Friggin' Mets. How do you get a lead-off triple and not score a run? Now it's extra innings. And the Cubs just took the lead. I think I'm going to sleep. Baseball starts again in April.

Gosh, I guess I haven't watched a baseball game very closely in quite a while. The pace is painfully slow. Last I saw it was tied. I'm flipping channels.

Hey, how about that: all my bitching and complaining about not having any baseball to watch on TV and waddya know? ESPN is carrying tonight's Mets game.

So tonight I get a game to watch. Mets are already behind.

Figures.

Good news, Steve: you now have something in common with arch-feminist Naomi Wolf. Apparently, her mailman hates her too! (But clearly not as much as Wolf hates some of us!)

Lots of political mail arriving at Berea-Rose lately, which is fun to survey. Just about all of it from the Ohio Dems. Fascinating stuff. They must have a mole working in their offices because every giant postcard they send makes me more solidly against them. And when the last one arrived, I quickly read its large-print scream about energy policy and actually thought it was delivering a pro-drilling message.

"Ah," thought. "Finally some GOP mail."

But then I read closer and it said it wanted to achieve energy independence by taxing U.S. oil companies and not drilling. Which seemed counterintuitive, to say the least. I checked the fine print. Yep, another Dem mailer.

I have also been tracking, from afar, the slow-motion implosion of my beloved N.Y. Mets. I haven't seen a game on TV since I was at Guido's a couple of weeks ago; it is now looking quite possible that I shan't see another Met game until next season. And hell, even if they do get into the playoffs, I will likely only be able to watch the first few innings of the games -- staying up past midnight just ain't working anymore.

Oh well, I suppose it's time to focus on football anyway. Around here, people are insane with the sport. Which I suppose makes sense since the Browns appear to be awful enough to drive any fan crazy. I haven't watched any games myself so far this season, which leaves me with very little to talk about when the locals gather to talk about what's on their minds.

Margo and Jenia steamed up to Jacksonville last night to entertain Alane, stuck as she is at work-related meetings. I understand everyone in Jacksonville is named "Jackson." I dared Elna to turn from the phone and call out "Hey, Jackson!" to people walking by to see how many turned to answer. She seemed to think I was joking.

Finally, some love for the Yugo. I used to drive that car into NYC and it bitch-slapped the cabbies jockeying for position heading up 1st Avenue and fit into damn-near any parking space.

Ahoy, mateys. Tis Talk Like A Pirate Day today. Aaaaarrrr!

Oh, and here's a shot of Da Chimpz hanging with their gal-pals from around the block. Yes, it had been raining that day, Saturday, but we were all out for the big clambake. A great time was had by all.

Next time, I'll try to pose them a little better. Yeah, good luck trying to get them to stand still.

Expand the shot to see the clamshell Mojo was carrying around half the night.

Weather is in the 40s this morning here at Berea-Rose -- yeah, the summer's over.

And we did get Iked on Sunday, with some serious winds blowing through the area, messing up the trees and bringing down some power lines. Our own power only flickered a bit, but the school has had only partial power all week. Meaning, Da Chimpz have been home with me for the last couple of days. But today they go back.

Last week I was in NYC. As I headed out for my trip, Cookie told me I should bring him photos of Times Square. Not sure what gave him the sudden interest in that particular streetcorner, but I brought my camera and got a nice shot of a woman picking her nose as she crossed 7th Ave.

An action shot!

Right after snapping that pic I ducked into the nearby Teriyaki Boy and got myself lunch: a nice spread of sushi. It was delicious. But afterwards I didn't feel so good.

No rike feesh.

But Guido and I did kill a small bottle of saki one night last week -- it's good to see the guy drinking saki again. For years the mere mention of the stuff would make his skin crawl.

BTW, I loved Bazzukajoe's pictures. I want him to post more.

mmmmmm pot pie. Now could that be a moose pot pie ....if alane were the moose hunting sort? We may never know. thanks john. I like pot pie. How can you not like a meat cake.

I have neglected you oh blog. For this i apologize. C.J. is now 24lbs and ellexa is 32lbs. He is like a meatball.They say he looks like me. You be the judge. He very funny but he is still too small to play. Ellexa is not. She is quite observant and has a big personality for such little person. She went on the potty yesterday. That was amazing. Our last try at that took me 2 hours to clean. She is also taking dance lessons in school and has no fear of animals. She lifted the baby pig out of the pen
as it squeeled up a storm at the petting zoo. The funny thing is that she knows what is funny and how to tease already. She does it to my dad all the time. And this sunday i went by spumoni to return ree's hotwheels and it was quite early, 7am. I was sneaking in and out and leaving when ellexa said can i go get a toy in my room. I thought....wow great, self entertaining. She was in the room 3 seconds and grabbed her recorder, she proceeds to blow into it like she was blowing out candles. The sound was piercing. I turned and ran towards her saying stop that as she blew harder and faster while hiding it under her arm. She woke everyone. And she smiled as she did it.










Here is a short video of Christian saying his first words.

Okay, so the Mets were rained out yesterday... That doesn't mean they were going to be on TV if they had played!

Alane made chicken pot pie last night. Yum.

Why is Major League Baseball run by a bunch of asshats? It's almost as if they want people like me to lose interest in baseball -- why such crummy games on Saturday afternoon. Oops, I mean game, not games. The geniuses trying to monetize the sport have decided that the best way to please the fans is to restrict their access to games on Saturday afternoon to a single game. Alane thought this week's game would be the Mets, so I got all excited -- finished up the yardwork, parked myself on the couch, and turned on... the Dodgers. Or the Tigers. I don't know what the hell their showing but it wasn't the Mets so right now I'm watching Bobby Flay do a biscuits and jam throwdown.

Well, at least I know the Mets will be on tomorrow night. Unless the Amazin's make the playoffs that'll be about the last baseball I'll be watching this season, aside from the few innings of hapless Indians play that I watch here and there. Da Chimpz don't watch it either -- which is a shame, because they like to play the game. They'd learn more about it if they watched more on TV.

I don't think I even know the Mets' starting lineup anymore. What little I see is in the Post, which still gives Mets coverage short shrift, even now with the Yankees pretty much out of the race.

Earlier today I took down the gazebo-tent that has shaded the backyard for much of the now-departed summer. It was the structure's last hurrah -- a cheap POS that I squeezed two full seasons from. The canopy fabric tore as I pulled it off the frame, sealing its trash-bag fate.

Now I need the grass to regrow in the spots that had no sun for the last three months.

I asked Alane tonight why she doesn't hunt moose. She said it was my fault -- that I'd been holding her back by making her live so many years in a major metropolitan area.

I reminded her that she passes an Elk Lodge on her way to work each morning. Must be some game available there.

A few hours later the boys asked for ice cream. Cookie wanted vanilla; Mojo wanted the cookie-dough flavor. But the cookie-dough was almost out, so I had to give him one scoop of that and a scoop of the vanilla. When I handed it to him he told me he doesn't like vanilla.

"No problem," I said, lifting the scoop out of his bowl with my two fingers and popping the whole thing in my mouth. He was still unsatisfied.

"There's not enough," he said, handing the bowl back to me. "I don't want it."

"Wait a minute," I said, trying to talk through a mouthful of ice cream. "You mean to tell me..."

I almost couldn't say it because I was getting the brain freeze, but yes, he did mean to tell me: he'd rather have no ice cream at all than have half a bowl of the stuff.

"Fine," I said and proceeded to eat that portion as well (after my upper palate thawed). I'll pay for that later.

Just got done watching the big speech. I want moose stew.

Frylock will appreciate the search term that landed this reader in the Macaroni Dish.