LITTLE HOUSE OF HORRORS

If you have a deep passion for killing ants and flies, do I have the perfect vacation spot for you---Cross Timbers State Park, aka: Toronto Lake. When great neph Bo was here last week, he specially requested a few days of camping. I refused to pitch a tent in the hellish weather we’d been having, I’m too damned old for that, so I compromised and rented us a cabin. Big Bore and I had an enjoyable couple of days in one of these little log numbers a few years back, but that was in February when the insects weren’t lurking about--ready to annoy every breathing moment of the camping experience.

Oh, what a difference June makes. This time, the flies made their presence immediately, buzzing about on the cabin porch like the Welcome Wagon. Every time we opened the front door, about a zillion of them poured inside to make themselves comfortably at home. Eating outdoors was nearly impossible. We eventually got out the fly swatters and just beat them to a bloody fly pulp. Bo really got into his role as Chief of the SWAT Team. Kah-WAP!!!! Kah-WAP!!!! “You go, Bo!! You da man!!”

The ants were another story. They were crawling about the kitchen, ready to attack whatever was thrown into the waste basket within seconds. Bo called the park office asking for mercy, and a nice worker guy came to our rescue. He didn’t totally succeed in eradicating our ant cabin mates, but he did reduce their population to livable proportions.

Now, don’t get me wrong. We had a fine time hiking and biking and skipping rocks and building a campfire and roasting wienies and playing a raging card game of War, but the next time Bo and I go camping out, we’re staying at home!

LIFE IS A CABARET, OLD CHUM

When my great neph Bo was here last week, I took him to Cabaret Old Town in the City to see the wacky live presentation of Kyle and Monte, The Musical, The Men, The Myth, The Medleys. I first saw Kyle and Monte in action at Cabaret about 13 years ago when they were two of the beauty queen wannabes in Pageant. They were hilarious, especially Monte and his talent performance as a roller skating accordion player. Anyway, I was hooked on the guys and have seen them on stage many times. This was Bo's first K and M experience. He's 17 now. He can deal with it.

During the course of last Friday night’s musical extravaganza, Kyle and Monte would take a time-out for some audience participation called, “What’s In Your Purse?” The guys would ask for a particular item and the first person who came to the stage with said item would win a prize. The first item they requested was, “A mint!!!” And, guess who had several rolls of mints in her purse? The Flaming Bore, of course.

I raised my peppermint Breathsavers into the air, and Kyle and Monte waved me down to the stage. Bo was also encouraging me to get there before anyone else. So, I took off---only to forget that the booth where we were sitting was on a platform. Have you ever walked straight on, not anticipating a step down? Sure you have. The landing is clumsy. And mine was so clumsy that I basically propelled myself into the back of a woman sitting nearby.

Thank god I somehow managed to stay upright and got to the stage on time to be declared the winner….of a one-of-a-kind Kyle and Monte key ring!!! Hooray!! It is so totally cool. Wait till the Library Lady gets her eyeballs on this, I thought. She is a Kyle and Monte fan, too. Monte once dripped sweat on her while singing as Dr. Frank-N-Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and she was in heaven. She would be so totally jealous to see my big prize that I almost broke a leg to win.

Well, the rest of the evening was klutz-free. Bo loved the show and the cheesecake and the strawberry coladas and was so sorry I didn’t win the grand prize of the evening, which was sort of like a sandwiched lap dance from Kyle and Monte, fully dressed in cowboy regalia, complete with black and white cowskin chaps.

The show has been held over through July17th, so there’s still time for you to see Kyle and Monte sing and dance and run around in a frenzy. Be sure to take along some mints and watch your step when you dash to the stage.

STORYTELLER

Every summer when my great neph Bo comes for a visit, we go to the city to see the movie of his choice. His absolute worst pick of the past has been Lava Boy and Shark Girl…or was it Shark Boy and Lava Girl? I’m not sure which, but it was a bomb of nuclear proportions. His best selection was last summer’s stupendously hilarious The Hangover. Last week during his visit with dear old great auntie, he picked the critically acclaimed Toy Story 3.

Now, I’ve never seen the first two Toy Story movies, but I’ve read enough Entertainment Weekly magazines to know there’s a beloved cowboy doll--Tex, or Rex, or Woody, or whatever, and a dashing toy astronaut, Buzz, so I was prepared to enjoy a cute little comedy. But, YIKES!!! Toy Story 3 is downright scary!

The toys end up at the Day Care Center from Hell!!! By day, they get abused by little brats and then at night they are tortured by the other toys, EVIL toys that act sort of friendly at first but then they turn on the newcomers. They imprison them!! Mr. Potato Head, parts of his starchy face removed, is locked in a cat litter pan!! Ken ties up Barbie!! A seemingly innocent, floppy-eyed baby doll turns menacing. It’s terrible!! And when the toys finally escape, they are taken by a dump truck to be busted up and burned. Oh, the horror!! I could barely watch.

Well, all’s well that end’s well, sort of. The toys get reunited with their owner Andy, who is off to college, and there’s a sentimental finale, which I won’t ruin for you since I’ve ruined enough already.

