Well, we’ve reached the halfway point. I’m halfway finished writing a crappy novella. The good news there is that you’ll be halfway done reading excerpts from a crappy novella once you are done reading this post. Let’s get started, the sooner the better.
After the big announcement of Ray running for President, I was wondering, “Now what?” It seemed like a whole lot of work was ahead of us, and the bursitis in my knee was flaring up something awful with some wet weather we was having. I’m no quitter, but with football back on TV, watching the Iowa Hawkeyes go undefeated in September seemed like a lot more fun than knocking on doors or stuffing envelopes. And how about that 18-17 comeback win over the Iowa State Cyclones? I hate winning the game with a field goal, and they shoulda whipped those Cyclone asses more, but a road win sure as hell beats losing. And it was a honey of a whale of a ding-dong dilly of a game.
I know what you’re thinking — I should be an Iowa State fan since Okawana is closer to Iowa State than U of I. But I’ve always been a Big Ten fan, even though there’s 14 teams now in the conference. Ain’t that crazier than a Trump tariff? And why the hell is Rutgers part of the Big Ten? If you ask me, they should be part of one of them fancy conferences back east. I’d rather have Iowa State in the Big Ten so I can see them Cyclones get their asses whuppped every week by Big Ten teams. But Iowa State is in the Big 12, and they only got 10 teams. They can’t afford to lose any more. I say the Big Ten should give the Big 12 Rutgers and Maryland so the Big 12 can be the Big 12 again. Only having 10 teams in the Big 12 must be downright embarrassing. Hey, here’s a joke. Why is it called the Big 12 and not the Big Twelve? Because them Big 12 students are so dumb they can’t spell twelve. I made that one up myself.
There is just so much good new music recently that I decided that rather than taking a deep dive into one song, I would wade into the shallows of multiple songs. Let’s get started!
I don’t like rap music. The closest I could ever cozy up to rap music was enjoying the hip hop of the Beastie Boys. How can anyone not like the pure camp of the BB? But the Beastie Boys are definitely not rap. Earlier this year when I was considering if I should go to an Anderson East concert, my oldest son advised me that the only good musical artist named Anderson was a rapper named Anderson.Paak. That is definitely not true. Besides Anderson East, there is the Anderson Council and their psychedelic sounds. Groovy.
So, who’s Anderson.Paak and what’s up with the period between his names? I never investigated either. But than I saw him recently on Jimmy Kimmel singing this excellent song with the great Smokey Robinson.
Now that’s a good tune and a nice homage to Smokey’s sound. I tried to explore more of .Paak’s (do I include the period with his first or last name?) music, and I found him to be too sweary for my taste. But he did prove with this song that as far as his music goes, he can definitely make it better.
1 down. Ready for 3 more? Let’s go.
I have been fascinated by hairy balls this past summer. I allowed some vine to grow in my vegetable garden, and it continually sprouted little hairy balls. And then they disappeared. I finally figured out that most likely the local deer visited and ate them. Once I put 2 & 2 together (4, right?), I threw some netting over one of the fuzzy spheres and hoped that would give it a fighting chance to grow into Jim food rather than Bambi food. It worked! Soon I had one larger hairy ball hanging down.