Monday, February 27, 2012


Last night I watched most of the Academy Awards ceremony on TV...once The Amazing Race got over. (Heaven forbid if I missed out on who could best count cattle and figure out their average weight at a salebarn.) Anyway, I finally turned to the Oscar show and settled in for a long winter's night of star gazing.

Now, I used to watch this show with a critical eye for what all the women were wearing, their hairstyles, etc., but I've lightened up in recent years. It suddenly dawned on me that anyone who's sprawled on a sofa, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, with hair banded back in a sloppy ponytail, really hasn't earned the right to dog others about what they're wearing.

In truth, most everyone looked pretty spiffy, BUT if I was forced to give a Worst Look title, I'd give it to Rooney Mara and her white mish-mash of a gown and severe Edith Head bangs. (And if you know who Edith Head is/was, then you're showing your age.) And I never thought I'd say this, but I've got to give props to Tom Cruise. Even Big Bore was impressed with him: "My gosh, he looks better now than he did when he was teenager."

The biggest losers of the show, in my opinion, were three presenters: Jennifer Lopez, Cameron Diaz, and Angelina Jolie. They couldn't just stand there and look pretty and say their scripted dialogue to honor someone else. No, they had to turn their few minutes on stage to focus all the attention on themselves and make these stupid poses trying to accentuate their assets. In between the two awards they presented together, J-Lo and Cameron turned around to show off their big behinds --although Big Bore was more interested in what was squeezing out of the front of J-Lo's dress: "Is that her aurora bourealis (his term, not mine) showing?" And Angie had to strike a hooker look and reveal what was under her slitted dress. I don't mind if these gals want to show off their goodies on the Red Carpet entry, but it's pathetic when they do it on the stage while doing their presenter duties. "Look at me! Look at me! Forget about who wins this award! My body is what's important here!" Gag me with an Oscar.

I was happiest to see Meryl Streep (above picture) win for Best Actress. She's been nominated 17 times, has three wins, looks like a million bucks, has earned many millions more, and she's MY AGE for gosh sakes! Now, that's class.

P.S. If you didn't watch the Jimmy Kimmel post-Oscar show, you missed out on the best part of the whole evening. Maybe his movie trailer for "Movie: the Movie" will soon be on Youtube. : )

Sunday, February 26, 2012


Yesterday was a great day! Not only did my beloved Jayhawks win a come-from-way-behind (19 pts.), overtime game from those evil basketball players from evil Missouri, but Sweet Neighbor Girl came over to Casa de la Flaming Bore with a big announcement:

"Guess who's going to be coming to my house soon!"

At first I guessed that her former playmate who'd moved to another town would be visiting her, but, no, this news was even better. I could tell by her growing excitement exactly what it was.

"Let me guess again," I said. "Does it have four legs?"


"Does it have a tail?"


"Does it have whiskers?"


Big Bore piped in, "Does it meow?"

"YES, YES, YES!! I'm getting a new kitten!!"

Oh, happy day times two! The addition to her family won't be ready to leave its cat mom for another month or so, but we're already thinking about names, planning a kitten shower, and hoping this baby will have a better fate than the late, great Leo--who only lasted a month in the neighborhood last year. :(

So, here's to sunny days, more victories for the Jayhawks, and lots of kitty cuddles!! March Madness is about to begin around here, in more ways than one.

Saturday, February 25, 2012


I don't know if it was because I'd read a newspaper article about tornado warnings yesterday or because I'd watched a Eureka Tornado wrestler on TV last night win a State Championship title, but I had a dream this morning about tornadoes. This is a recurring dream theme of mine, for some reason, but today's was crazier than usual.

I was back in high school marching in the Neewollah Parade in Independence, except, for some reason, the parade was in Parsons, about thirty miles away. Adding to the weirdness of this dream, we were marching out in the country at 3 AM. Being the loud mouth that I am, I kept hounding our band director, a large woman and not the man we actually had back in the 196os, why in the world we were performing before absolutely no one in the middle of the night. Her response: "We're warming up!!"

