Seeing the Light -- Midnight Sun by Jo Nesbo

I read this in just a few hours today, the day after Thanksgiving--fitting, given what the book's about. I'm happy to say that this book also is maybe the first of Jo Nesbo's books that I haven't been at least a little chagrined with. It's also in 1st person, but it doesn't cop-out like his latest non-Harry Hole, Blood on Snow. That one had a short chapter at the end that was in 3rd person, after the whole book previously had been in 1st person. This one doesn't cheat like that, and is told in 1st person the whole way.

Nesbo plays with his following here, as he knows he's known as a writer who writes about potentially bad men who try to be good, and it doesn't work out for them. (See: Blood on Snow.) This one almost has the same set-up, but the big difference here is that the fixer here never fixes anybody, even at the end, when he really needs to. Well, then he does, but that's okay. And this guy--who calls himself Ulf--had even stolen all that money to pay for a little girl's cancer treatments. Nesbo goes out of his way here--perhaps a bit too much--to show us that this guy is a good guy. He is that, perhaps a bit unrealistically.

Speaking of that, this is yet another book in which the main character falls head over heels for a younger woman with a young child and no husband. While this occasionally happens in real life, what doesn't normally happen (or, shouldn't) is that said woman puts herself and her child in danger by helping out said main male character. We've all heard of stories in which a parent sadly chooses bad man over her own child, but even in real life, it doesn't happen like this. Stephen King has had a mini-genre doing this--See: Bag of Bones--but it's beginning to get to me a little bit. The female character always says she can't be with the guy or help the guy because she has to think of her kid first, and then she does it anyway! Now if the said character were a bit scattered to begin with, this may be a bit easier to swallow, but most of these female characters--including the one here--is so straight-laced and responsible that it comes across as unrealistic. It does so here, for me, anyway. It doesn't detract from the reading, but it made me roll my eyes a bit. I mean, we all understand the pipe dream, and it seems to effect writers when they hit 45 or so, but, come on...These woman, of course, also profess their love for these shadowy guys. In this case, she literally throws herself at him. Hey, you take your ego trip, I'll take mine, I guess, but, jeez...

But I digress. Obviously this was a good read, as I began and finished it's almost-300 pages in a few hours. There's a bit of philosophical and religious pondering here, which has slipped into Nesbo's work lately, and the narrator again seems to know a little bit more about--in this case--William Blackstone (who founded Blackstone, Massachusetts, which is a lot closer to my neck of the woods than it is to Nesbo's Oslo), Kierkegaard, and other blokes that, I'm guessing, your typical Norwegian fixer wouldn't ordinarily know. This speaks more of Nesbo, I think, than it does his characters, and it may be time now for him to look at that. I've got a philosophy degree, so I certainly appreciate that he tries to go there, but, really, how many fixers who say they don't know anything about anything will actually know this stuff?

But I digress, again. Sorry. The fact is that this is pretty entertaining stuff, even if you wonder why the woman, in a town of about 50, lets herself be seen with this guy, alone in her house, driving with him...and, yeah, she runs into her sort-of brother-in-law after a 45-minute drive to Alta, a bigger city, which is sort of like me running into one of my exes when I go to Fenway. Not yet. And they run into a woman he'd just been with--on the same drive! But it works, somehow. There are a few oddly amusing passages where you'd least expect them--this happened in Blood on Snow, too--though here they seem more purposely out of left field, like we're given permission to know that it won't all end up like the previous, very similar novel and 1st person narrator.

It doesn't, and you'll probably be able to see how it's all going to come together before it does, which I suppose is part of the charm. This narrator isn't a bad guy, at all, after all, and so we feel he deserves to get away, though readers and writers shouldn't moralize. So if you were disappointed with the last one, which I was, although it deserved the otherwise good write-up I gave it, then you'll be very satisfied with this one, as it's almost a complete opposite of the same story, with the same set-up and almost the exact same situations. You'll probably roll your eyes, as I did, but you'll wish well for everyone, and it'll turn out the way you'll want it to.

