I know, I skipped Friday and this barely counts as a Monday post. Bad blogger, bad blogger, bad blogger...

I actually left the Butterfly Cave this weekend, including tonight, when I was coaxed out to the West Hollywood Halloween crush of humanity. More on that, including pictures, tomorrow.

In the meantime, here's a quick wrap-up of my weekend:

Friday. I went to old high school alma mater's Homecoming game, complete with a pizza party afterward for all alumni. Since I'd be skipping my ten year reunion the next evening (I opted to save the $65 per person), I dropped by and felt really good. Most of my former classmates look majorly older than me. Maybe I will go to that next reunion.

Saturday. I found myself at two birthday parties - one adult and one kiddie-sized. The adult one was a decent dinner and some fun over board games and ridiculous banter. The birthday party for the my cousin's two-year old son was interesting. I went because I promised my family I'd be there. They didn't show up until two hours into the party, when I only had 15 minutes before I had to head out. Still, I had fun with the birthday boy:





He actually manages a better mustache than I do.





We watched a DVD together for most of the party.







Toy Story is apparently a real nail-biter.






I'll have that Halloween wrap-up for you early tomorrow, I hope. I don't do well with crowds. Tonight was no exception. This should be good...

-J.

I hung upside down for this?

It's really me this time. After two days of fiction - which I've really enjoyed posting it and am going to continue doing - I'm back to annoying you all with my random thoughts for an evening..

The other day at work, a co-worker and I were talking about going through changes and metamorphoses , et al - y'know, all the B.S. you shoot the breeze about in order to avoid actually working. She said something about going into our chrysalis (chrysali?) and emerging butterflies. The trite sentiment would normally have inspired a vicious yet hilarious remark. But this day, I was feeling thoughtful. Or at least I wasn't feeling very mean. All I could think of when she said it:

Where do butterflies live?

When they're caterpillar (should that be caterpillars? ah, the plurality!), they crawl around in gardens, on trees and leaves, eating up stuff to get fat and prepare for the cocoon stage. Then they hang upside down from a branch or something and emerge a little bit later with wings. After that, it gets a little hazy. Once they can fly (this apparently doesn't happen right away, leaving them pretty vulnerable to birds for a while), they flit from place to place on the breeze, settling on flowers and stealing nectar and pollinating in a benign fashion.

But when it gets dark and they aren't fluttering by, where do they go?

Bees have a hive. Spiders have webs. Butterflies have what - a Butterfly Cave? Wikipedia was as helpful as ever on every point but this. I finally tracked it down on, of all things, the Butterfly Website. Apparently, the little fellas hide between the crevices of rocks or hang from under leaves during the evening or in bad weather. So they do sorta have a Butterfly Cave.

Random question of the day answered.

J's Thought: Very often we tell people going through changes or difficult times that they will emerge from it more beautiful than before, like a butterfly emerging from it's cocoon. How different would they react if we said this instead:

"You'll crawl on your belly for while eating just about anything you can find. You'll go into seclusion, come back prettier but more fragile and vulnerable than ever and end up basically homeless, drifting from place to place, inclined to hide in the dark or during bad weather. Oh, and you'll die not long after that."

The lesson: don't oversimplify things, kids. You never know.

We're back to fiction tomorrow, I think. After this oddball post, you all probably think that's a good thing!

Back to the Butterfly cave wth me,
-J.

This post was sponsored by the Pin Me Down Committee.

more fiction...

Tuesday. It is a quarter past 7pm. My parents won't be home for at least two hours - Parent/Teacher Night always takes at least two hours. Questions, questions, questions for every teacher who struggles to remember who exactly I am. Even though I know the hell that's coming when they hear how little I show up, I feel more sorry for those poor underpaid bastards than I feel for myself right now. Who wants to listen to all of those questions on a night when you should be at home grading papers and watching bad TV?

