THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

It's Friiiiiiiii-daaaaaay!!!

The day of the week when we all get to chuckle, giggle, snigger, smirk, guffaw and laugh a little or a lot.

So let's get started right now.

And that's it for this week.

Now whether you prefer the Astros or the Nationals, Fox or CNN, Vegan or Carnivore . . . try to have yourselves a wickedly wonderful weekend.

Halloween is next Thursday so try hard not to eat all the candy before the trick-or-treaters begin ringing your doorbells.

And always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

THROW-BACK THURSDAY -- RACING

Let me begin by showing you the latest manifestation of our local horse racing venue.

It is a somewhat grand structure that has gone through many owners, opened to great acclaim, for several years hosted the County Fair stolen away from nearby Prescott, closed, sat idle and now, under yet another new owner, is said to be back in business.

But regardless of that not-so-vaunted history, it reminds me of a time many decades ago with Baseball Steve (before he'd found his love for baseball) and our respective wives.

We had been to one of those extravagant Sunday brunches and decided to introduce Steve to the Gentle Art of Horse Racing.

Enroute we stopped off at his house to pick up a bottle of what he passed off as champagne.

(He was still drinking in those days.)

Me, snarkily: "Is this real French champagne, Steve?"

Steve:  "If it isn't I blew three dollars a bottle."

This merry band of rollickers then journeyed to a track in North Phoenix with the name emblazoned on the building: Turf Paradise.

(Its somewhat seedy interior belied the sobriquet.)

And we played the ponies with our extravagant 2 dollar bets for the afternoon, sometimes winning, more often losing.

Finally it came down to the last race and while studying the racing program Steve saw the name of one of the steeds: Water Brownie.

He decided to place his final bet on this horse in spite of the fact that it was the longest of longshots.

We tried to talk him out of it but his determination was strong.

And whaddaya know - the valiant Water Brownie won that race!

As my hazy memory recalls, Steve collected about 75 dollars for his 2 dollar bet.

The story comes up from time to time and the legendary name Water Brownie lives on.

(Ah, yes, I remember the day . . . .)

STRESS DREAMS

Listen up, class, today we're going to talk about stress.

Specifically the stress you feel in your dreams.

I worked for a number of years as a television news producer.

Which meant that I had to plan and organize newscasts on a daily basis.

That involved writing, editing others' writing, picking visual elements and getting it all together in a timed package that fit into a certain number of minutes.

I left t.v. news way back in 1985.

But I occasionally still have what my wife and I jokingly call "The Producer Dream".

It's nearly always the same.

The clock has ticked down to the time for the newscast to begin and for a variety of reasons I have absolutely nothing prepared.

Sometimes I rush into the studio with a handful of "wire copy" (pages ripped from an A.P. or U.P.I. machine - though I doubt they even exist in this digital age).

There is no video, no photos, no stories from any of my reporters.

And I am in a total panic.

Then I wake up and realize it was only a dream.

I don't know why I have these dreams more than 30 years after I left that profession behind.

But yesterday I was reading an essay by the best selling and honored Japanese writer Haruki Murakami.

He related his history with his father, who was a very intelligent and disciplined man, graduating from university with honors and becoming a teacher.

Murakami said when he was young he was not interested in school and learning and his father became more and more upset by this to the extent that they did not see each other for more than 20 years.

And then I read this passage which leaped off the page at me:

I still have nightmares in which I have to take a test and can't answer a single question. Time ticks away as I do nothing, though I'm well aware that failing the test will have major consequences -- that sort of dream.  I usually wake up in a cold sweat.

Judy had read this article before I did and when I asked her about it we both laughed as she exclaimed: "The Producer Dream!"

We have talked with other people over the years and found that seemingly everyone has their own particular stress dream.

I'm just glad it's not only me.

AUTUMN COLOR

It is Autumn.

Or some would say Fall.

Both words for this season of the year come from England centuries ago, before the second coming of colonists to North America.

I'm counting the so-called Native Americans as the continent's first colonists.

The term "Fall" is generally believed to come from the concept of the leaves falling from the trees.

But even before Autumn and Fall there was a name for this time of the year.

Can you guess it?

It was called "Harvest", for obvious reasons.

All of this amounts to me showing you some photos I took last week high up on Mingus Mountain, just a handful of miles from my home.

How did I reach this wild and rugged land?

I thought you'd never ask.

Via the winding road you can see in the distance.

It's a lovely drive in any season of the year.

Well, maybe not winter when there can be snow on the road.

SHRIEKS AND EATS

The Prescott Valley Fall Carnival took place this weekend.

I visited the site on Friday, before it began, to take some pictures.

When I was a much younger fellow I used to go to carnivals and fairs and ride all the rides.

No fear had I.

Except on one.

The Ferris Wheel!

When I'd be up at the top and the operator would stop it to let someone else on or off and my seat would rock gently back and forth, panic would set in and all I wanted to do was to get down and get off.