Quick Jots for 5.6.2015

Just a few quick things:

--When a Star Wars geek fan said, "May the fourth be with you," I was automatically urged to respond, "And also with you.  Let's lift up our hearts.  It is right to give thanks and praise..."

--Seriously.  Like, I feel I've been unwittingly programmed.  And I'm as self-aware as anyone I know.  In fact, a lot more.  This is a very uncool, borderline terrifying, feeling for me.

--And I've never heard of "May the fourth be with you," before.  And I've been around my share of that kind of dork geek enthusiastic fan.

--I'm only four chapters or so from finishing my novel manuscript, for those of you who've been keeping track.

--It feels like minor-league summer around here.  To the extent that I feel like I will run over innocent women and children in my hurried attempt to get out of my workplace and go home.  And I usually stick around there a while longer to finish things up and to get things done.

--Despite that, I have two rose plants that I tried to save, but couldn't.  Their stems were snapped by the incredible weight of all the snow that had settled (and been shoveled) upon them.  I taped them, and propped them up, and watered them, and...yeah, well, my landscaper told me I should cut it at the place it snapped, and hope for the best.  Everything above that snap had died.

--This same guy told me the name of a bush I did successfully save last week.  It's the full, thick, green thing that the small purple snappy things come out of.  Begins with H, I think.  [Please leave the name in a comment below if you know it.  People have tired of me calling it "the purple poppy plant, with the little snappies."

--But, anyway, I saved that thing by getting a lot of leaves, detritus, and who-knows-what-else out of it.  The green is now fuller and more lush than it's ever been, and the poppy things are coming out.  Last year those purple snappy things didn't come out until June, and they stayed out for a couple of weeks.  Drove me crazy.  Meanwhile those purple snappy things had sprouted in everyone else's yard for miles around me.

--I just so happened to be watching a little black ant (not big carpenter sized) stroll into a tiny opening between the gutter of my deck extension, and the house.  So I sprayed half an entire container of ant killer in there, with the plunger you pull back and the gun nozzle you can point right in there.  Only twenty or so ants came out, staggering and dying.  (Made me feel bad, but those things aren't staying in a colony there.)  And the whole situation gave me PTSD flashbacks from the time thousands and thousands of ants came down upon me and my real estate agent in a former house.  Long story.

--And I know that there's a lot more than just those 20 up in there.  They just learned to stay further away from the stream of poison coming in.  I'll spray a lot more up there (which I already have, and no more of them have come out) and then seal that hole up.  Hopefully anything left alive in there don't eat their way in.

--I looked into bombing it out, but the hole is way too small, and apparently you only do that in an enclosed room, not in the outside air beneath a TimberTek deck and a gutter.  I also looked into the poison ant food that you place down and they bring it back to the colony, thereby killing the queen and everyone else.  But there's no place to place such a thing.  The deck and gutter are too far away, and the ants don't actually go onto those things, anyway.  They stroll beneath the gutter and into the hole.  They could've been doing so for who-knows-how-many years.  But I checked the deck, the gutter, the closet and washroom, and the office upstairs, and there's no evidence of penetration, sawdust, or anything else.

Any suggestions of what else I can do with that situation, please comment and advise. Thanks!

A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin

Photo: Title Card from the Series, from its Wikipedia page.

Book 1 of the long series was not a disappointment.  This is a helluva achievement in of itself, considering its 807 pages.  But it's even more impressive considering that I, like much of the known cable-connected world, have seen every episode of the HBO series.  Still, despite how incredible the series is (so much so that I am considering starting a blog about it, so look for that if you read my blogs), this book matches the series' awesomeness.

I started reading it because I wanted to see how close the series followed it.  I've also listened to every commentary available on the DVDs thus far (because I'm nerdy like that) and so I know how devoted the series' creators are.  Knowing that, how faithful to the book were they?  Answer: Very.  As in, basically page by page, and often verbatim.