I drop the needle and suddenly Dionne is singing "my hands are shaking/Don't let my heart keep breaking..." The cool kids listen to The Wall or Rumours when they do this, I'm told. I prefer vintage Burt Bacharach by way of Miss Warwick. It makes me feel like an aging lothario with a bachelor pad. I really like the sound of that patented horn in the background of the ballads, between each line of heartbreak and nostalgia. I could float without anything to inhale if I had to. Tonight, however, the music will get some assistance.

I turn out the lights and open a window. It's unusually chilly tonight, but I need the smoke to waft outside, not down the hall. Sandalwood should help mask it tonight. I'm sure they suspect what I do on the nights I "burn incense and meditate" for hours, but they'll never ask. Bad grades are about all they can handle.

I reach for my lighter, finally ready to start it all. Suddenly, Dionne isn't the only voice in the house. I hear keys drop on the kitchen table. Annoyed voices call me out of my Sandalwood cave. Early? This can't have gone well. All of the teachers must have been quick and to the point. Escape will have to wait for another time, I suppose. I'll have to let that horn float me until then.

File Under: Fiction.

The White Sox won.

Hurrah. Yes, their first series win since 1917. Yes, the Second Team of the Second City are now winners. Listen, shut up for second.

Does this mean Fox will actually run The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode on Halloween or at least on Sunday, right before it?

If the answer is "No," then I don't care. Otherwise, I'm excited, too.

-J.

Um, family resemblence much? Wow.

I'm working on some slightly newer fiction as we speak. It may be ready tonight. To tide you over, I'll leave you with this (cropped photo of an actual document from where I work):

Yup. Where most of my co-workers put initials or some other identifying piece of info, I type J6 on work paperwork.

-J.

H20

Don't say i didn't warn you. Here's the first J6 foray into internet fiction - I actually wrote most of this when I was about 18. If it sucks, blame it on my youth. If you think it doesn't, my 28 year old self takes full credit for the re-write and editing. :)

Water. It boggles my mind that I'll pay a dollar for a bottle at a gas station. The stuff comes out of my faucet at home, basically for free, but I don't like the taste. When people pay for something truly valuable, like sex, at least you're reasonably assured they don't have it on tap at home. But then maybe they do and just don't like the taste of that, either. I have bottled water chilling at home, but I can't wait for it. Maybe people who buy sex just can't wait until they get home. I'm buying here at this gas station while waiting for the car to fill up. Against my better judgement, I also buy a pack of smokes.

Smoking after the gym, I realize, makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. But it makes at least a little more sense than smoking before hitting the gym. Of course, now that I have the pack, I may just do that tomorrow. Life is full of inconsistencies. Like how I spend two hours sweating, shower it off in the locker room and then hit the steam room just to sweat some more. Then I rinse off, change and head home to shower "for real" (soap, shampoo, the whole show) before heading to bed.

It's a wonder I even feel the need for the bottled stuff when I spend so much of my day using water in every capacity. But then, I guess I'm just trying to make up for all that I cry out as I try and sleep unsuccessfully. The bottled water, the gym, the cigarettes - it's all a process of drinking you in, sweating you out, and drying myself off inside to try and move on. I keep hoping that as I see more body progress in the mirror, I might see it in myself. But that hasn't happened yet.

Instead, here I am, with a pack of cigarettes I regret buying. I've got an empty bottle of water I needed but didn't enjoy. And the shower is just one more chance to think about you and only you. Sure, you were shallow, but it only takes an inch of water. It's a wonder I don't drown sometimes.

File Under: Fiction.

The best part of working the late shift at my job is that I get to wake up an hour later than usual for that particular week. The worst part is that moment at 4pm when I realize that I have not one, but two hours left before I can go home, nuke my Stouffer's dinner and ditch the gym in favor of some terrible horror movie to keep me entertained.

Tonight's delightfully gloomy outside. It's misting a little and the sky is covered in dark clouds. In a city without seasons (nine months of television production nothwithstanding), it's always a treat to have something like this happen. It isn't a lightning storm like a few weeks ago, but I still love to turn off the lights and watch the sky from my bedroom window.