Now when I was a band member, I played the flute. But in this dream I was on the drill team behind the majorette. No twirling or waving flags, though. Here's what we were doing, and this makes no sense whatsoever: we were holding a configuration of Tinkertoys precariously attached, and we were supposed to be doing a little routine with them--lifting them, moving to the left, moving to the right, all the while staying linked. Ridiculous! And I kept telling the band director, "This is so stupid!" And difficult, as well. A real challenge in eye-hand coordination.

Well, finally, dawn arrived and we could see to the east that a series of tornadoes were blowing across the horizon. Hallelujah! I had an excuse to toss aside the Tinkertoys, jump into a ditch, and save myself from being in the band! Others joined me. We safely watched dozens of tornadoes scatter across the sky. When they were gone, my pal Windy (I've blogged about him before---he was my junior prom date and railroad rider back in the day), who played trumpet in the band, drove up in his old Mercury, picked up some of girls, and away we went. The end.

Figure this one out, Sigmund Freud.

Thursday, February 23, 2012


Yesterday was Big Bore's 57th birthday, or as Sweet Neighbor Girl said, "Gee, you and George Washington would be the same age if you'd been born 280 years ago." Nothing like feeling young again.

BB's big bro Bill and his wife Janet took us to the big city to have a great lunch at Doc's, a restaurant the guys have frequented since they were kids ordering greasy cheeseburgers. While we were dining on the house speciality--the garlic salad--Bill had to remind his little bro how he used to break off the ends of a breadstick at Doc's and then use it like a straw to suck down his Coca Cola. What an enterprising and entertaining child he must have been! BB had never shared that story with me before, but he did remember doing this and he also recalled his mother's response: "Quit acting like a heathen!" He didn't see the big deal. "I ate the soggy breadstick after I finished the drink, so it wasn't like I was wasting food." --We later walked off a few calories at a nature park. Perfect weather for a February afternoon!

Today the celebration continued when Big Bore decided to bake himself an angel food cake a while ago. We haven't dug into it yet, but the frosting keeps calling my name, so I think I'll pass up supper for a big ol' chunk drenched in milk and then worry about the sugar high later. BB's not keen on candles or singing the birthday song, but he's all for having his cake and eating it, too. So am I.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


After meeting with Mama Bore's taxman in Fredonia today, Big Bore and I decided to take the long way home by going to Independence. It had been ages since we'd been to the park and zoo there, and we were so happy to once again chat with all the critters we have come to love. The great weather brought them all (well, not the bears) out of their hidey-holes. There's nothing like a trio of slutty, sunbathing spider monkeys to get me laughing.

But, alas, it was finally time to head home, again the long way, and we'd probably gotten about 30 miles down the road when an SUV behind us honked and pulled us over. What was wrong now? Had a roaming peacock from the zoo hitched a ride on top of the car? Big Bore rolled down the window; the other driver--a gal probably in her 20s, rolled down hers and shouted, "I think I'm lost!"

"Where are you headed?" BB asked.


Oh, lord. She WAS lost. The Highway 75 turn-off to her home in Tulsa was way back at the west end of Independence.

"Do you have a map?" BB asked.

"No, I don't have one," she said. "I'm using my GPS system."

"Well, that's your problem," I laughed and took out our map from the glove box to give to her. We showed her where she went wrong, and I then I told her, "If you drive past Wal-Mart, you've missed the turn-off again, so go back west a few miles."

We told her to keep the map, turn off the %$#!@! GPS, wished her good luck, and sent her on her way.

"Well, we've done our good deed for the day," I told Big Bore as we started back on our drive home. "If it wasn't for us, that poor girl would have ended up in the Twilight Zone."

So here's some expert advice from The Flaming Bore, world traveler: Never rely on a stupid GPS system (aka: computer) to find your way home. Get a hand-held map, open it up, and read it! Even a naughty spider monkey knows that!! Happy trails.

Monday, February 20, 2012


Today we celebrate Presidents Day, so I'd like to give a big shout out to my favorite chief executive, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Who else spent the last twelve years of his life steering our country through the Great Depression and most of World War II...from a wheelchair, for gosh sakes!!? The man was amazing. Every month when my Social Security check arrives, I look to the sky and say, "Hallelujah! Thank-you, thank-you, FDR!"

