Wednesday, October 31, 2012


The neighbor kids couldn't wait to get into their Halloween costumes and came over to Casa de la Flaming Bore last night.

"You're too early!" I moaned. "I won't have any candy until tomorrow!"

"We know," said Sweet Neighbor Girl, looking ravishing in her Cleopatra get-up. "We're not trick-or-treating yet. We're filming a horror movie!"

She had a hand-held gizmo of some sort.  I don't know if it was a cell phone/camera or what, but it was taping away, and lurking around the corner of the porch was her little brother in the creepiest clown costume you'd ever hope to see.  

"Act like you're scared," Cleopatra commanded. "3-2-1-and roll!" What a pro--and only 9 years old.

The clown creature lurched forward towards me as I feigned fear and terror of the highest order. "No!  No!  Please!  Leave me alone!" I screamed. But the evil clown would not be deterred. He was ready to attack....

"And.....cut!"  SNG directed.  "That was ridonkulous!"  She played it back so I could view my dramatic debut in her horror flick. With any luck, it wasn't featured for show and tell at 4th grade today and will soon be accidentally/on purpose taped over.

The kids were back over tonight for their treats, along with the rest of the neighborhood.  Thankfully, we didn't have any leftovers. The only thing scarier than having a clown maniac and his acting coach living next door is having a boat load of candy around the house tempting me on November 1st.  

Sunday, October 28, 2012


Hell hath no fury like a bunch of football fans scorned.  Especially ones from "Middle of Nowhere, Kansas."

A few days ago a sports writer for the Miami Herald, Joseph Goodman, penned an opinion piece titled "Please, No Kansas State in Title Game."  He argued that the Wildcats would not be a good choice for the the BCS Championship football game, to be held in Miami in January, because it isn't a big-name glam team. The hayseeds from Kansas playing in the big game would have, in Goodman's words, "....all the excitement of of a self-induced dry heave" and " one except for a few crusty sports writers and a handful of people in Middle of Nowhere, Kansas" would be interested in watching it. 

Goodman went on to take pot shots at K-State's coach, Bill Snyder, which is basically blasphemy in these parts. Good grief! What's there not to like about Grandpa Bill? The article ended with an appeal to the BCS/Orange Bowl Committee to pick ANY team but Kansas State to appear in the title match-up.

I thought perhaps the editorial was satire to please Miami residents who are still nursing bruises over the 52-13 butt-whipping K-State gave their team earlier this season and just laughed away the commentary, but hundreds of sports fans have written online responses and are ready to crucify Goodman if he ever dares set foot in Middle of Nowhere. I haven't laughed this much in front of the computer in ages.  Here's a sample of excerpts:

"There is a land called Douche-bagistan, and you are the king!"

"You are a damaged, insane moron!"

"You're just still upset about the gut stomping K-State has given to Miami the past two seasons."

"You need professional help."

"Pathetic, worthless, illogical, and straight-up stupid!"

"You must have a third grade education!"

"According to Mitt Romney, 47 per cent of the electorate doesn't even know Kansas State exists."

"You should be fired!"

"You're an obvious troll!"

 and my favorite:  "You're just some blogger sitting at your computer in his basement, wearing dirty PJs!"

There's still a lot of season left before the title game is played, and who knows if K-State will still be in the mix come January. Joseph Goodman needn't be worried...yet. But if the 'Cats end up with an invitation to the championship battle, then he might want to leave Miami for a while--maybe head out for Middle of Nowhere, Florida, or go back to Douche-bagistan--until the coast is clear.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012


The Flaming Bore is not one to waste a lovely autumn day by staying inside and doing housework that has been accumulating in mass quantities over the summer, so I spent most of the daylight hours yesterday piddling outdoors. I watered plants, gathered leaves, deadheaded, went for a walk--twice--and re-arranged rocks. The latter is sort of a compulsion with me. Some people hoard food or clothes or junkyard finds. I hoard rocks.  