As last week goes to show, I'm finding it a little hard to write even the mundane things that are going on lately. This weekend was an extension of sorts, to that retreat I took from my life last week. To mix it up and keep a little more for myself than usual, I think I'm going to start dabbling in fiction. I've got some pieces lying around that will more than likely remain unfinished. I may start posting those just to share and keep myself creative while working on some stuff in the "real" world. Hopefully, it won't seem too self-indulgent and it will be interesting. I guess I'll know by how many tomatoes are thrown.

October is almost over. I don't think I've gone into how much I usually hate the month of October. That's a post for another day. But suffice it to say, I'm very glad Halloween will provide a fun end to a rough month. Tomorrow I'm going to have sushi for lunch. That always puts me in a good mood - unless the fish is warm. Ugh.



I leave you tonight with evidence of the good time FB and I had recently with my new Atari Flashback 2. We found Hangman and played it more than any of the other games. FB figured this one out very quickly.

Hey, that's me!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Not-So-Manic Monday Committee.

The local Vodka bandits are at it again. This time they've moved up to Smirnoff Twisters Raspberry.

Sorry I haven't posted since Monday. It's been a hellish week and the weekend may be even longer. Barring an act of some deity I've pissed off recently, I'll be back Monday and I'll be armed with all sorts of inane thoughts.

Have a good weekend, kids!

Doogie 'n' Me.

A few things bugged me tonight during my first viewing of How I Met Your Mother. Like drinking, I rarely watch TV alone. Tonight I tuned in because I got tired of watching the Astros throw away a "can't lose" lead and extending the post season by at least two games. Fox might be happy, but I was hoping for a quick series to possibly get The Simpsons' latest "Treehouse of Horror" on Halloween, asopposed to nearly a week later - a pipe dream, to be sure, but a fanboy can wish.

Anyhow, onto what bothered me. It's not a bad show. It's not a great show, but very little is these days. It was at least funnier than the Astros/Cardinals game, at least. And anything Jason really likes can't truly be bad. The guy who grows up to be Bob Saget is totally too dark and ethnic to ever be the dad from Full House. The guy who plays his brother totally doesn't look like his brother, or a Saget for that matter, either. Alyson Hannigan (known to us geeky folk as the actress formerly known as Willow) is funny, generally, but her funniest moments are gutted by the laugh track. The other girl I don't recognize or really remember. It is FB's beloved Neil Patrick Harris' whose character is most bothersome to me, however.

No, it isn't that Mr. Patrick-Harris (tee hee!) isn't funny, because he actually is (though the would-be ladies man dork angle is a bit forced, for many reasons). It isn't that he's Doogie Howser, M.D. and that I had a crush on him back when he was a doctor and Vinnie used to climb in his window and walk in on his showers. (Did anyone else find that odd?!?!) It isn't even his incessant mention of his character's blog. That's kind a funny time capsule for when blogging becomes the CB radio of it's day - hopefully we'll get our own "Convoy" style them song soon. No, all of the aforementioned I am fairly indifferent to.

What bothers me, then? Clowns, heights (glass elevators, in particular), the Bee Gees...oh, wait....

Back on topic: The character "Barney" actually has a blog to accompany this running joke. Yes, in a brilliant tie-in CBS is actually paying blackmailing an intern to come up with this. Maybe it bothers me because nobody is paying me or the brilliant folks on my blogroll for our pithy thoughts. We offer those for free and we don't have a laugh track, unless you count the comments section. Maybe it bothers me because it could be NPH, pounding away at that keyboard, in between takes on the set. And maybe that bothers me because it reminds me of that journal the young Dr. Howser used to teach us the lesson of the episode with. I used to love waiting for that blinking cursor with the blue backdrop. That and the theme song. And also, I always thought I was taller than Vinny. I like it when I'm taller than anyone.

Heh. Maybe it is all about when he was Doogie and that damn crush. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go climb in my own bedroom window, just for old times' sake.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the How I Met Your Blog Committee.

