Kodachrome.

I keep telling myself to carry a camera around with me, so at a moment's notice I can take whatever interesting or unusual (read: stupid) thing I happen to come across. Today, when I got my hair cut, it was one of those days. Where was that little Canon when I needed it, when I looked down at the black smock, and saw all of that white hair? Where the hell did that come from? There was an elderly woman in chair before me -- it must be hers, right?

Actually, I don't know why this surprised me; my hair's been getting gray for years now. Yet every time I go to the salon (yeah, I call it a salon, so?) I'm stunned. I'm also surprised every time a season ends, as in, "I can't believe it's fall already," in spite of the fact that I'm on -- what it is now? -- my 45th autumn? I really need to get over it, I realize.

Anyway, I didn't have my camera, so I can't show you the salt-and-pepper carnage the lay in clumps on my smock this afternoon. Here's the closest approximation I can offer, using the tried-and-true, hold-my-arms-out and take-my-own-pic method:


I still have a pretty good head of hair on me, so I shouldn't complain. I will though, I will complain, because I do it so well. And no, that is not a nascent bald spot -- the camera is just at a funky angle. So shut up.

Next time: Love handles!

Now, the Man on the Stand, He Wants My Vote.

I've never felt as excited or as hopeful about my vote in a presidential election as I did when I lined up at the polling place at 6:30 this morning.  Now, as I watch the returns come in, I actually feel kind of choked up.  Something really special is happening, something we can all be proud of.  I'm so happy my children are getting to see this.

Meanwhile, I guess this guy couldn't find an "I'm a Dumbass" sign for his front yard:

And from the Department of Creepy Oddities and Misplaced Quotation Marks:

Anyway.

This feeling almost certainly won't last long, but I plan to enjoy it while it lasts.  What a great night.

I Might Owe You an Apology.

I don't like to brag but, as perhaps I have mentioned, I am prodigiously skilled in many areas. Not the least these areas is time travel. Now, leaping from decade to decade, era to era, can be a great, highly educational expericence. (Hint: you might want to put some money down on 2014 Cincinnati Reds.)

But it's not without its drawbacks. For example, there was the time I transported myself back to the Jurassic Age and, while there, I trampled a prehistoric centipede with my space boot. I returned to the present day to learn that my simple misstep was responsible for ABC's decision to leave Brothers & Sisters on the air. Sorry about that.

And now I have another confession, and let me just say, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. What happened was, my curiosity about the upcoming election got the better of me, and I headed off to the the very near future to find out what will happen on November fourth. What I saw, I didn't like. Take a look below.

And, again: Sorry!

All-American Boy Makes His Endorsement.

Coming soon - more posts.

For now, though, I can't seem to think of anything to say. So, meanwhile, here's an inexplicable photo.

"Who stole me pot o' gold?!"

I'm dressing as an angry leprechaun for Halloween this year.

What Scary Thing are You Going to be for Halloween?

I am Rifle Panzer Palin. (Aren't we all?)

What would your name be if your mother were Sarah Palin?  Get your answer right here.

An Special Announcement from the Republican Party.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled pointless noodling to bring you this important message from the G.O.P. and the McCain campaign.

The following words and phrases, when written or uttered to, about or in the general vicinity of Gov. Sarah Palin, shall henceforth be considered sexist:

1. lipstick;
2. pig;
3. pit bull;
4. dog;
5. husky;
6. Iditarod;
7. bridge;
8. nowhere;
9. library;
10. books;
11. hockey;
12. mom;
13. hockey mom;
14. baby;
15. foreign policy;
16. evangelical;
17. church;
18. Jesus.

This list is subject to amendment without notice.

I Smell a Pulitzer.

My inner masochist requires that I watch the 10:00 news on Channel 19, which is Cincinnati's FOX affiliate. It's all there: the bad makeup; the frosted hair; the deep-voiced anchorman who likes to plug his "take no prisoners blog"; the C-list, ESPN-imitating sports guy; the wacky weatherman -- excuse me, meteorologist; the fake jocularity. You name the cliche, they have it.

At the moment, they're splitting the newscast into two hard-hitting, breaking stories. First, it's the live coverage at an airport not too far from my house, where Sen. Maverick's "Straight Talk Express" jet has just landed. The doors are opening! People are moving around inside! Is she with him? Oh my god, is she with him?!