My second favorite Prez is Abraham Lincoln, The Great Emancipator. Not only do I appreciate that he lost his life for being a champion of the anti-slavery momvement, but he grew up poor, two of his sons died in their childhoods, and he was married to a woman who suffered from all sorts of physical and mental ailments--including being a compulsive shopper. Yikes! I suspect that being President was a walk in the park compared to being her husband. No wonder he looks stoned on Mount Rushmore.

Yesterday on "CBS Good Morning" there was an interview with the grandson of President John Tyler. "Whoa!!!" I thought to myself. "How can this be? John Tyler was our 10th President. Shouldn't this interviewee be his great-great grandson or something even greater?" Well, it turns out that Pres. Tyler married a second time later in life and at age 68 fathered a son who also married a second time later in life. At age 75, he had a son--the man being interviewed, who is now 83. The interviewer asked grandson Tyler if he planned to follow suit and become a parent in his golden years. His sweet 80-ish wife next to his side looked horrified at the question. "Not with me!" she shuddered. You tell 'em, girl!

While I'm on the topic of Presidents, I recently read an interesting bio about President William McKinley and the events that led up to his assassination in 1901. Library Lady says a new bio about President John Garfied, also assassinated, is a better read, so I've put it on my list of future books to check out. I'm also hoping to find something on Warren G. Harding, who supposedly was the worst President in history until Richard Nixon came along. Mama Bore says there was talk "way back when" that his wife poisoned him with shellfish, so I'm hoping maybe I can find a Harding bio/mystery to read.

Oh, I could ramble on and on about Presidents we have loved and lost. For better or for worse, they have given up years, or in William Henry Harrison's case--a month, of their lives to serve their country, and I thank them for that. The Flaming Bore has all the political ambition of a slug--a bi-partisan slug, actually, and I choose not to run for public office. These days, about all I'm gonna run for is the bathroom.

Sunday, February 19, 2012


In this age of elaborate computer gizmos, I was surprised yesterday when the kids next door came dashing over to Casa de la Flaming Bore with their latest toy--a paper airplane their daddy had made for them. You'd have thought Disneyland had crash landed in their backyard!

After they tossed it around in our living room, it was obvious that just ONE paper airplace wouldn't do, so Big Bore whipped up a second one. Then the kids got out my Magic Markers and jazzed them up with flames and teeth and bullets. These were pretty much the most bad-ass paper airplanes in existence before all was said and done.

Then it was time for the big flight competition out in our front yard to see whose paper plane would travel farthest, rise highest, and make the most loop-de-loops. My nagging back demanded that I watch the air show from the front porch lest I break down on the runway, but I did get my own paper plane (above) to color and put on display. Launch date pending.

The kids had a blast blasting off with their homemade toys. Cost-zero dollars, but a million bucks on the fun-o-meter. I suspect their good ol' mom and dad wish it was always this easy to keep them entertained.

Saturday, February 18, 2012


Critter (always on the computer in the morning helping me type) and I are getting ready for a big day of watching basketball. There's very little lap over among the WSU, KSU, and KU games, so I will have time to change shirts and mojo beads three times. During times-outs and halftimes, I'll be multi-tasking on the exercise bike reading a mystery and thinking about all the housework I could be doing, but won't. Hooray!

Until the first tip-off at 11, I'll be ripping apart the big city newspaper, writing the Garden Club blurb for the local newspaper, and maybe spending some quality loitering time at the library. The library ladies are always accommodating when it comes to letting The Flaming Bore roam around. If there are books and and magazines and videos to put away, I'll do that. If not, I'll just look at titles and plot out what to read sometime down the road.

Have a hot cup of your favorite beverage this morning and enjoy the day!

Wednesday, February 15, 2012


Here's what I learned yesterday: some things that never change actually change a lot. Sweet Neighbor Girl came over after school, all excited, holding a decorated Valetines box. Cool, I thought. Kids are still allowed to go crazy making a shoe box look beautiful--a slot made on the top for Valentine delivery. But it's what inside those boxes that has changed over the years since I was a kid.

When she opened her box, I was surprised to see not only cards but treats----lots and lots of treats. The inside looked like Halloween and Christmas combined! Here's a partial list of what I can remember seeing: a yoyo, a pencil, two cupcakes, Skittles, conversation hearts, Sweet Tarts, Hershey's kisses, suckers of all sizes and shapes, a Blow-Pop, a bag of microwavable popcorn, M and M's, and some kind of weird white dip-it stick that went into a bag of colored sugary stuff. I don't know what it's called, but it made SNG's tongue and teeth turn a lovely deep green.

