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Saturday, October 26, 2002 Killers I guess I was wrong about the local talking head and her story about the Washington-area sniper(s). They gave the police the credit card account number of the woman they robbed and killed in Montgomery, Alabama, for the 10 million dollar deposit they wanted. The Russian government got tired of the Chechan rebels holding hundreds hostage in a Moscow theater and stormed the theater when the rebels shot a couple more hostages. Who knows how many are dead. It looks as though the Council on Foreign Relations has, so far, given an "F" to the Office of Homeland Security, although the task force reports that "This is no one's fault." Yeah, sure. Friday, October 25, 2002 The World Series The Giants are about to take Game 5 of The World Series. It is not the game that causes me consternation, however. It is a commercial for Viagra that troubles me. Rafael Palmeiro, who may be in the Hall of Fame some day, talks about taking batting practice (swinging the bat), taking fielding practice (catching a ground ball), and taking Viagra (I could say, "adjusting his protective cup," but ...). Why would a guy say, "O.K., I'll tell everyone 4 or 5 times a night that I need Viagra." For the money? He's making 7 or 8 million a year playing a game. That's another thing -- The money these players are making is ridiculous. Of course, 20 mill to make a movie, in which they hire someone else to do the stunts, isn't too bad. Then again, all of these ballplayers, National and American Leaguers both, probably deserve the money they make because they risk their lives when they play in Chicago, what with an Iraqi sub just off of Shoreline Drive waiting to attack. Thursday, October 24, 2002 What the fu... I am putting off my trip to Chicago. I saw an edition of Weekly World News on a rack in another check-out aisle of the local Marc's discount store that said an Iraqi sub was spotted in Lake Michigan. Obviously, Saddam wants to hit Chicago, although he just might go after Gary. There is a more sinister plot here. The only thing I can figure is that those guys that operate the Welland Canal up there in Canada let the sub through. How do I know? InfoNiagara says, "Many fascinating hours can be spent watching how the gates are opened and shut to control the water flow, allowing ponderous monsters from all corners of the world to sail into the middle of the North American continent." There you have it -- there is no way the damn sub could get through without the operators of the canal knowing about it. Bush must beware of our "friends" up north. Again, life imitates art. Of course, I very well could be wrong. The sub could have gone over the Falls when nobody was looking. Did I actually hear one of the local talking heads say that the Washington-area sniper directed the authorities to wire transfer 10 million dollars into his account? She did say that. Well, did he give them the account number and the bank routing number so they could make the transfer? That's what we get when the locals write their own copy from wire service reports and nobody proof-reads. Or maybe they get their stories from Weekly World News. Wednesday, October 23, 2002 Stickers I’m waiting to see what happens. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, things just get away from you – elude you in a way you never anticipated. That’s when bad things usually happen. What, you are asking, bad things are going to happen, now. Like I said, some things just eluded me. I didn’t really see what was going on until it was too late. But as I sit here and wait to see what happens, I am not 100 percent sure that what I think happened really did happen. It’s like going to sleep, sleeping through the night, then waking up in the morning, and wondering if it rained during the night. The weather woman on the television said that it rained during the night, but how can you be sure. So, I sit and wait. I have not read anything on the Internet, even though I have researched the matter while I have been sitting here waiting to see what happens. I couldn’t find anything about it, except some guy in Belgium has collected over 11,000 of the things. And he is willing to trade some of his duplicates. Imagine that, 11,000 little fruit stickers. I thought I peeled them off all of the apples, but I was wrong. I looked at each apple very carefully and pulled off a sticker from each one. I brought home eight apples, the green Granny Smith apples from Washington. That’s what the stickers said. I peeled off eight stickers. I know that because after I peeled each one off, I stuck each one on the counter, the granite part I installed myself, and counted them – eight. I washed the apples. I was careless there because I was watching the TV in the corner of the family room. Big Bird was on the tube – still on after all these years. I like the crunchiness of the Granny Smith apples – and the tartness. It was after I bit into one, chewed, and swallowed that I discovered part of one of the stickers still on the apple, the part I did not eat. The stickers are made of some unknown substance with some kind of unknown adhesive. I continue my search online – I am sure that the tissues in my throat are swelling. So I looked for clues. There is a fruit sticker underground. For instance, this guy was prepared to pass on his passion to his nine-year-old son: “My 9 year-old has begun collecting apple stickers after seeing me diligently working on my banana label collection. He wanted me to find him some people to trade with. Keep in mind that he very few duplicates and hasn't learned ‘the ropes’ yet. If you might be interested, email me at sambolino@hotmail.com. Also feel free to