Hm, sure is a bunch of leaves on the lawn there.
Say, there’s a bicycle smack dab in the middle of ’em, too.
Now, what d’you suppose would be more fun — raking those leaves or riding that bike?
What’s the temperature? Sixty-five, you say?
Well, I think that answers our question du jour, n’est-ce pas?
My mom-in-law, Mary Pigeon, turns (mumblemumble) today, and the kinfolk are throwing her a birthday bash in Sin City.
I was unable to attend, Nov. 5 being the day I always wash my scalp, so I thought I’d slap together this little video by way of atonement.
Happy birthday, Mary — and many more.
P.S.: Whadja get me for your birthday?
It’s hard to believe that it’s been four years since Marvin J. Berkman packed up his guitar for the final time and took his music elsewhere.
Marv’ and his sweetheart Judy were the best neighbors anyone could ask for, so when he passed on, and Judy decided to move away to be closer to family, we decided to buy the house they lived in. Just couldn’t bear the thought of some stranger getting the place.
I’m no mystic, but I like to think that one of the reasons our guests enjoy their stays at the House Back East™ so much is that some small part of the old saloon musician hung around after closing time to play a quiet encore, help them feel at home.
Good night and joy be with you all.
I dressed up as an old bald white guy for Halloween, but nobody noticed. Too subtle, I guess.
We did get a record crowd of trick-or-treaters, which may or may not have something to do with the cuts to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program that took effect today.
One toddler pirate was into some serious pillaging, plucking booty from our candy bowl with both teensy fists. An adult joked, “I hope you’re planning to share that. …” Goddamn socialists. When I was a child, we had to make our own Halloween candy and then defend it by force of arms.
With this satanic celebration safely behind us now, it’s time for the sanctified seasonal festivities, like scrambling to find nifty places to stash the poor folks where holiday shoppers won’t have to look at ’em.
A beater South Nevada motel that has housed some 70 folks is closing, apparently to reopen in 2014 as “a center for mothers undergoing substance abuse treatment,” a need for which the necessary $300,000 per annum to house an estimated 20 moms and their kids has yet to materialize.
In the meantime, the Springs Rescue Mission will operate the city’s only overnight shelter for the chronically homeless throughout the winter, providing 30 beds for men and women. That has funding through April 15, but the mission apparently has plans to use the space for “an undetermined purpose” come springtime.
I bet springtime seems a long way off to a lot of these folks. The Baboon Caucus would like to ensure that it never comes. Not for the homeless. Anyone who doesn’t own at least three houses, a bank account in the Caymans and a senator is invisible to that crowd.
Mad Blog Media 