To my sister,

This year on my birthday, you gave me one of the sweetest gifts I could have asked for. This won't measure up to half of that and it isn't all I'm getting you and it's only a fraction of what you deserve, but for yours I couldn't think of not returning the favor, even though it's not until tomorrow. Here goes:

Dear Jessie - hear the laughter, running through the love parade...
Until 21 years ago I was literally an only child. I spent the first 7 years of my life not sharing, getting all the toys I asked for, and generally being a brat. In the 21 years that have followed, little has changed. I'm still a brat. And I haven't been much of a big brother, preferring to let that pesky age difference be my excuse. In the last few years, piece by piece, we've gotten to know each other. I've been richer each time for the experience and am jealous of those who have gotten even more.

May the angels protect you and sadness forget you...
I remember the night you were born clearly. There was a commotion which distracted me from my TV watching - so it must have been a big deal. "The baby is ready to be born" were the simple words I heard. I still remember getting dropped in that empty waiting room, where the nurses were sweet and brought me juice and crayons to keep me busy. I don't remember seeing you that night. But I knew life had changed.

Learn to forgive me...
There's a laundry list of things I fell short on, but what comes to mind is this:
I tortured your toys a lot.
I rolled my eyes when you would talk incessantly on long car rides.
I yelled at you for doing stupid little kid stuff when I was babysitting.
I gave you crappy birthday presents.
I used to tell you various stories of your supposed adoption.
I could have been a lot more supportive than I was at times when you needed me.

I'm in love with you, you silly thing...
Despite this, you apparently still love me. A lesson not lost on me. No matter how many CDs of mine you've lost or how far away you live or how long it takes for phone tag to pay off, I love you too. It's a trip that you can drink now. It's a trip that you came out, too. It's a trip I hope isn't going to end ever.

Oh - check your mailbox exactly one month into your twenty first year. I promise - I give better gifts these days. (That's still not all I'm going to get you, either, by the way.)

Never forget who you are, Little Star...

Love,
Your big brother.

This post was sponsored by the Turn The Key Committee.

Tonight's events...

5:19p: I arrive home from work : a Fed Ex sticker is on my door. It says the nice people next door signed for it.

5:25p: I go next door and knock, only to find an empty apartment.

6:01p: After a light dinner, I try again. Do these people work or something?!?! Nice people, my ass.

6:30p: As I leave for the gym, I give it the ol' college dropout try. Bitches still ain't home. I'll show them when I'm all pumped and Test-oste-roni tonight...

9:04p: I arrive home to find that my truly nice roommate has managed to wrestle my package from our supposedly nice but actually greedy neighbors. I tear open the packaging to find my childhood in a shiny box. A console recreating the old Atari system, complete with 40 games installed.

When I was 5 or 6, my parents bought me an Atari console and a buttload of games, my favorite the lot being Pac-Man, Ms. Pac-Man & Pitfall. In the pre-Nintendo world, this made me the coolest kid on the block. The other kids in my nieghborhood would bring over soda and food just to be allowed to play Pong or watch what happened when you did nothing with Pitfall while the guy was still swinging over the alligator. (For those of you who are wondering: the screen would change colors and the game would freeze. It was like a screensaver before there was such a thing.)

In a cruel twist of fate, my parent's convinced me some years later that I was too much of a "big boy" for a lot of my toys. This included the He-Man toys which could have financed my early retirement and, yes, the Atari system, as well. In truth, I hadn't played with it in years. But after the money I made off of that garage sale (and to an 11 year old, it was a lot of money) was gone, I regretted not having those things. In the years that have passed, I've regretted it even more. Not just because I could have made even more money, but because they were a piece of my childhood. That shiny box brought a me a small piece. I will probably stay up late playing with it just to see what I remember. Mr. & Ms. Pac-Man are absent, but Pitfall isn't I wonder if the screensaver effect still works...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Save Your Childs Toys, Dammmit! Committee

A Part of Your Complete Breakfast...