But if you've seen every episode, you might say, wouldn't you be wasting your time if it's so close to the book?  Answer: No, as it turns out.  I thought the answer would be Yes, especially considering that the monumental struggle I had with the Lord of the Rings books.  (Much easier to read if you've seen the movies.)  But reading this was a breeze, despite the length.  Seeing it in words was different than seeing it on HBO.  I didn't see the characters from the series as I read the book.  (Well, except for Tyrion, played wondrously well by Peter Dinklage, who caught every single nuance of movement and voice from the character on the page.)  The book's characters were their own.

Martin is a very good writer; so much so that his turn of phrase was often surprisingly good even though I knew what was coming.  His words often summed up a scene better than the actual image did from the series.  I'm thinking specifically of the very last scene of the book and of one of the seasons, when Dany sat naked amongst the ashes of her dead husband, the woman who helped kill him, his horse, and three live dragons.  The book visualized this very well, even better than the actual visual image did.  (This is aided by the book's inclusion of the dragons breastfeeding with her, which the series did not show.)

The biggest difference: Tyrion and Jon Snow get along extremely well, and are almost good friends in the book.  The series does not show this.

So this is a rollicking good read.  If you were thinking about reading it, but holding off because you've seen the show, delay no longer.

Pick it up.

Surviving Nemo

Photo: Movie's poster from Finding Nemo's Wikipedia page.

Some quick notes about life throughout the storm, a continuation of the previous blog entry here:

--One of the scarier moments of my life happened about four hours ago.  I let the dog out in the backyard (he kept me up by whining every four hours throughout the night, including about half an hour ago, when he had to go out again) and I put jacket, gloves, etc. on to shovel off the landing and steps so he could go out easier and so I could open the door with no problem.  I do this for a few seconds and he comes back to go in.  I let him in and close the door so I can do a thorough job.  Takes me maybe a minute, minute and a half.  I open the door to go in--and it won't open.  Looks like the thing you depress as part of the handle is frozen.  No problem, I think, I'll just chip away at the ice with the sharp, axe-like ice-breaker--though I'm wearing jeans, jacket, sneakers and gloves, with nothing at all in my pockets, including keys, and the wind's howling and it's freezing and it's 4 a.m.  (And I clasped the screen door shut on the front door, so I couldn't go around and enter that way even if I did have my keys on me.)  I chip away at it and I'm able to press it in--and it still doesn't open.  I begin to worry, as it occurs to me that I don't want to have to make an ass out of myself by going indoors at a neighbor's.  I think that maybe the metal bottom is frozen to the wooden platform, as I notice, finally, that the black strip has partially come off because it stuck to the ground as I opened the door.  (This happened to the strip at the bottom of my garage door two winters ago.)  So I hack away at the bottom of the door, even after I see that all the ice is gone.  Try again.  Nothing.  By this time I have frantically pulled at the door so hard that it should've come off its hinges, and I've noticed that the door doesn't even open a tiny bit.  Doesn't budge.  Finally I figure I may as well destroy the screen door, as I have a strong, thick wooden one behind it, and I so I wedge the ice-breaker between the door and its siding, where the tumbler would insert into the side, like I was trying to break into a locked door.  Nothing.  Then I insert the ice-breaker in between the door and the siding, thinking that I'll just pry the damn thing open, damaging it, but what the hell.  After a few minutes of this, it opens, and the door and siding don't seem to be injured.  The damn thing just froze against the siding, I guess.  I scrape away all the tiny bits of ice and snow all around the door and casing, and call it a night until my dog awoke me again four hours later.  I am now up for the day, and he'll sleep peacefully until about 2pm.  Total time thinking I was locked out to freeze: about half an hour.  I was cold.

--I lost power for about thirty seconds once, and for about a second to half-a-second maybe twenty times--thereby interrupting twenty phone conversations and making my Fios re-download itself twenty times--but I never did lose power.  Never thought I'd say this, but three cheers for the power company.

