Monday, November 1, 2010

"Wouldn't this be a good time to head on out to the snack bar?"

50 states of  mind.  A union of the unusual.  So here we are at #51.  Then it has to be a possession.  At best, you could call this entry Puerto Rico.  It's half-time.  Let the show begin.  Or take a pause.  Bring on the leggy girls.  And maybe some music.  Anyway, let's take a break. 

Well, folks, how's it going?  What a week.  All Hallows' Eve.  All Saints' Day.  All Souls' Day.  A World Series that I couldn't care less about, but saw anointed by uber-fascists 41 and 43, only to be defeated by the boys from Castro.  I really have no room for sports, but I have to admit a smile here on this one.  (When it comes to sports, I only like female gymnastics and falconry "go for the eyes!"  Of course, now that I'm thinking about sports, I was fascinated by the 300 lb. groin lift.  This is a now deleted sport, wherein the athlete lifted himself up from the ground by grabbing each of his testes.  Now the incredible thing about this sport is that...it is impossible.  But that didn't stop this from being a minor Olympic challenge in certain circles for a number of years.) 

And voting day.  Did you vote or will you, depending on your time zone.  I voted early.  Placed my ballot in the 17th hole of a well-heeled Florida golf course.  Obviously I voted absentee-off.  Sorry, I've been under the weather this week as well.  Which is why I'm taking it easy on this one.  I had many different topics that I wanted to discuss here, but hopefully they can wait.  Random thoughts, both old and new.  Like, if Yoko Ono had married Sonny Bono would she have called herself Yoko Ono Bono?  These questions have been with me all my life.  When I was a child, I was referred to as Master Guden.  This made me wonder if Alan Bates had been traumatized as a child.  Go figure.  So 'til next time, my fellow travelers, have a lovely day in democracy.  My polling place is always confused about my affiliation. When asked my political feelings, I often reply I'm a B.S.er.  Or in other words, a bourgeois socialist.