Yesterday was National Coming Out Day. I'm detailed coming out several times on this blog and will continue to. But yesterday, without meaning to, I did it once more (Just to be upfront, I've referenced in this comments section of an affiliate blog today). A co-worker from a different department bumped into me in the elevator and asked me how my day was. I responded, assuming this guy knew, "Well, you know, sometimes it's tough being the only boy in my department. The menopause talk can be a bit much. If I weren't already gay, that would have turned me." His jaw dropped and he never responded, as the doors opened and we went our separate ways. I've seen several times since and it's been in no way strained, but that I was "coming out" as opposed to just making funny talk was as much a surprise to him as it was to me. That was my bit for National Coming Out. Talk about visibility!

Even funnier is that apparently my grocery store knows:

It was even in the right size - a pint, cause it always goes bad if I buy more. I looked - there are no other HomoSpecific items on the shelves. Sure, there's stuff no self respecting homo could be without, but wouldn't it be awesome if there were a Gay Foods section in the "Ethnic" foods aisle? Just imagine - bright colors, fabulous looking displays and tons of stuff you don't need but will look cute in your cupboard!

At least that's how I picture it. In reality, it would probably just be a whole row of Tylenol PM and jelly beans.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Being Gay - Excellent Source Of Calcium Committee.

I took yesterday off from blogging because, in banking, Columbus still discovered America and we take the day off to observe Ferdinand and Isabella's triumph. Also, the Federal Reserve is closed and your local branches and back office employees are pretty useless on days like that.

Second, is anyone from Florida trying to reach me? I've been noticing a lot of missed calls from the 954 area code. I'm not picking up, though, cause it might be Jeb Bush. I owe him money, I think.

After work on Friday, I did one of my favorite things: ride the subway (I rode that very train to the left). I took the train down to Union Station and shared some 60-cent lemonade and great conversation at Phillipe's. This, of course, was after my scare when the train stopped in the middle of a tunnel for 5 minutes with no announcements. Seeing as New York had just been put on high alert, it was a little queasifying. But we kept moving and I lived to tell the tale over the best french dips ever.

Saturday was as lazy as days get, spent mostly watching old game shows like The $100,000 Pyramid. I never realized how suggestive that show was with Dick (!) Clark constantly asking, "Now who's giving and who's receiving?" (Personally, I think the concepts of "top" and "bottom" as exclusive labels are antiquated, but who am I to argue with dick, er Dick?). Sunday was even lazier than Saturday - I never even left my apartment, despite best-laid plans to hit the gym for an extra visit.

Yesterday, FB & I hit the thrift store circuit in search of the necessary materials for my homemade Halloween costume. As is the way with thrift shopping, more was found that didn't related to the main search, but a good time was had nonetheless. FB found two kick ass paint-by-numbers masterpieces and I got a few choice pieces for my fall wardrobe, as well as a couple of trinkets I totally didn't need. And no - I'm not telling you who I'm gonna be for All Hallow's Eve. That's a surprise for a forthcoming photoblog.

In perhaps the most important news of the day, people at work keep commenting how much weight I look like I've lost. I started working out 10 months ago and acheived the weight I'm at about 6 months ago. Other than normal fluctuations and one week where I gained ten pounds because I went on a junk food bender and skipped the gym, I haven't changed. I guess I'm just carrying it differently. Anyhow, the weirdest compliments arise out of these situations. When people ask how much weight I've lost, I tell them and a lot of folks say, "Really? It looks like more?" I'm not offended - it's just funny how I can be buggered over not losing that final ten pounds when apparently I look like I've already lost it.

Finally, I think I should just start selling Dukes of Hazzard and Magnum, p.i. costumes. Almost as many visitors are showing up here for those as are looking for porn. Come to think of it, maybe I should start selling that, as well. If only I could combine the two...

See you later, kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Tuesday Is The New Monday Committee.

Search Of The Week!

The way folks find this little corner of the internet continues to be a major fascination of mine:

Folks have been searching for Dukes Of Hazzard costumes and winding up here. Unless they're really into Magnum p.i., they probably ended up disappointed. I'll rectify that shortly by posting evidence of their existence soon.