--The plow came by maybe seven or more times throughout the night and overnight, and only once did he plow the snow to my side of the street.  Hooray for me, but my neighbors have an impenetrable wall of snow in front of their driveways.  I'd help them out, but I don't have a snowblower.  I think another family member has it, and he lives in an apartment, and his gal pal lives in a condo.  Hmmmmm....

--Is this a named storm, or what?  Weather channel and weather.com say Yes, but NBC National News and my local NBC News say No.  Makes sense to name them.  If it's called the Blizzard of 2013, a la The Blizzard of '78, what happens if there's another one this year?  I'm just sayin'.

--I might actually be stupid enough to attempt to shovel out my driveway and steps myself--in shifts, of course.  I mean, what else could I do today for exercise?  I've got a friend of mine willing to plow me out and shovel off my sidewalks and steps for just $40, but that's after he's done all of his other rounds, as he lives down the street but has to travel as far as East Providence.  I don't know if I'm comfortable knowing I can't get my car out of the garage in case of an emergency before then.  Besides, I like the outdoors, even in a frozen winter.  My sinuses prefer it, big time, and the stain smell in here is still getting to me a little, though not as much as last night.  And, as I mentioned before, I think if I tried to open the garage doors now, the bottoms will come off again, being frozen to the ground.  We'll see.

--The snowing has mostly stopped, though it's still a little windy.  Looks like Snowmageddon out there.  But '78 was worse, as were the back-to-back-to-back Nor'easters we got in the mid-90s during April Fool's week.  About 70" of snow in maybe five days that week.  I know; I was out in it.

--If I saw someone walking outside right now, wearing short-sleeves and jeans or shorts, I'd think he was the Devil going for a stroll.  Speaking of which, if there was an evil thing lurking in our midst, this would be a good time for him to make an appearance, maybe more out in the rural areas, like Exeter.  Cuz my mind works that way.

--This is a good day to test the Post Office's "In rain, snow, sleet or hail" motto.

--My mailbox isn't covered like it had been in the 90s and in '78.  But I still have to shovel that out.

--I'm surprised I never lost power.  And grateful.  All my candles are in this really old commode (Don't laugh; it's made of wood, and has a giant mirror attached to the back, and where the slop bucket would go now is a very handy storage area, and it's in very good condition.  And it's actually my aunt's and uncle's, but they're awesome enough to let me keep it here until they say otherwise.), which is down here, but it has piles of the rest of my upstairs on it, and I have nowhere to put those things to get to it.  (In my previous post, I explained that I'm having all the upstairs floors sanded, stained and polyed.)

--I went through hundreds of batteries last night and found that maybe nine work.  But that was enough for two flashlights, plus another one I know is good that I can't find.  Total stash if I lose electricity: one flashlight from the 70s that, oddly, has a strong magnet on it, in case I want to attach it to my fridge, or something; a small flashlight that has a white light, a blue-ish light, should I ever have to track the Predator; and a red laser beam, if I ever need to assist a sniper.  And two and a half candles, including one tall one in a candle-holder with a handle that Dickens might've walked around with.  And a tiny one in a glass teardrop thing that looks very old. 

--And a ton of firewood for a ton if fires in my fireplace, had it come to that, though I wonder if I could have opened the metal grates at the top of the chimney with that much snow and ice on it.

--And a back-up generator that I stupidly put in the garage, where I would have to fight my way to since a lot of my upstairs is in the garage, and the automatic garage door opener wouldn't have worked if I'd lost power.  If I was lucky enough to somehow be able to manually open the door, I wouldn't be able to wheel the thing through 20" of snow to the backdoor, where it'd be closest to the fridge, and where I could use a squid and connect it to this laptop and to a couple of lights, and maybe to my electric stove.  Nope.  I would've had to leave it in the garage, with the door open all night for all the mice and other rodents and animals in the state to come in (so there'd be no carbon monoxide problem), and find maybe fifty feet of extension cords to hook it up to anything.  Jerk that I am.  So, power company, thank you again.  (Never thought I'd say that twice.)

