I have a very busy week planned with doctor’s appointments, a trade show, dinner with a German business supplier, an off-site business meeting, my birthday, my wedding anniversary, and a Christmas party. Whew! I’m tired just typing all that. Despite adding a new Mite Be Funny placeholder post, I may not have much time to blog. So, my plan is to reveal my favorite “Days of the Week” song every day this week in short blog posts. I will try and dig a little deeper than obvious choices. For example, my fave Monday song is not the excellent “I Don’t Like Mondays” by the Boomtown Rats, but this gem from The Jam.
Isn’t that a great Jam gem jam? Start thinking of Tuesday songs. I know I am.
I really thought I would find it easy to move away from weekly Mite Be Funny cartoons. But it turns out that it’s not as easy as I thought. It’s not like I have a need to create dumb cartoons about dust mites. However, what I found is that the Sunday Mite Be Funny cartoons served as fixed reference points on my blogging timeline. For example, I may look and see that it’s been 2 days since a Mite Be Funny cartoon, so I know I should generate a new blog post. Without a recent Mite Be Funny cartoon, I found it sooooo easy to just not post since I had no frame of reference to determine if I am blogging frequently or not. I liked to see 2 to 3 blog posts between weekly Mite Be Funny cartoons. Without those Mite Be Funny cartoons, I’m a bit lost in the blogging wilderness. My conclusion is that I might need mites in my life. So, here you go …
Once again, I feel the need to remind readers that the title is Mite Be Funny with two possible meanings:
It could mean that the cartoon might be funny.
It could be a declarative command, “Mite, be funny!”
I realize neither applies to this cartoon this week, but at least I now have a placeholder post for my weekly posting reference. Back to regular posting, thanks to the mites.
I like to think that it was my generation which popularized the Drinksgiving holiday on Thanksgiving Eve. But that was before there was even a name given to it. It wasn’t Drinksgiving to us. It wasn’t even known to us back then as Black Wednesday or Blackout Wednesday, names which seem to have recently given way to Drinksgiving. We didn’t have any fancy-schmancy moniker for the night. It was simply “that night before Thanksgiving when we go out after work and drink ourselves stupid and sick.” And we did, or at least I did in my 20s before 30 arrived with children close behind, and their unbearable weight crushed my partying spirit while robbing us of any potentially expendable partying funds because babies supposedly require expensive diapers and formula. *sigh*
Anyhoo, tonight’s the night to party. I was planning to regale you with stories from my Drinksgivings past, but honestly, I have absolutely no memories after uttering that first word to start the Drinksgiving holiday celebration, “Bartender!” But please, celebrate in a smarter fashion than we Drinksgiving Pilgrims did. If you drink, don’t drive. Just find a spot to lie down and sleep it off.
I had an opportunity today to try and qualify for a product taste test for tomorrow. There were only 2 questions:
Am I willing to eat chicken?
Am I willing to eat pudding?
Although I do try to stick to a vegetarian or pescatarian diet, I will eat chicken (and just about anything else) for money. So, a strong “Yes” from me to both questions and I qualified. Yay! Easy money and a potential breakfast of chicken and pudding ahead for me tomorrow morning.
But then I started to get worried. The taste test is relatively short at only 30 minutes. From my previous taste test experience, that seems like too short of a time to taste test two foods as diverse as chicken and pudding. And then I thought of the possible nightmare scenario. Could the taste test possibly be for chicken-flavored pudding? I mean, who likes pudding enough to eat that?
Winter has arrived way too early in Chicagoland. I should be in the yard blowing leaves. Instead, I am watching a flurry of snow outside my window on an unseasonably cold day. I guess it could be worse. I hear that Buffalo, NY has received 66 inches (167 cm!) of snow so far with maybe another 10 more inches to go. Here’s a posted pic from the Buffalo blizzard which is still going strong.
Our Chicago weather today reminds me more of some of the winter scenes in this music video.
I got sort of comfortable not blogging regularly last week as I dealt with some loss. I’m sure some of you (alright, most of you) got comfortable with not having to read my nonsense multiple times in a week. You may have noticed that for the first week in literally years, I did not publish a Mite Be Funny cartoon.
It was to be Mite Be Funny #300, and although I had an idea for a cartoon, it was not a great one. I guess I could say that about most of my Mite Be Funny cartoons. It has kind of run its course. But as I have explained before, I’m an OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) guy, so there was some comfort in the routine of cranking out a Mite Be Funny cartoon each week with regularity, quality be damned.
But I’ve also really become obsessed with this very zen saying attributed to Confucious.
Our family suffered a loss this past week as my wife’s oldest sister passed away at the beginning of the week. I was not much in the mood for posting funny stuff this week, but I did learn just a bit about losses and gains in life.
Of course, our biggest loss was my sister-in-law. She had been in hospice care for months, so her passing was not unexpected. But I gained some perspective as to how much of an impact she had on people’s lives. She had lived in an assisted-living facility for the past 15 years due to numerous health conditions. I didn’t think she could have much of an influence on other’s lives, but I was so wrong. One of the other residents came to visit her while I was there. The resident told me how she much she will miss my sister-in-law and how she was her best friend. Everyone matters and has value. Sometimes we just need to take a closer look.