Of course, she had to give a taste test to just about everything in her box that was sweet and sugary--and it wasn't long before she was just bouncing off the walls, talking a mile a minute, laughing, tapping her feet on the floor, the works. At one point, I told Big Bore, "Call 9-1-1. We have a sugar overdose on the sofa."

Now, I can remember our school's homeroom mothers bringing cookies or cupcakes and Kool-Aid for our class Valentine's Day parties, but I don't recall giving little presents along with our cards. When did this change? (Oh, and I forgot to mention that Sweet Neighbor Girl, who should hereafter be referred to as Extra Sweet, dressed to match her Valentines box. How fashionista! I was impressed.)

My guess is that the school party started about 10 minutes before the afternoon bus arrived and the kids weren't allowed to dig into their Valentine boxes until they got home. No teacher in her right mind would tolerate a roomful of students on a sugar high for very long unless she's getting workman's comp and battle pay. Today I'm betting every kid at school has a Valentine hangover from all the love stuffed in their decorated boxes yesterday.

Monday, February 13, 2012


I tripped off to Pittsburg yesterday to visit with the family. The inspiration for today's blog title comes from the family of my nephew Brandon and his wife, the unflappable Saint Mary--so named by me because she always handles chaos with grace.

My stop at their house started calmly enough with Maddie and me reading about a family of ogres. Then she decided, "Aunt Nancy, you need a makeover. We'll start with your hair," she said. "I think I'll braid it."

But once she pulled off the scrunchy, she started having second thoughts. "Your hair is a lot longer than I thought. It's so thick. How did it get so long?" she kept saying as she struggled to get a brush through it. She ended up putting it into two "dog ears" and then decided to just go back to the pony tail. To heck with the braiding. End of makeover. Hopeless case.

The boys soon joined us in Maddie's bedroom, bearing a humongo box of Sugar Pops and... Stripes the Kitten. I committed a cardinal auntie error by showing them how to toss a Pop into the air and catch it in the mouth. Of course, every Pop they threw went flying across the room. William just ended up grabbing handful after sticky handful of Pops and laying them on Maddie's bed so he could eat them at his leisure.

Now, to Stripes. I don't know who the Patron Saint of Felines is, but he is certainly watching over the new pet. "Be nice to the kitty," I kept telling William, as he chased, tossed, and hugged a bit too tightly. The terrible twos are alive and well. I didn't think I was getting through to him until later, when Stripes was cuddled on my lap, conked out after a wacky claw trimming session that Maddie and I forced upon her. "Be nice to the kitty," he directed me, over and over again. Hooray!

Later, Stripes went missing in action. Brandon kept hearing a panicky meow, so we all went in search mode. "Kitty, kitty! Here Stripes." Not under the beds. Not fighting with the dogs. Not in the toilet. Nothing. Finally, he found her--shut between the two front doors after Girl Scout cookie delivery. No harm done. --I won't even try to describe what 150 boxes of cookies looks like in a living room.

There is a good reason why only young people should have children--actually three reasons--and their names are Maddie, Boomer, and William. Thanks for the laughs, kids.

Saturday, February 11, 2012


Since he has completed all the current honey-do jobs I had for him, Big Bore has decided to use some of his recycled wood to build the cats their very own penthouse condo tower. Yes, folks, Critter and Fluffy are moving on up to the east side to a deluxe apartment in the sky! Just like "The Jeffersons," they've finally got a piece of the pie! If it gets done.

In spite of my suggestions to get on the Internet and check out how to make one, BB's just come up with his own design, for better or for worse, which, for him, basically means BIGGER. This cat house looks to be about six-feet tall! I'm not sure how in the heck we'll get it into the back porch or even lift it, for that matter, but I'm sure our master architect will find a way. No sneak-peek pictures available until it's done. Don't hold your breath.