--I need a snowblower.  But I'm over it.  I like being old-fashioned, but...

--Took some really good pics last night, as I was shoveling after the one time the plow pushed the snow to my side.  Figured I should get rid of the wall of ice and snow so my friend could plow me out later.  Why make him go through that, and maybe ruin his plow?  But I'm curious as to how he's going to get through the solid wall of ice and snow on the other side of the street, because I think the old ladies who live there (who're in Florida right now, because with age comes wisdom) pay him to do so for big storms.  He might have to snowblow that first.  I'd do that for him, but...I'm over it.

--I think I will be like the hard-working folks of old, before all this new-fangled technology, and go out and shovel the driveway and walks--in shifts, of course.  Snowblower?  Who needs a snowblower?

--Or a wheelbarrow?  

As I Watch Nemo Fall

Photo: Captain Nemo planting his personal flag on a cliff of Antarctica, from the first edition of Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

There won't be much to do in the next few days, besides shoveling, so I thought I'd keep a running blog entry during that time.  I'll publish it when I'm done, for now,  but it might get longer as I include more over the next few days.  So, for now:

--Expected accumulation by the time Nemo leaves late Saturday: 18" to 24" minimum, with huge drifts and hurricane-force winds.  Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.....

--I've just shoveled off the sidewalk and steps leading up to the front door, and the back door landing and steps to let the dog out--and I almost need to do it again already.  That's not good.

--You remember the first Die Hard movie?  Remember when Alan Rickman is approached by Bonnie Bedelia, John McClane's (Bruce Willis's) wife, as he's sitting in her office, when she asks for the couch for the pregnant woman, and she suggests they bring them in groups to the bathroom?  You ever notice that he's leaning over her desk, writing something with a heavy pen, that makes an obvious sound on paper when he releases it to sit down and talk with her?  Well, I have to ask: What the hell could he have been writing?  They memorably don't make any ransom demands.  They don't communicate in writing to anybody.  And he looks like a professional businessman in his suit, anyway, but he never does any other professional businessman thing.  I can see the director, John McTiernan (who's in jail for lying to the FBI about illegal wire-tapping he had done to some producers and stars), saying, "All right, he's got to be doing something when she walks in, so he can stop doing whatever that is when he asks, 'And what idiot put you in charge?' and she says, 'You did, when you killed my boss...'  I know--let's have him writing something..."  Check it out if you don't remember it.  Weird.

--Wind's picking up, as is the rate the snow is falling, and it's still two hours from when the weather folks said it would really come down over here.

--The backup generator is in the garage, as it wouldn't have done me any good in the shed, if I can't get at it with two to three feet of snow on the ground.  I went to the gas station, which was surprisingly not busy, and got three gallons of gas to run it.  I got new bulbs for the bathroom, and I got enough cereal and salad to last a few days.  I've even picked out which marathons I'll watch: The American Horror Story for this year.  I have seven episodes backed up on my DVR.  If I need more, The Lord of the Rings movies, back to back to back.

--But what simple thing didn't I do?  Forgot to check if my batteries all worked.  Since my entire upstairs is downstairs in the kitchen, in the two rooms downstairs, and in the basement, I'll be lucky to find them and get to them anyway.

--Speaking of that, one of the handymen is staining my upstairs floors as I type this, having already sanded all of the upstairs yesterday, and moved all of the upstairs downstairs the day before that.  Yup, he's working his butt off as I sit here and type this and sip my coffee.  I respect myself for that.

--The plow just went by, pushing a few inches of snow aside.  And it hasn't really even started falling yet.  Yeeeeeeeeeeeesh.....

--I should check the mail now, or I won't again until Monday.  Be right back...

--Just the mortgage.  You pay it early, they bill ya early for next time.  Thanks.