We also lost the wonderful fall weather we have enjoyed. It’s cold now. Winter is on the way. And if you are a reader of this blog, you know how I feel about winter. If you don’t follow this blog, here’s a link to a poem about winter.
I hope you all had a fun Halloween. We started celebrating the scary holiday by attending Halloweensteen, a Bruce Springsteen tribute concert performed annually by Chicago native singer/songwriter Michael McDermott. It appears to be a beloved Chicago tradition that I had never heard of before with many repeat attendees. Now I know why. The show exceeded our expectations. There’s a big difference between a bunch of local musicians forming a tribute band to mimic an artist’s music and a professional musician like McDermott assembling other professional musicians to interpret and perform another professional’s songs.
Our seats were outstanding. The last time my wife and I were at the excellent and classy Park West concert hall, we stood and swayed through a show by Brit pop-rocker Dave Edmunds. However, my wife has knee issues worse than me, so I called ahead to check and see if we could be guaranteed seats. Well, not only were we provided seats, but they were just off to the side of the stage on a padded bench in a handicappped section. We had a great view.
There was a bit of a problem as drinking progressed at the 2+ hour show. I’ll explain.
Back in the early 1990s, Chicago native Michael McDermott was being hailed as the next Dylan or Springsteen or mutant hybrid Dylsteen with a harmonica for a mouth. Even author Stephen King was quoting McDermott lyrics in his books while calling him “possibly the greatest undiscovered rock and roll talent of the last 20 years.” Was he? Take a listen to this rocker from 1993’s Gethsemane album.
Pretty strong tune that one can still hear from time-to-time on WXRT in Chicago. I’ll fight anyone who disagrees with my assessment. Alas, initial fame was not kind to him, and he ended up having to rebuild a broken life and career. He now lives in the Chicago suburbs with his family while making new music in his home studio. And he still plays live shows, one of which I will be seeing tonight! But I’m not sure he will perform “West of Eden.” Here’s why.
I recently submitted a serious free verse poem and a hilarious mini story to support a local art exhibit organized by the publisher who published my first short story. However, another one of the paintings caught my eye and imagination. It was this one.
Nobody had chosen this painting to write about. I had an idea, but it was risky for me. I’ll explain why.
There was a time when I thought nothing of going out at 10PM to start my night out. These days, if it is dark out, regardless of the actual time, even during a solar eclipse in the middle of the day, I want to go to bed. Last week, I was experiencing some anxiety about heading into Chicago on a work night to go see a punk rock concert with my son. It seemed so wrong on so many levels for someone my age.
But I sucked it up and drove to Chicago during rush hour. To my surprise and relief, I made it on time! My son advised me we were going to take a bus. I had never ridden a Chicago Transit Authority bus. In fact, we were supposed to take the very bus that was half a block away and about to leave. We ran, and I felt young and fast once again as we caught the bus. My balky left knee not only held up, but it felt better than ever after the short sprint. As we entered the bus, I wondered how many altercations I would be in as we rode. I had prepared for the evening by not shaving for a few days in a futile effort to look tougher. As it turned out, we didn’t get in even one scrape, although I swear a matronly grandmother gave me the stinkeye as I snagged the last open seat before she did.
We had a casual, relaxing meal before the concert, but my anxiety rose again as we walked to the concert hall. This would be a concert by the Australian punk trio The Chats. If that name sounds familiar, you may have been one of a couple people who read my post about their latest release. I figured I would be the oldest in the concert, but it turned out there were plenty of olds at the show. Being a senior with hearing loss was probably good. The Chats were loud. Take a listen.
I think I finally understand the complaints about the liberal media. It all became perfectly clear as I watched my beloved Chicago Bears dismantle the New England Patriots on Monday Night Football last night. Take a look at who Peyton and Eli Manning had as a guest on their Manningcast.
That’s right. A liberal former Democrat President who had nothing to do with football during his career. How about having a qanonservative former Republican President as a guest who actually owned a professional football team? Here’s the story.
In our neighborhood, houses with kids get booed around Halloween time. Not like jeered, but a package of gooodies is left for the kid(s) in the house. Then the recipient is supposed to “boo” two more homes. Yes, it does reek of a pyramid scheme, and despite my annual calls, the FBI and SEC have both turned blind eyes to this grifting.
Anyway, our youngest started high school this year, so we did not expect to be booed. But then the pail of goodies arrived. Sigh! Can’t our neighbors keep track of how old my kids are? My wife put the sign on our door that we didn’t expect to have to use this year.
But then, I had an idea. I kind of like what we received in the pail of goodies. Who’s going to know if we don’t “boo” anyone? And if I remove the “been booed” sign from our door, might we get booed another time or two and collect even more goodies?
Yesterday, I went to get my second Covid booster. The pharmacist offered me the Bivalent booster. I asked him what the difference was. He replied, “Covid blah blah blah, and booster yadda yadda yadda.” That’s all I needed to hear. I willingly took the Bivalent booster. I haven’t had any severe side effects to the Bivalent booster, except now I appear to be equally attracted to men and women.
I already blogged about a free verse poem I wrote to support an art exhibit at the Skokie Public Library starting next month. Well, you can slap my ass and call me a patron of the arts, because I contributed another written piece. This time, it is a very silly micro story about this still life painting of peaches.
Much to my surprise, these still life paintings apparently are not just about fruit but about very serious themes in life. Listen to the artist here …