In the continuing saga of our elected officials pushing for the Cairn Terrier becoming the Kansas State Dog (see Feb. 3 blog), there was a letter to the editor today in the big city newspaper that made a lot of sense. The writers ask, "Who wants to be represented by a yapper who just rides around in a bicycle basket?" They suggest the Collie be our state pooch since it is synonymous with Lassie, the TV canine heroine who was always saving that stupid Timmy Martin kid from certain death. "Brave, hardworking, and never backs down from a challenge." Big Bore says he'd prefer Underdog. "Speed of lightning! Roar of thunder!" Now THAT'S a State Dog!!

May your weekend be the cat's meow and doggone enjoyable!

Friday, February 10, 2012


A few years and 308 friends ago, I registered on to Facebook and, for the most part, I have enjoyed the experience. It's fun re-newing old acquaintances from high school and college and connecting with former students, some of whom are aproaching middle age already! How scary is that?

Alas, however, in the past month I have decided to "unfriend" a few of my Facebook pals. One was a kid I barely knew when I substitute taught. When he decided to update his profile with a picture of him flipping his middle fingers to the world AND added a nickname that would make a porno star jealous, I decided enough was enough. I didn't really want to start off each day reading his alleged penis size flashed across my computer screen. "Un-friend" with no regrets.

Next, a former student started turning her Facebook entries into rants against certain people who were annoying her. Long rants. Filled with enough expletives to fill a dictionary. Now, as my blog followers well know, I am not so prudish as to drop the occasional f-bomb myself. And, of course, we all, now and then, get irritated and want to ventilate to the Facebook audience rather than physically assault someone. But it got to the point that this was happening on such a regular basis and with such disgusting language that I decided, "Who needs this?" Not I. "Unfriend" before she starts directing her hostility towards me or I become an accessory to a crime.

Which brings me to today. I am giving serious consideration to "unfriending" a high school classmate, younger and not really among my friends 45 years ago, who has so many Wall Posts that they are eating up my Facebook comments space. I don't mind one or two every once in a while, but I'm talking a dozen or more at a time on a daily basis--sometimes twice daily. This never seemed to happen until Facebook "upgraded" its format a few months back. Now, its happening ALL the time. Nothing of a disgusting nature at all---its just the sheer volume of them.

So, to unfriend or not unfriend? That is my burning question for today. I don't want to hurt this person's feelings. He probably has nothing better to do--kinda like me and this blog. But give me a break! I'm going to see how the day goes. Any more mass wall postings and he's outta here! Oh, the power!!

TGIF and may all your faces be happy ones!

Thursday, February 9, 2012


Being in the 3rd grade sure wears a girl out! Sweet Neighbor Girl came over after school today, new rice sock in tote, and swore she would NOT doze off because she was sitting on the sofa and not lollygaggling on the recliner. Thirty minutes later....zzzzzzzzz.

"We really must be the most boring people around!" I told Big Bore. We tried to rouse her, but that just caused her to roll onto her side into a kid-sized ball until her mama arrived to retrieve her.

Tomorrow her class takes a field trip to the circus in the city. I'm taking bets that there will be no naps taken and her motor mouth will be yapping at full speed the entire time. She's just resting up today for all the fun under the Big Top tomorrow.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012


This past Christmas, Big Bore's brother and sister-in-law gave us a rice sock they'd made. Pop it in the microwave for a few minutes and--ooh-la-la--instant relief to the neck and back. I start out almost every morning with my hot sock and use it throughout the day, alternating it with ice packs, and it really DOES ease my achy-breaky body. Ah, the joys of aging.

But wait! I have learned that this handy-dandy gift is not just for old folks. A few weeks ago when Sweet Neighbor Girl was over at Casa de la Flaming Bore, she saw our rice sock on the coffee table and asked what it was. I gave her a demonstration and it was instant love. She curled up with it like it was a stuffed animal and before you knew it, she was asleep. This same scenario has happened over and over again. She cuddles up with that rice sock and--BAM! She's sleeping like a baby.

So, I decided to make her her own rice sock for Valentine's Day. I have lots of extra tube socks around that I've never worn, but when I went to Dollar G to buy some rice I stumbled on to a display of wild-looking knee socks and found the perfect style for the fashion-conscious kid--hot pink leopard print! Big Bore helped me funnel the rice into the sock, so I wouldn't have a huge mess all over the kitchen floor. I tied it and voila!