--Just opened the windows in the living room and kitchen, as the stain smell is getting to me.  I put the sawdust-covered dustpan out in the snow to let Mother Nature wash it off.  The brush, too.  Why clog up my sink with that stuff?

--I fully expect my pool to collapse with over two feet of snow and ice on it, especially after it starts to melt, as water is much heavier.  The lining has a leak in it, so most of the water drained out of it awhile ago, and the cover almost touches the bottom of the pool as it is, so I expect the snow, ice or water, or any combination, to break through the cover.  Then the ice will expand and collapse the siding, and then down she goes.

--The wind and snow have picked up even more.

--One of the houses across the street is in really bad shape, and it's been empty for a long time now.  And it's got a flat roof.  I wonder if the roof can take a few feet of snow.  (Mine had better.)

--I've seen a lot of oil trucks delivering around here.  Not a bad idea, before those folks run out of oil as they're snowbound, and now without heat, for a couple of days.

--There's one spot on my street, where a pine or spruce tree hangs over the street a bit, that's completely free of snow.  I've decided that that's where I'll stand if I want to watch the blizzard, when the wind and snow really pick up.  Of course, that's when the branches will drop all their snow on me, and I'll freeze to death, a la "To Build A Fire."

--Yeah, I do that.  I go outside and watch storms.  Hurricanes, gales, windy thunder- and lightning-storms, and blizzards.  I have a favorite spot out on my shed porch in the backyard for doing such things, but right now that space is filled up with piles of wood, because I'm a wood hoarder.  Lots of fires in firepits and fireplaces, though that's not wise during the actual storms.  Just later, when you've lost power and you don't have your heat working.

--The three wires connecting my house to the telephone pole across the street look like they want to snap right now, and the real storm and winds haven't even started yet.  I'd better finish this up before they do snap and I lose all my

Poem Published

Photo: A Florida Box Turtle, from the Wikipedia page for "turtle."  (You'll have to read below to get the connection between the title and the pic.)

Just a quick note:

My poem, "An Old Man," (which is not about an old man, per se; it's an extended metaphor, representative of all of us) has been accepted for publication by the good people at Lost Tower Publications, in the U.K.  It'll be in an anthology, Hope Springs A Turtle (Get it?  Instead of "Hope Springs Eternal?"), and 10% of the proceeds will be donated to Mind U.K., a mental health charity in the United Kingdom.  More details here. 

The anthology will be available in book form, and as an e-book.  I'll send another notice sometime later when the book and e-book are available.  It ain't Shakespeare, but at least now I can say I'm a published poet.  I've published a short story, a short nonfiction piece, and now a poem.  After he mentioned this about me, a friend of mine then said that I'm more versatile than the elastic of his underwear, at which point I murmured "Thanks" and walked away.  Ewwwwwwwwwww.......

The publication's website, linked in the last word of the first paragraph, said the poem needs "to invoke the spirit of hope."  For those of you who know me, and who are wondering how anyone can construe anything I write as an invocation of hope, I have to say that this one does.  I've thought of the poem as a combination of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive," and an old man looking at his burial plot in a snow-covered, wind-swept  cemetery.  Although even the gravestones themselves are covered by a sheet of frozen, crusted snow, he will do his best to survive, anyway, even if he is cognizant of the fact that we'll all have our own resting place someday, and it'll be unknown to the world, and it won't even be visible to anyone during a snowy winter.

Yeah.  Cuz I'm like that.  It is hopeful, though, in its own way.  Trust me.

Randomness 10/23/12

 Photo: Jackson asleep on the couch.  A colleague said he looked "angelic" in this picture.  True dat.  What can you say when your dog is more photogenic than you are?

Been away for awhile again, this time because my dog's been very ill, to the extent that I had to bring him to the vet yesterday and he has to spend two, maybe three, days and nights there to recover.  He's got an infected pancreas, which sounds nasty to me.  Very treatable, they say, and he doesn't have a fever, which means the infection wasn't too bad, but he'd been vomiting a ton of times over the past few days.  So wish Jackson the Wonderdog well!