No? Okay, next story -- cut to a live shot of a reporter standing in front of a salt pile. Will there be enough salt for the roads when we get an inch of snow in January? Well, will there? Jesus fucking christ, just tell me, will there be enough salt or will there be disaster?!

There will be? Oh, thank you, thank you! I prayed to Jesus and told him I'd vote for Sarah Palin and that old guy she's running with, if he'd just make sure we would enough precious, precious salt this winter. You can count on me, you spunky little bear cub-shooting hockey mom!

Republican Spokesmodel Update.

Sarah Palin is creepy. From the Washington Post:

Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin, the Republican vice-presidential nominee who revealed Monday that her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant, earlier this year used her line-item veto to slash funding for a state program benefiting teen mothers in need of a place to live.

Nice pick of a running-mate, there, Sen. Maverick. I'm sure the Jesus wing of your party had nothing to do with it, nothing at all.

Plus, contrary to popular reports, she's not hot. In fact, she's crazy-looking.


She's a leaky faucet of scandal. I think she'll "gracefully withdraw" her name before November. Regardless of whether she stays or goes, though, is there really a chance we'll elect these people?

Oops!

In another triumph for abstinence-only sex education, Republican vice-presidential nominee Sarah Palin announced today that her 17-year-old daughter is pregnant. Needless to say, Republicans -- the same people who are more than willing to trash Barack Obama with innuendo and unfounded rumor -- are falling over themselves to say this is a "private matter." I agree, but the hypocrisy is astounding. If this had happened in Joe Biden's family, FOX News, et al., would be tearing him limb-from-limb, around-the-clock. We wouldn't even know there'd been another hurricane in the Gulf, because cable news would be all TEEN PREGNANCY, ALL THE TIME.

I feel sorry for the girl, really, and it would be nice if the press laid off her. Obama insisted that his aides not discuss the matter, and said, "Let me be as clear as possible: I have said before and I will repeat again, I think people’s families are off limits, and people’s children are especially off limits. This shouldn’t be part of our politics.”

Oh, and as a reminder, how has John McCain shown respect for the families of his rivals? Why, by telling a cruel joke about a teenage kid, that's how: "Why is Chelsea Clinton so ugly? Because her father is Janet Reno."

He even threw in a dash of homophobia for good measure. How mavericky!

Things that Annoy Me, part 26.

Mark at The Rambler reminded me that this exists: The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks. Unnecessary quotation marks are way up there in my list of pet peeves.

Another pet peeve, you ask? Why yes, in fact, I do have another pet peeve:  the misuse of the phrase, "beg the question." Here, let this quasi-hipster T. Rex explain it.

I nurse my pet peeves and they grow stronger with time. They're superheroes and supervillains; they're my best friends and my worst enemies.

Fine Dining.

My son and I went fishing before we left Florida. I caught a repulsive catfish and some other thing that the guy who piloted (drove? captained? steered?) cut up and used for bait. I also caught five or six mangrove snappers, which are pretty, as fish go.

Good eating, too. But what to have with them . . .?

I and I

As soon as we got across the bridge from the Florida mainland, we pulled into the Sanibel visitors' center. In the parking lot, I saw this:


True, it's a van, but it's not just any van. It's a van with this bumper sticker:


Chances are this means nothing to you, and the truth is, it should mean nothing to me, either, but it's the logo of a Cincinnati band called The Modulators, who have been around so long that they played at a high school dance I attended (the condom is still in my wallet, by the way) when I was maybe 17 years old. Back then, they were among the two or three most popular groups in town, and these bumper stickers were everywhere. The Modulators are still around, with some of the original members, no less, but that "next big thing" aura they had, or that I thought they had, is long gone. They're still fun, though; they played a parish festival last summer and I actually danced along with the other doughy, middle-aged locals, and my 6-year-old son, who totally showed me up on the dance floor. The kid does an excellent Worm.

Why does this sticker excite me? Because I'm old, that's why. This fact was confirmed when I saw this:



. . . and I thought, "Well, that kind of makes sense. Marco Polo is a really loud game."

You make the rules, you say what's fair.

A list of rules as long as my arm, and nothing prohibiting thongs and Speedos?

By the way, anyone know if we're allowed to dive here?