Some one looking for super hot girls was really disappointed, no doubt. (How were we the number one hit?!?!)

This one, however, is without doubt the winner...

Have a good weekend, kids! I'm off Monday so I probably won't post 'til Tuesday. See you then!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Random Strings Committee.

But do they get TiVo?

It's no secret to readers of this blog that, despite being a native of Los Angeles, I take mass transit regularly. It's a little freakish, I know, but it provides for amazing slice of life moments - some magical, some just interesting. That's a win/win situation when it comes to this blog, folks. Tonight was no exception.

Until now the most remarkable thing about the MTA buses were the fact that on some of them, the bus automatically names the next stop. This frees the drivers up to berate wheelchair-bound riders for not waiting at the right spot and such. But tonight I discovered that there's an even fancier type of bus. These have a TV setup at the front that dispenses with all sorts of information. I'd hesitate to call it news - at the left is a report about Lindsey Lohan's car crash and I saw a blurb about the Dandy Warhols being annoyed with media attention (really? I thought they'd be happy to let us all know they're still around!).

When did the bus become such a strenuous ride that we need TV to keep us busy? I'm not sure - I regard it as interesting escape from "real" life, but I guess others feel differently. Then again, I ride it usually for two, three miles tops. There are others who use this to get cross-city daily. I only do that for special occasions. And I usually take the subway for as much of it as I can. So I guess for some folks, this is a great thing.

For me, it was an annoyance: I was so transfixed by it that I missed my stop!

There's a reason they call it the boob tube, I guess.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the I Want My MTA TV Committee.

Please, don't keep your visions to yourself.

It's gonna be short and sweet tonight, kids. I'm running low on ideas and I spent all of today at work thinking it was Thursday. I was soo looking forward to Friday and a three day weekend. Tomorrow's gonna be rough.

it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams...
Currently stuck in my musical rotation: "Dreams" by Deep Dish featuring Stevie Nicks. How did they convince her to try hitting those high notes again - studio gimmickry, black magic, hot tea with lemon, a lifetime supply of Nag Champa? I have my ideas, but it's sublime to hear her to do it again through that cocaine & cigarettes, world weary rasp set to a booty shakin' beat.* I have been on a non-stop Fleetwood Mac/Nicks Fix for weeks. And it seems to have rubbed off on - thanks for the Blove, Matty! Stevie helps set a theme for this otherwise scattered little post.

why don't you take me home?
The Great Indoors is politely ignoring Halloween and Thanksgiving. Christmas decorations, ornaments, lights, the whole deal. It was closed when I walked by, so I will have to brave it on an empty stomach.

it's like bombay sapphires, hey i can take you higher...
My craigslist Missed Connection posting is up. This should be interesting. Or totally ignored. Either way, it's funny to me. The bottle disappeared today, FYI. I'll check back tomorrow and see if a new one shows up. I have no doubt anyone who claims it will be lying, but that's half the fun. I'll keep the updates on that coming if there are any. (Don't worry, Chip, I won't respond to them. I'll just post them here for all to see.)

my first mistake was to smile at you
This pic was taken this past weekend by everyone's favorite fella, FB. In a rare instance, I'm giving a genuine smile to the camera, as opposed to doing that model pout I love so much.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Just Taking Up Timespace Committee.

*Yes, I have been dancing around my room tonight. No, there will be no evidence presented. I've gotta save something for myself. Besides, you'd stop reading this blog (and tell your friends to as well) if you ever saw me dance.

TomKat is procreating. Start the baby guessing name now. Kal-El's taken, I hear.

US Weekly is claiming Nick & Jessica have gone kaput. Their reps deny it. So of course it will be confirmed as true next month.

I will be posting for real again tonight after Lost. A boy has to have his priorities straight, right?

-J.

All I found was...

I saw this and had to share. The picture doesn't convey the whole story, so I'll elaborate. This spot of dirt and crabgrass is about five feet from a bus stop bench right near the local airport and a train depot. I pass this spot every day on my way to work. But this is the first time I've ever happened upon a plastic bottle of Potter's Vodka.

