spiral staircases called the Grand Shaft. They were built between 1806 and 1809 in order to get troops down to the harbor in a hurry, most likely so moms could take pictures of their sons in uniform and subsequently update their clever war blogs. Some days it's just too much to ask for even the most immeasurably small amount of cooperation from the lads of the resistance, especially when it involves a photo session. Interestingly enough, this is also known as the Grand Shaft. This particular version, however, looks a little bit like this and a whole lot like that.

Drunk Uncle Bob

Totally made the V.I.P. list at a free sold-out concert on Saturday night. Drunk Uncle Bob was playing at Thatcher McGee's, right down the street from my house. Sweet! Got there at 10 p.m. to meet up with my work pals; everybody looked so adorable outside of the office. We must always raise our goblets of rock in support of the arts, especially live music - because it's awesome! The band was in fine form, covering a wide range of catchy favorites and hip-checking ditties. Dynamic male vocalist Kenny Stagg leads his eclectic combo with confidence and panache. BK has a terrific singing voice and an unassuming stage presence. It's true what everybody says: He is one righteous dude! I stayed for most of the first set and took dozens of blurry photos of the band. It's a free service I provide as part of the New Jersey fan club, Pompton Lakes chapter. Atta Babe!

Teach a Girl to Fish

The strangest thing happened to me while I was out for a swim on Saturday afternoon. I was down at my usual spot, kinda hungry, doing my thing. Sometimes my mind wanders when I'm looking for stuff to eat. I can't help it; I'm always mulling over lots of cool ideas. I was wondering how fun it would be to have feet, to know what size they are and shop for boots on the internet. Then have them delivered to my house where I live, on land. Imagine! Anyway, as luck would have it, right before my eyes plopped a big juicy worm, tied to a string. Thinking back on my experience now, I'm pretty certain the brother was motioning to me to keep moving. At the time, however, I was so thrilled with my seeming good fortune that I misinterpreted his indeterminate queues. Who could blame me? Everybody knows that worms are notoriously unscrupulous and without social compunction. Or arms.
I gave my surroundings a quick once over. Above the water, I saw the outline of a lady wearing a Borst Landscape and Design sweatshirt. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to own my own home and have an outdoor kitchen and pergola installed by licensed contractors on my professionally landscaped property. Boxes of new boots would be waiting for me on the porch every day! Anyway, the lady was hollering intermittently at two smaller individuals. Not in a hostile way, almost as a matter of course. I glanced back at Dr. Worm and as I chomped down on my lunch, I was yanked skyward by my face. I found myself dangling unceremoniously in front of a pair of chattering ninnies wearing Cub Scout uniforms. I'm no expert, but they seemed to know nothing about scouting. It was clear, however, that they were thirsty and bored. One of them needed to chew gum very badly or he might just die. I'm pretty sure my photo was taken. I became faint from twisting in the wind and not really knowing how to breathe without water. Suddenly, a very big one emerged from the group. He took hold of me and pulled the hook out of my cheek. Did I mention there was a hook in my cheek? Probably not; it all happened so fast! He attempted to hurl me toward the lake, back to my home. One thing was certain, this bloke was no athlete. He threw a fish like a Medco employee. Thwack! After I bonked my head on a low-lying branch, I sailed straight down into a thorny bramble. Before I blacked out, I wondered what time the raccoons would come to eat me. When I regained consciousness several minutes later, Whitey Ford had his greasy mitts on me again. The lady seemed a little upset, yet relieved that I was alright. So was I. Perhaps she might take me to her little job so I could live in one of Rob's fish tanks with the other happy captured Sunnies, I thought. Rocking out to Gwen Stefani and the soundtrack from Grease, all day long! No such luck. After the next wind-up, I hit the shallow bank with a splash. Into the mighty Pompton I was tossed, dreams dashed, face shredded, yet dignity intact.