I'm going to give my great niece Maddie the other sock and turn her on to the joys of rice, too. And because she doesn't like to share with her little brothers, I'll make them each one, too--but not in pink leopard. That would never do. Dollar G had some lovely Scooby-Do socks that just might do the trick.

Thanks to Bill and Janet for the great gift idea and for giving me the chance to start off each day by saying, "Ahhhhh! That feels sooooo good!" ;)

Tuesday, February 7, 2012


There was absolutely no doubt which honey wannabe Ben was going to kick off "The Bachelor" last night. (Yes, I still watch the eternally insipid show although, to my credit, I switch the remote back and forth to other programs so as not to overdose on the insanity.)

You knew the stars were not in poor Jamie's favor on a group date when she couldn't keep Ben engaged in a one-on-one conversation--mainly because slutty Courtney was in a background wading pool, strutting back and forth in a teeny white bikini, touching herself all over. Yeeech! Of course, Ben was mezmerized and only had eyes for the skank-ball. Jamie? Jamie who?

Even worse, in a last ditch effort to get Ben's attention before the "Rose Ceremony," Jamie straddled him (uncomfortably) and then directed him how to kiss her. The whole instruction scene sounded like they were back in the 6th grade. "Open your mouth," Jamie told him, mid-smooch. She giggled, he busted up laughing, embarrassed for her--there was no romance to it at all. Jamie just kept rambling. "I HAVE kissed before," Ben told her. He's just not into her. Host Chris Harrison could have easily called this, "The most awkward moment in Bachelor history--hands down!"

So, needless to say, there was no drama in who wasn't going to get a rose and an invitation to stay on the show for another week of "amazing" dates. "I'm sorry, Jamie. Say your goodbyes" and get your pathetic self out of here.

"Where did I go wrong?" she sniffled as she was driven away. A question best answered by that great poetess of love, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "...let me count the ways."

Monday, February 6, 2012


I am still sooooooo royally ticked off about a commericial I saw during the Super Bowl last night that I have written a letter to the advertising department of Frito-Lay asking for an explanation about what is so hilariously sales worthy about their "Man's Best Friend" commercial.

In this digusting ad, the camera zooms in on a posted Missing Cat notice. It's then made apparent that a Great Dane has just killed and buried the cat in question. I was appalled.

"I can't believe Doritos thinks that funny!" I said to Big Bore. "How does killing a cat sell chips?"

And what's pissed me off even more is that this same commericial has received acclaim from viewers and won the creator a million dollars. For what?

A number of years ago I was awakened in the middle of the night by a blood-curdling cat cry. My 13-year-old Mama Kitty was in some sort of peril right outside my bedroom window. I grabbed a broom, dashed outside in my pajamas, and there was Mama Kitty in the clutches of a stray Great Dane. A second Great Dane charged at me, keeping me from getting closer to trying to rescue my cat. They both ran off, Mama Kitty still in their clutches, crying out for help. It was absolutely the worst experience in my life. I got into my car and took chase and soon found my cat in a yard a few blocks away, dead. I just cried and cried. Hell, I have tears in my eyes right now just writing about it. I can never forget how she suffered.

Now to see this sickening commercial plugging Doritos--my stomach just turned. --So, I decided right on the spot to swear off all Frito-Lay products and am asking all my cat-loving friends to join me in my boycott. Oh, and I've also mailed a letter to the ad department at Frito-Lay asking for an explanation as to how a dog killing a cat is good for selling Doritos. I don't get it.

The next time I get a case of the munchies, I won't be taking a bite out of a Frito-Lay chip, that's for sure.

Saturday, February 4, 2012


Saturday news:

Ding-dong! The book is read. The WICKED book. The WICKED book. Ding-dong! The WICKED book is read!

Yes, folks, after 16 grueling days, I have finally finished reading WICKED! Oh, joy of joys! And not a day too soon. My skin was starting to turn green from all the effort.

Continuing with amazing current events...yesterday Big Bore and I were watching "Jeopardy" and he gave the correct answer to the final question before it was even posed. As host Alex Trebek led the program into a commercial, he revealed the category: National Parks.

"Let's guess it now before we even have the clue," I suggested. "I'm going with Acadia National Park."