So a few random things on my mind lately:

--I'm as lazy as anyone.  (Well, actually I'm very hyperactive and always busy, but whatever.)  But I draw some kind of line.  Convenience is just a fancy word for laziness, and there's only so much convenience I can take.  I don't know exactly where the line is, but a lot of money at the cost of convenience/laziness is simply not something I'll allow myself.  (Heck, not even a little amount of money.)

So recently there were two instances on Pawn Stars that drove me crazy.  I temporarily misplaced lost my notes about one of them, so I can only speak about one.  For sale: a 1760 bell.  Very good condition; used to be someplace very important and historical.  (Forgot where.)  Anyway, the expert was called in, and he said that at an auction it would fetch at least $15,000.  At least!  So let's just say fifteen.  Auctions take fifteen to twenty percent of the sale price.  Ten percent of fifteen grand is fifteen hundred, so twenty percent is three thousand.  So now it's twelve grand.  Maybe there are taxes to pay; I don't know, but there'd be taxes to pay, theoretically, selling it to the Pawn Stars, too, so that's a wash.  Let's say that other fees, like shipping it to the closest good auction house (though he's already in Vegas!  He couldn't just drive it to an auction house in Vegas?!?) would bring the total take down to ten grand (and I'll bet the take would be closer to the twelve.)  And that's minimum, as the expert said at least fifteen grand.  Bottom line, then, is that at an auction, the seller could walk away with ten to twelve grand.

He sold it to the Pawn Stars for $7,200.  After the expert says that if the seller takes it to an auction, it would sell for fifteen grand, and so he'd walk away with at least ten to twelve thousand, he sells it to them for $7,200.  That's a loss, minimum, of $2,800, and probably more like $4,800.  Why?  Because he's standing in front of a buyer, right then and there.  Didn't want to make a few calls, and drive it or ship it anywhere--or wait.  That's just crazy.  Someone's got to explain this to me.

--Two girls, both twelve years old, were murdered this past week by someone as they were walking or riding a bike to a friend's house.  And a twenty-two year old woman in Oregon was killed by a man who punched through a window of her SUV, got in the car and killed her, dumped her body, used her phone and then dumped the phone (cell phones can be traced), and then left her car somewhere.  It's a sick world out there.

--I've heard weather experts say it's going to be a very cold winter around here.  I've also heard the same number say it'll be a warm winter, though not as warm as last year.  A warm winter actually means more snow around here, as it's too dry to snow when it's too cold.  I'll take the too cold anyday.  More snow means bad driving, more shoveling, less walking of the dog, which will lead to much more whining, and possibly paying a neighbor to plow my driveway if the snow gets crazy.  So here's to the cold--but no ice on the roads, please.  Hate that.

--If Romney wins, I don't want to hear it from the 47% he obviously doesn't care about.  In his head, he's the rich white man's president.

--During the last debate, his facial expressions ran the gamut between obvious lovey-dovey towards Obama, to looking like he was about to vomit, with the occasional greasy used car salesman thrown in.  Weird, sad and slimy, in turns.

--His chin and jowls are tucked; his hair is slicked; his chin got in a duel with Jay Leno and won; his smile is either slick, sick or frozen.  He's more superficial than flavored ice cream on the nip and tucked face and silicone lips of a bottled blonde with chest enhancements.  And he openly and honestly doesn't give a damn about at least 47% of the country.  Voting for him would still be less insane than voting for Bush, especially the second time, but it would still be insane, nonetheless, and if you believe his assertion that he's run businesses and so therefore he can run the country, then you must think that snuffing out a lit candle makes you a professional firefighter.

--You can break a mirror in one second, but it would take a ton of hours to fix every little piece of glass into the mirror frame.  And so it would obviously take more than four years to fix eight years of broken pieces.  In fact, it would take at least a generation.  We can't give that, but we can give four more.

--This is post #250 on this site.  I appreciate my audience.  Thanks for reading, everyone.