I give Toy Story 3 three stars out of four. The animation is cool, but it’s not the slap-happy comedy I was hoping to see. It should be re-named Toy Nightmare… or Nightmare on Toy Street… or Psycho Toys… or Screaming Toys 3... or Fiends of Chucky... or Night of the Living Toys, or, well, you get the idea.

ELECTRIFYING

At last, The Flaming Bore is home and ready to rest up from the adventures with the great neph. Here is a pic from our first night at Toronto Lake after a storm passed through. We were happy not to be at the receiving end of this lightning strike. More tomorrow after the writing side of my brain has regenerated.

QUICK POST

The gad-about Flaming Bore has been on the road much of the last four days and is heading out again to the Big City, and then to a cabin on the lake for a few days, then back to the City, then back to southeast Kansas. Great neph Bo is visiting, so we can't sit still for long. Big Bore has been staying at home. He much prefers his role as live-in cat guy and yard dude rather than go bouncing all around Kansas in the heat. Until next week, when I should finally be in one place for a while, here are a few pics from the Bore Gardens.

MOO-VE IT

Big Bore has made a special request that I blog today about one of his pet peeves. He’s about ready to pop a vein because he believes animal rights groups are going too far in their efforts. He keeps seeing a TV commercial about saving cows from being corralled with electric prods. Now he’s all for cats and dogs, other pets, and zoo animals being treated well, but his belief is that anything killed for human consumption is fair game. There, I’ve said it, and I hope he feels better.

Now, I’ve never seen the commercial. I typically flake out when commercials come on and leave the living room to do something productive, like play a game of Catch 21 on the computer or go to the bathroom. And I’m not familiar with cattle prods, other than I think that being branded by a hot iron would hurt more. But, what do I know. I’m not a cow, (contrary to what I was likely called when I was a teacher).

“They’re trying to play on people’s emotions and make you feel guilty about eating meat,” BB says about the commercial. “If they’re going to do commercials on cows, they’d better be doing them on sheep and pigs and deer and goat and chickens, and frogs, and fish, and lobsters, and squirrels, and pheasants….” you get his drift. “It’s called the food chain!” --and it has nothing to do with pets.

He is glad there are organizations to help sweet little kitty cats, but, let’s face it, all animals are not created equally. Let the cows be prodded and butchered, he says, and quit wasting money trying to save them from the slaughterhouse. It’s not gonna happen. Well, except maybe in India, I suppose.

Now, I’ve blogged before that I’m not much of a meat eater. Although I’m not a vegetarian, I go long stretches without eating the stuff. Who am I to deprive McDonald’s Corporation of employing billions of people selling billions of hamburgers, or to deny a child of having a Happy Meal? So, I am giving Big Bore his say-so today--and he didn’t even have to prod me. Much. Stick with saving pets, animal rights groups. Thank-you very much.

THE POWER OF WATER

(Flood receding in downtown Estes Park, Colorado, July 15, 1982.)

Library Lady and I were talking the other day about the recent flooding tragedy in Arkansas and how my great neph Luke and I missed it by a week during our travels there earlier this month. (We stayed at a motel in a town close to the affected campground.) She reminded me that this wasn’t my first miss with a disastrous flood. Back in 1982 I was at Estes Park, Colorado the day the nearby Lawn Lake dam broke, killing three campers and devastating the downtown.

I was with Big Sis and her family in a cabin next to one of two rivers flowing into Estes Park. At the time we heard the early morning radio news about the dam bursting, we weren’t sure yet which river would be affected by the flooding, the north one or south one we were by, so I grabbed my then-11-year-old nephew Brandon by the hand, got my billfold, and we scooted up to higher land. No one else felt our urgency. They stayed at the cabin listening to the radio and eating breakfast.

Brandon and I would surely be the soul survivors. “They just wouldn’t listen to us,” I would sadly tell our rescuers. “Alas, eggs and bacon were more important to them.”

But, as it turned out, the flood was raging down the north river. Big Sis yelled the, “All’s clear!” sign to us, and Brandon and I returned to the cabin to scour through the leftovers. “Be prepared.” That’s The Flaming Bore motto.

We drove into Estes Park to look at the devastation. Water and debris were raging down Main Street (photo above) and into Estes Lake. It was sad to see this little mountain town in such a mess, and I felt sorry for those who lost their lives, forever buried under the rocks and mud of the landslide. They didn’t know what hit them.

A few years ago Big Bore and I went to Estes Park, which has long since recovered, but, from a distance, Rocky Mt. National Park still shows the gaping scar of Lawn Lake’s dam bursting (above picture). Up close, however, giant boulders harmlessly rest in the area as though they have always been there, and a little stream splashes calmly over them. It’s a peaceful scene. The kind where you suck in the fresh mountain air and are thankful that you have this day to enjoy the beauty. No one would think that 28 years ago those rocks and water came angrily rushing down the mountainside, causing death and destruction. The power of water is, indeed, a force not be taken lightly.