Probably just as well that I hadn't eaten one of those funnel cakes before I got on.

CHANGES

The part of Cottonwood, Arizona known as Old Town Cottonwood could probably better be known as New Cottonwood these days.

When we lived in a tiny apartment just a short distance out of town, it was a decaying old area full of empty buildings with a few arty types and some locals who had grown up in the area.

Now?

It's been gentrified.

I drove the 50 miles over the mountains, through a tourist-clogged Jerome, and visited it the other day.

These pictures show just a tiny part of the former village.

That big art store used to house the smaller place on the right, selling military supplies.

A building that housed a small cafe where we used to have breakfast is gone, replaced by a huge boutique hotel.

The old movie theatre is now a trendy restaurant.

There are restaurants and bars and outlets for tasting and buying products of the nearby burgeoning Verde Valley wineries.

There are art galleries and a bookstore and stores selling tourist kitsch and others selling antiques.

And what could better display the gentrification than this:

I also visited a state park that used to have some RV'ers living in it and a small stream that hosted bird watching events.

Now, it's a humongous area that stretches for miles and houses not only several RV areas but also some cabins and a big well-tended lagoon for fishing, bird-watching and just idling.

There's also a business where you can rent a horse for rides through the park.

I was amazed by the size of it and how it has grown so rapidly until I searched my memory for when we lived in the area.

I startled myself when I realized we had moved away 24 years ago!

I guess nearly a quarter of a century can make some big changes.

MY BUDDY

Dogs and their owners are frequently seen at events around town.

But seldom like this.

That little fellow seemed quite safe, comfortable and accustomed to traveling in a sling.

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

I may not be the hilarious Randy Rainbow . . .

. . . but even I can find a lot to laugh at coming out of Washington lately.

But I shall not take cheap shots today.

For today it is time for The Friday Funnies!

So now you've had your morning chuckles AND learned how to keep those darned kids off your lawn.

With that bit of wit and whimsey, I wish you would waltz wackily along the walkway to a wonderful weekend.

And always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

THROWBACK THURSDAY - MIGRATION

On July 1st of 1972 Judy and I, her three offspring and two cats left Indianapolis, Indiana to move to Phoenix, Arizona.

I drove a Chevrolet van towing a 16-foot U-Haul trailer.

I was followed by son Scott and daughters Gayle and Caryn in Scott's converted 1950 Dodge school bus.

(Scott had painted all the interior metal surfaces black and white; had secured an old burgundy stage curtain discarded from some school which Judy made into coverings for his dining area benches and he'd also put some bright red flocked carpeting on the floor and up some walls.  I called it The Rolling Bordello.)

Our first stop, for a lunch break, was somewhere in Illinois.

We were younger and thinner and had more hair back then and it wasn't gray.

We camped out on that trek, Judy and I sleeping in a tent; the kids occupying the bus.

Everywhere we stopped, rain fell.

The locals told us it was the first rain in many a day, week or month, so we began calling ourselves The Rainmakers.

We spent the penultimate night in cool temperatures, camped under tall pine trees at 7,000 feet in Flagstaff, Arizona.

The trip nearly over we treated ourselves to a dinner out at a nearby steakhouse.

The next day we somehow lost each other for a worrisome hour.

The first misadventure of the trip.

However we reconnected and finally got to Phoenix.

It is July 7th.

We are exhausted and it's 103 degrees.

But just before sunset it began to rain and all the locals ran outside to stand elatedly in what they tell us is the first downpour in three months.

The Rainmakers have arrived.

SOCKS

Feeling a bit cocky now that she's finally finished her novel and is about to start on the publishing journey, SWMBO asked for permission to do a guest blog today.

So, without further ado, h-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-r-e-s Judy:

SOCKS

As the weather cools down and my sandals are less desirable I've started pulling socks out of the closet.

They are mostly black so they kind of all look alike --- except when they don't.

I'm trying to figure out what mental defective did the pairing of these various "pairs" last Spring when they were put away for cooler times.

It can't have been me.  I would have never paired a short one with a long one, a fat one with a thin one, etc.

But as I pull pair after pair out each morning I curse the idiot who made such a mess of things.

There are only two people in this house.

And my husband doesn't do socks!

(grrrrr)

Spotted on a car at the Watson Lake overlook:

COLUMBUS DAY

To mark not so much Christopher Columbus, who never got to America anyway, but all of the Italians who came later and made the country their home . . . may I present a special exhibit at Saturday's Corvette Show.

An Indy car with the smiling face of Mario Andretti superimposed on it.

50 years ago, in April, I came to Indianapolis to a new job in a radio station.

A month later, at the end of May, Mario won the Indianapolis 500 race.

It was the first and last victory for him, his two sons, a nephew and a grandson at the famous auto race.

73 starts in all and no Andretti has ever won the race since Mario's victory in 1969.

No matter.  Mario is still one of the most popular race car drivers of all time.