Greetings from Sanibel, FL

My alarm went off at 3:45, Friday morning. I went downstairs, stumbled around and made the coffee. Back upstairs, I woke my family, and we were on the road at 4:30. By mid-afternoon on Saturday, we were on the beach in Sanibel, which is an island near Ft. Myers, off the southwest coast of Florida. I had a lot of time during that drive to mull things over, and I've set it all out below. I hope you'll find this information helpful.

• An 1,100-mile drive is a long fucking time in the car.

• Georgia is the bad haircut capital of the country, if not the entire world. At a Taco Bell in some shithole town between Atlanta and Macon, we saw the most glorious mullet in the history of mullets; I tell you, words can't even describe it. I wish I'd had my camera, although I don't know if having a photo would have been worth the ass-kicking I'd almost certainly have received if I'd tried to take a picture of the guy. I've scoured the series of tubes for shot that most closely approximates the Dixie stud and, although this one doesn't really do it justice, it's sort of close:
  

• Scouring the internet for pictures of guys in mullets is funny at first, then it becomes sort of disturbing. After that, kind of sad. Finally, funny again, oddly enough.

• Southerners love themselves some Jesus. You get past the middle of Kentucky, and you start seeing them: the crosses at the gas stations; the billboards with New Testament quotes; the ads for "Cool Christian Music" (an oxymoron if there ever was one); the billboards with quasi-New Testament quotes (Jesus - He's holding your atoms together or Uninspired by Jesus? Bet you've never met him!); the radio dial saturated with proselytizing shouters. Even the cute, enthusiastic manager at the Gainesville Marriott where we spent Friday night gave off a vibe that said she'd be the kind of woman who, about midway through dinner on your first date, would ask you, "Do you have a relationship with the Lord?" It's Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! until you cross that causeway from Ft Myers and then -- thankfully, as if by magic -- nothing.
  

• McCain is beating Obama in Florida's bumper sticker race. I hope that's a false positive. I don't think about politics too terribly much but, honestly, I believe if McCain gets elected, we are doomed.

• Question: What's more depressing than a McCain bumper sticker? Answer: A McCain bumper sticker placed next to a Confederate flag bumper sticker.

• One word to describe what it's like to grow a beard in a place where the average temperature is about 97 degrees -- itchy. I've jumped back on the goatee bandwagon about 10 years too late, but that's what guys do on vacation, right? My beard can be generously described as "salt and pepper." While I'd like to think I look like this guy:
  

I really look more like this guy:

• Grooming tip for the gentlemen: If the image your beard projects is "genocidal despot," then perhaps it's time to shave.

• Lying out in the sun (or "laying out," as we call it in the grammatically challenged midwest) sucks. I enjoy swimming in the ocean, walking on the shore, looking for shells, and so on, but for the life of me I can't understand how someone can just lie there prostrate, baking. It's madness, I tell ya.

• All right, at the risk of this becoming a "aren't my kids just the greatest" blog, I'll just say this is pretty cool:
  

I guess that wraps it up. We have a couple of days more here, and then we're back on that long, lonesome road. Pray for me.

I'm a Mosaic.

Stole this idea from Karen at Vexed in the City. Here's how it goes: Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr search, using only the first page, choose your favorite image, copy and paste each of the URLs into the mosaic maker (3 columns, 4 rows).

The questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you attend?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10.What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your Flickr name.

Then, go to Big Huge Labs. Enter the URLs for all the pics you found on Flickr. Follow the instructions and off you go.

Here's my result:
What does it all mean, doctor?

Bad Blogger

I've missed almost all of July.  Yikes.  I could dream up all kinds of reasons why I haven't posted, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I don't have that much to say.  My family and I are going to Sanibel, Florida (average daytime temperature, 134 degrees) next week, so maybe that will inspire me.

Meanwhile, wanna see some really hideous cakes?  Look here.

Shopping Fever!

On Monday, before we left New York, my son and I had lunch on the Upper West Side. Our plan was to walk from there across Central Park, get on the subway one last time, collect our bags from the hotel, and head to the airport. Seeking to delay the inevitable as long as I could, I suggested we take a spin through Zabar's, the fantastic food market and housewares store. Good sport that he is, he agreed.

Once inside, our inner conspicuous consumers emerged into the light. Here's what he wanted to buy:



And here's what I wanted to buy:


Yes, it's a $3,300 espresso maker.

Mmmm . . . $300 cup of coffee.