"Where's that?" Big Bore asked.


"Well, I'm then I'm going down to Florida with the Everglades," he said.

And guess what? The question was something like: "This southern national park is the only one located solely within one state." The Everglades, of course!

"Geez!" I said. "You're a certified psychic genius! I'm no longer worthy of even watching this show with you!"

But will he have the courage to sit down in front of the TV with me tonight to watch the KU-Mizzou basketball game? The 'Hawks are the underdog for a change and it's being played in Misery, or whatever the heck that evil state is named. I'm going to need to muster all the obnoxious mojo I can. If only Dr. Maureen could be here with me for some mouth-to-mouth--and I don't mean resuscitation. I'm talking about joining me in yelling F-bombs, from her mouth to my mouth to the television! When I get rolling, BB leaves the room and is no fun at all.

And to start off my game day fever, here's a genius graphic:

May the best bird win!!

Friday, February 3, 2012


On the front page of today's big city newspaper comes the earth-shattering headline: "PETA opposes making cairn terrier state dog." Seems some brilliant Kansas legislator from Winfield has introduced such an important bill because Toto from the movie WIZARD OF OZ was a cairn, therefore: "...the cairn is as much of Kansas as sunflowers are." Ah, what brilliant logic. What next? A State Witch? (May I be the first to nominate myself?)

PETA is picking a bone with Kansas because the animal welfare organization fears such a designation of ANY dog will promote puppy mills--similar to that big brouhaha we had with turtle mills a few years ago when the Box Turtle was declared the State Reptile. The Flaming Bore has thought over this legislative proposal quite carefully and plans to join PETA's protest--but for a different reason. If Kansas is going to have a State Dog (which, in my opinion should be the Annoying Barker rather than the cairn) then there'd darned well better be a State Cat. Critter and Fluffy demand equal rights!

And if and when such genius legislation is introduced in our esteemed state, may I be the first to propose that the ubiquitous Spraying Stray be given consideration as the official Kansas State Cat. They're everywhere! In fact, based on my very unscientific studies, there are more of this "breed" in my neighborhood alone than there are sunflowers in the entire state of Kansas. It's true!

I encourage my readers to pounce on my bandwagon and "Give Cats a Chance" to have proper recognition. Based on what I read in the newspaper this morning, Kansas has already gone to the dogs.

Thursday, February 2, 2012


Sweet Neighbor Girl and I decided our Snowflake Tree needed a new look, so we turned it into a Valentine Tree this afternoon. It's not quite done, but you can get the general idea. Hooray for hearts!

Wednesday, February 1, 2012


Well, I'm past the stubborn point of no return! Nine days after my wicked blog of WICKED, I am finally over halfway finished with the book (just 212) so I can't stop now. But to misquote the Wicked Witch of the West in the movie WIZARD OF OZ, "My brain is melting. It's melting!"

The only reason I'm sticking with it is so I can write a review of WICKED for my monthly "Book Beat" column in the local newspaper. A few years ago the editor, a former student of mine, and Library Director Lady, a longtime friend of mine, gently tugged at my writing hand and asked me to be in charge of the column. I thought it would be fun to do as long as other members of Friends of the Library would take turns and help me out, but you know how that goes. So far, I've been the only contributor.

I've tried to review a variety of books. Last month it was a sports autobiography and right now I'm working on a review about some kids' series called "Chillermania." I got through its MISSOURI MADHOUSE edition in about 30 minutes...which makes up for a little bit of the valuable time I'm losing with WICKED. "Oh, what a world. Oh, what a world."

Every one of my reviews the past two years has been positive. We don't want to scare away people from using the library, you know. But rules are to be broken and I'm already thinking about what how scathing I should be with WICKED. Or maybe I should really challenge myself and write something that makes this book sound likes it's the best thing since indoor plumbing.

That's what keeps me going--page after miserable page. The review. I'm kind of like Dorothy, Toto, and Co. I'm on a personal mission and can't turn back. To toss in the white flag now would be to admit defeat. As the Wicked Witch might say, "No book is going to destroy my beautiful wickedness." Not even WICKED.

(P.S. to Angela: Thanks for your valuable advice, but I have to keep going. I've been cursed and can't quit, no matter how painful each page may be.)