A random moment brings up random thoughts. Is a potter's life really that hard? I mean, from I saw in Ghost (and, to a lesser extent, that first Naked Gun movie), pottery is messy sometimes but it looks relaxing. Not exactly the kind of activity which would drive one to drink alone, out of a plastic bottle, at a bus stop.

Then it occurs to me that oddly shapped bottle is very similar to this product which my dad has always been fond of. If there's a connection, that would fill in a lot of missing spaces. Alas, no, that doesn't make any sense either. Being a corn husker wouldn't necessitate vodka - you could always just use the corn as a base.

So...Harry Potter maybe? Is this part of J.K. Rowling's evil plan to ply our youth with witchcraft and alcohol? If so, she needs to do something better with the packaging. A Hogwart's label couldn't hurt. And I haven't seen any commercials with Maggie Smith singing the praises of this product. That's a missed opportunity if there ever was one. ("Magic vodka? I'll drink to that!")

I never did find out the origin, obviously, and probably never will. But I'll be curious to see if the bottle is still there tomorrow. Also, I am probably going to post a Craigslist "Missed Connection" to see if anyone claims it. Stay tuned - I will update as more info comes. VodkaWatch '05 has begun in earnest....

-J.

This post was sponsored by the I Am Not Drunk...Honest Committee.

Bonus!

As promised, here is the photographic evidence of a Knight Rider costume for adults, found at your friendly neighborhood Target. FYI, Devo & Ghostbusters are actually only $29.99 apiece, while the TV brigade (Bo & Luke Duke, Magnum, and Michael Knight) run you $39.99 each. An A-Team costume is sorely missed, if you ask me.

And I think they need a sitcom set next. While everyone else is dressed up as Desperate Housewives, wouldn't it be great if you and your friends could be The Golden Girls or the gals of The Facts of Life?!?!

-J.

This weekend, our old friend FB and I went out searching for, among other things, Halloween costume ideas. We didn't find many that sparked out interest, but we did see some interesting stuff along the way.

Target has hopped on the Christmas bandwagon that Lowe's jumped the gun on recently. Trouble is, Target still has weeks of Halloween to sell to our candy-grubbing asses. This created the hilarious juxtaposition to our left. In case you can't read it, behind the light up lawn angel, it says "Prepare To Scare." If that's not a heads-up about the coming Apocalypse, I don't know what is.

In any event, I'm ashamed to admit that I succumbed and perused the lights just to make sure if I need more blue icicle lights for the staircase, Target will come through. I also found some rather cynical Christmas cards. Last year I went very non-denominational and pretty. This year I ain't feelin' it, so I'll go irreverent. But that holiday is not the one at hand. On to those interesting finds...


The 80s retro thing has hit the costumes. If you have $40 you've nothing better to use and you're in the market for a Ghostbusters jumpsuit or wanna go old school Dukes Of Hazzard (old school Luke & Bo available - no Uncle Jesse, Daisy and General Lee not included, natch), Target is the place for you. Even better, if you and three close friends want to be the funniest geeks on your block, suit up and play Devo:

That's a wig, red hat, and radiation suit, for those of you keeping count. It was the best value, but not the coolest costume available. That award goes to our final entry...




That's right, folks - if you're old enough to remember Magnum, p.i. but too lazy to get the Hawaiian shirt and fake mustache seperately, fear not. Again, for a mere $40 American dollars, the shirt, a wig, a lei, and mustache are all yours. Bring your own NRA card and get a friend to dress up as Angela Lansbury for that Murder She Wrote crossover.

Personally, I think I'm going with a homespun super hero outfit (I know - shocking, right?). More details on that to follow. And of course, pictures will be included when that decision is made and carried out. (All of today's pics are courtesy of my new cell phone with digital cam capability. That's right, welcome me to the late 20th century.)

So there's my lazy photoblog to kick off the week. Happy Monday, kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Scary Christmas! Committee.