visit my site if you want to trade banana labels.” Talk about passion? You can buy a newsletter for "produce seal" collectors. You see how she changed the name to confuse everyone and to hide the real purpose of the fruit stickers. I was on the trail of the information that would quell my deepest and darkest fears that were welling up in me, threatening to drive me mad. But the father of the boy, the poor, misguided nine-year-old boy, spoke of – THE ROPES. I don’t know “the ropes.” What are “the ropes?” And this lady -- she can’t find a supply. Why does she want them? “I need to find a source for making new produce fruit-label stickers. I have some new and exciting uses for this type of label. If anyone has a source where I can buy in the thousands or more, please let me know the company name so I can contact them. Thanks, Suzanne” Then, I found it. The Web’s first and oldest fruit sticker site, which you would think would give me all of the answers, said: “Often after removing the label a thin layer of glue remains and it requires some effort and solvent to remove it. Since one may easily eat some of the adhering glue I wonder whether fruit label glues are subject to analysis for toxicity.” I sit and wait for the poison to take effect and take its toll... The horror ... the horror. Tuesday, October 22, 2002 Telephone Solicitation I really tried to understand the guy on the phone. I really did. He called for one of my sons or the kid who lives with us. I don't know which one because each of them has a name or nickname that is monosyllabic, and I could not understand him. I asked him who he wanted three times -- heck, maybe he had the wrong number; I don't know. I asked him why he was calling. I could not understand anything he said, except maybe the word "offer," but then again, he could have said "offal." "He wasn't drunk; otherwise, he would have wanted to talk to me. So, I told the truth, "He's not here;" since none of them were home. When I checked the voice mail a couple weeks ago, and now I will show my ignorance of the Far East, some woman left a message in Japanese, some kind of Chinese dialect, or another language out that way. It was the same woman who left a similar message about two months ago. How do I know it was similar. I don't know, for sure. I knew they weren't the same, though, because at the end of the second call, I heard her clearly say "California." She never mentioned California in the first call. She probably dialed wrong. My number must be close to that of someone living in China. Grilled My wife and I visited Sam's Club this evening, and the membership checker at the entrance again told me to go over to the customer service counter to get a new membership card. I have an old gray plastic card with a grainy black-and-white photo of me. I'm sure the new card has all kinds of tidbits of information on the magnetic strip that, if we knew it was there, we wouldn't like it very much. I told her that I'd stick with the old gray, plastic card. Either she heard that line all the time or she was surprised I didn't want my new color-picture-use-it-as-a-credit-card-and get-many-member-benefits membership card because she didn't say a word. Our goal in going to Sam's Club was to get some kitchen garbage bags. Then we walked by a display of George Foreman grills, not just any grill but the Super-sized Mean Lean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine. How big are these grills going to get? It started out with the Champ, which has a 7x9 grilling surface. Now, you can get this with a bun-warmer on the top -- enough said about that. Then there was the Family size, then the Extra-Large Family size, then the Jumbo size. There's a Double Champion model and a Double Knock-Out model available now. We are not dealing with the evolution of the grill in general, but the evolution of a species of grill, the George Foreman grill, which could be a model for explaining and outlining the theory of evolution in general. So, if you are hearing anything from your kids after they come home that they are learning all about George Foreman, they aren't discussing "Rope-A-Dope", they are discussing evolution. Monday, October 21, 2002 Floored I tore up the living room carpeting and padding and carpet tack strips on Saturday. The carpeting has been there since the house was built for us about 16 years ago -- in fact, we moved in 16 years ago on Halloween. And to celebrate, we always go out somewhere on Halloween (well, ever since the kids got too big for trick-or-treating); so, we are never home for trick-or-treating. And when they don't have trick-or-treating right on Halloween, we go out somewhere that night, too! And Sunday, I put in a laminate floor in the living room. Wow! What a difference! Before I put it in, my back was fine. Now, it's killing me. I took 5 aspirin after and took 5 ibuprofen during -- finished at 9 o'clock, just in time for The Sopranos. I didn't mean to leave this out. My wife helped with the floor installation, too -- she would say, "You need to fix that over there," or "You fucked that piece up," or "What the fuck are you taking another break for?" or "Get me some of that bottled water," or "Hey, order a pizza for dinner, and make sure it's got mushrooms on it -- FRESH mushrooms." But she did tell me that she loved the floor and that we did a good job. So, it was all worth it. One thing I know is that the first time the UPS guy comes to the door, the three dogs are going to run like maniac dogs that are going to tear the guy limb from limb and try to stop on the wood floor and go sliding headlong into the door. SPLAT, SPLAT, SPLAT! Hope the door holds; otherwise, it could get ugly.
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