Subject to re-arrangement yesterday was my Rock Ness Monster. It had sort of gotten lost in its original spot, as the holly bushes in front of it have grown taller over the years, so I moved it to a new spot in the backyard that makes it a little more noticeable.  

Happy swimming in the garden, Nessie!

Tuesday, October 16, 2012


I figured I'd wake up this morning needing to be put into traction.  Last night when Big Bore and I returned from a shopping outing at ALCO (Monday is Senior Day 10% discount. Who can pass up a bargain?), Sweet Neighbor Girl and Trouble #1 came rushing over from their yard.

"Hey, Nancy!  Look what I got?" SNG said.  She cradled a new volleyball with lime green striped insets. "It's in my favorite color!"

I knew what was coming next, so I beat her to the punch.  "You wanna hit it around a while?"

"Sure!" they yelled. These poor kids are under the gross misconception that I am their 12-year-old oversized playmate, so who am I to blow the illusion.

We headed over to their big side yard, but not before the ball went into wayward mode.

"Keep it out of my turnip patch!" Big Bore grumbled.

So, we kept moving, then picked out a tree for the imaginary net, and started volleying.  Trouble volunteered to be the official ball chaser, which was a good thing, because there was a lot of chasing to do since we rarely kept the ball in play. SNG has just started recreation volleyball on Wednesdays and she still has a lot to I learned from another era and have no idea what the heck I'm doing. Fifty years ago, we just pitty-patted the ball around. Nowadays, it's spike and kill...and I'm not too keen about a sport where death is the main objective.

Mercifully, the sun sets much earlier now that autumn is in full steam, so after about a half hour the "game" had to be called because of darkness. Not a minute too soon. Fortunately I didn't wake up this morning to any back pain, so it's out the door to do some playing of my own, adult kind--watering the backyard plants. Maybe by this evening I'll be limbered up in time for a return match on the VB court.

Friday, October 12, 2012


When I take the local library's old magazines and newspapers out to the recycle center, I always thumb through the stack to see if there's anything I want to take home and read before it bites the dust. Big Bore has a standing request: National Geographic. And did I ever find a doozy to take home to him this week. One look at the cover and he was reeling!

"Oh, my God!  This reminds me of being on the High Line Trail at Glacier (National Park)," he said.

"High Line was nothing like this," I countered, referring to the above picture taken of some maniac on the Thank God Ledge of Half Dome, which is about a gazillion times hairier and scarier than High Line will ever be. This is insanity.

"But to me, when we started on High Line, this (the magazine cover pic) is what I saw," Big Bore said.  "In my mind, it was this steep."  He turned away from the cover. "I can't even look at it."

The story and other pictures inside were just as wild as the cover. These people climb without any kind of aid. No ropes, no harnesses. (And some would argue: no brains). Totally incredible.

Someday I'd like to visit Yosemite and hike a few trails, but there is absolutely NO WAY I'd find myself out on a ledge like this one. Not even when I was young and careless would I have wasted a single second thinking in the daredevil mode.

Anyone who climbs Half Dome and perches on Thank God Ledge is a rare bird, indeed.  

Thursday, October 4, 2012


Wowza!  Last night, after Big Bore and I gave up on the Presidential Debate, we witnessed an even gorier mess by changing the channel to TCM and watching House of Dracula.  

This 1945 offering featured not only a mad scientist, but also Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolfman, a female Igor-type named Nina the Nurse, and another nurse, the seductive piano-playing Melissa. Be still my monstrous heart! What a classic!

As the story opens, Dr. Edelmann is trying to find a way to dissolve the hump on lovely Nina's bulging back, when who should show up in the house but Dracula, wanting to be de-vampired. "Can you help me, doctor?" Of course. Via a series of blood transfusions, he'll replace Drac's blood-thirsty blood with his own  mad doctor blood. 

