Lock this ... Okay, so I don’t pick winners very often.
Okay, ever. Then again, if you take my lock of the week (Cheeseheads over the Bengalis) and go the other way ... well, you’re in the green.
Mean Green ... Speaking of Green ... The Moonachie Y-E-T-S, Yets, Yets, Yets sure gave it to Brady’s bunch of Cheaterfaces. You gotta love it. Those bums should be 0-2 right now ... and the Yets are looking good.
How about those Bills ... my beloved New York State Buffalo Bills DESTROYED (okay, so it wasn’t that big a win) The Buc Stops In Tampa.
And how ‘bout those Jills! They ain’t so bad either.
Dreams of Joe Scarborough ... Oy-vey, amici, the world is upside down. The other day I woke up after my usual anxiety dream about alligators and Rigolleto. I’m on a couch surrounded by the dinosaurs and I'm trying to grab Rigolleto. He's jumping from one alligator to another while they snap at him. I tell the boss I had my nightmare again and here’s what she comes up with (all smiles while she’s telling me):
“Oh, I had a dream about Joe Scarborough. He came to the door all soaking wet from the rain and he made a pass at me.”
“Joe Scarborough, huh?” I said.
“Yes, isn’t it weird? I told him to give me his clothes, that I would put them in the dryer for him and he made a pass at me.”
“Gee, I wonder why?” I said (sarcasm intended) “Did he make this pass in the raw?”
“No, I gave him one of your robes. I told him, ‘No, Joe, I’m married.’”
“First you let him strip and then you tell him you’re married?”
“I was just being nice.”
“That’s one way to put it. And then?”
“He went to kiss me and I told him I was married.” Here she stopped to laugh (at me, I assume). “And I told him my husband watches you in the morning.”
“Apparently not enough,” I said.
Mini Reviews ...
The Heart of the Matter ... the Graham Greene classis is always worth another read and that’s what I did this past week. Scobie is torn between loves, two women and his God. He sees himself as the cause of pain for those he loves most and cannot escape his fate. I first read this back in a Dave Gresham class and I’m sure I didn’t get 90% of it. I read it a second time maybe a dozen years ago and thought it was powerful. Last week it was even more so.
Swan Boats at Four ... A George V. Higgins novel that took me 4 tries over a dozen years to finally finish. I’m a Higgins devotee but there are some books the master of dialogue wrote that just didn’t work for me. This is one of them. Way too much dead dialogue in a setup I just didn’t buy. There were times I reread paragraphs four times before I knew WTF was going on. Higgins dealt with the world of small bankers vs. federal regulators in this one (how ironic is this; they were actually doing too much of their jobs in the novel) and a husband-wife relationship that although is believable at first, winds up falling short at the end. It wasn’t so much I didn’t believe the wife fell for the scam as I didn’t see her putting up with her husband. The title relates to a picture that is part and parcel of the scam story that nearly drove me to toss this one aside one more time. Skip it.
Mad Men ... I didn’t get to see the episode last night yet but so far this season has been a bummer for moi ... I want more of Draper’s war past revealed. I want more of each characters background revealed but most of all I want Joan Holloway ... Oh, baby, do I want Joan Holloway. After the Principessa’s Joe Scarborough dream, I think I’m more than entitled.
Actually, the Principessa did give me dispensation for Ms. Holloway should that fantasy ever make it beyond an Ambien/tequila cocktail.
The caption says: A Wife, because beer is heavy ...
And the DOC says ...
I told you, Chaz,
You don't go against my Bengals. Amazing as it may seem, an armed quarterback just doesn't get sacked that often.
Now, this whole Joe Scarborough thing is very disturbing. I listen to Joe in the morning. He seems like a nice fellow. A little liberal compared to me, but basically a good "Joe". Luckily for you, I took a course on the psychology of dreams in 1971. Unfortunately, I have a distinct fuzziness in my consciousness from 1970 through 1976, but I am reasonably sure that I had an exceptionally good time. Let's face it, it didn't get any better than being 18 in 1969.
But I digress. Essentially, the Principessa wants to get it on with a sanctimonious, opinionated, fat guy. Hokey smokes, Bullwinkle, that's you Chaz. Problem solved!
I'm also attaching a picture for you to ponder whenever you doubt the stark reality of the sacred sacrament of matrimony.