And in the course of transfusion #1, who else should show up at the door but the Wolfman.  Like Drac, he's weary of preying on people and he wants to be normal again. "Can you help me, doctor?"  Hmmm.  Dr. E. is not so confident about this one and tells Wolfman he'll need to wait until the next full moon--at which point, a depressed and desperate Wolfie throws himself off a cliff into the raging sea.

But wait! There are caves in the area where Wolfman jumped, so maybe he's still alive. Let's go see. The two nurses lower Dr. E. with a pulley system, he gets to the cave, and there is Wolfie, still alive, AND someone else. Who can it be? Why, it's Frankenstein, of course! Let's take him home to the lab via this convenient tunnel system.  

And it just gets goofier from there--especially when Dracula messes with the blood transfusion tubing and ends up putting HIS blood into Dr. Edelmann's veins.  Seems Drac isn't really all that serious about changing his nefarious ways, especially when Nurse Melissa's piano playing seduces him.  

Will Nurse Nina be cured of her humpback?  Will Nurse Melissa become the Bride of Dracula?  Will the Wolfman and Frankenstein become gay lovers?  Will Dr. Edelmann get hit with a malpractice suit?  I got so wrapped up in it all, that I fell asleep and didn't wake up until the credits were rolling. Damn!  

Until I see the end of this masterpiece, there is no official Flaming Bore flame rating.  I'll just rate it N for Nuts.  

Tuesday, October 2, 2012


Last night's walk was postponed for a while when I was accosted by Sweet Neighbor Girl, Trouble #1, and their football, slightly deflated but useful nonetheless.

"Hey, Nancy! Do you know how to play football?" Trouble asked.

"Sure I do.  I was the only girl who played football on our high school team!"

He looked impressed, but SNG was a bit suspicious of my claim.  "Did you REALLY play on the team?" she asked.

"No. I just wanted to see your reaction," I laughed.  "But I DO know HOW to play football."

"Can you teach me how to kick?" Trouble asked.  

"Sure. Toss me the ball." And on my first try in decades, I kicked that ball higher and straighter than I'd ever imagined. So, having proved my worth, Trouble was ready to accept kicking lessons from a "girl."

"Just hold the ball in front of you like so," I demonstrated.  "Then, right foot, left foot, kick with your right foot.  You are right-handed? Right?" 

Well, the kid has only been in kindergarten for a month. Right-handed and left-handed apparently haven't been written into the lesson plans yet. He had a heckuva time keeping it all straight and his motions were about as fluid as Godzilla stomping across the plains of Japan. We were laughing and laughing, but he kept trying and trying...and missing.

"Don't throw the ball up in the air. Just keep hold of it and then right before you kick it, let go."  

Finally, he connected...and the football sailed backwards over his head. Amazing.

"Well, you keep practicing," I said, certain that I had invested enough of my precious time to the cause. "I have to get on with my walk."  

It's going to be a long season.

Monday, October 1, 2012


October 1st has arrived, and a few monsters I know are getting psyched up for Halloween, even though they have 30 more days to wait for tricking and treating.

Big Bore has already bought a boat-load of candy and sacked it up in baggies...filled with tootsie rolls, smarties, milk duds, kit kat bars, eyeball gum, etc. I begged him to hide it all from me, which he did, except for a few leftovers to tempt me with.  Sorry to admit, I've already busted into them.

Trouble #1 came over yesterday with a big plastic bag in hand bearing his new Halloween costume:  Carver the Clown. It looks to be like some maniacal escapee from the Insane Clown Posse (ICP to those devotees).  "I got to pick it out all by myself!" Whatever happened to a kid wanting to be a super hero for Halloween? 

My fun niece-in-law Mary is the Queen of Halloween in our family. She's creative and crazy with decorating ideas. Based on the picture above that she put on Facebook last night, I'd say she's off to a great start.  By the 31st, her house should be a total fright.

Guess I'll go drag out my witch tee-shirt from the closet and start practicing my cackle......