Post-Hallowe’en shopping day

I made a quick run to St Cloud today, to visit Spirit Halloween after Hallowe’en, when they are busy dumping everything left over at half price. Get out there quick! Like any mysterious fantasy shop, it’s going to vanish, leaving only a dusty empty space off an abandoned alleyway — our local stores disappear on November 3rd. I stocked up on weird fake spider crap for next year’s celebration.

More importantly, my wife sent me on a mission to get a new vacuum cleaner, because our old one is busted.

It’s Tim Curry time!

It’s Hallowe’en. It’s a dark and rainy night. I’m home all alone. The trick-or-treaters have been sparse — I’ve only had twenty kids all night, so I’m handing out great fistfuls of candy to each. You know what that means…

It’s time for Rocky Horror!

I’ve turned the sound way up and am soaking up the vibes. I’d put on fishnet stockings if I had any.

This movie is right there in my happy place. I’ve been watching it yearly since about 1976.

Uh-oh. The elevator scene just started. Bye.

Tasteless suits made to fit

Just in case you wanted to wear an ugly costume every day, here’s a bluesky thread about where Jordan Peterson gets his suits.

I wouldn’t mind getting a free suit, but I’d turn down those ugly-ass freak suits. They’re made by a guy who doesn’t know much about tailoring — he just takes your measurements and outsources everything to machines in India, after adding his weird tastes to the mix.

I do wonder what kind of suit Mr Peterson has picked out to be buried in, once his fevered brain disintegrates.

Using identity to sell beer?

A beer ad caught my attention this morning, and I watched the whole thing. That’s good advertising! Except for the fact that it didn’t motivate me to buy any beer at all. It’s titled “The Most Washington Man in the World,” and some of it was true.

I remember refusing to own or use an umbrella, but it was more because I was going to get wet no matter what…but later I learned it was probably more because Washington rain was a continuous gentle drizzle. Midwestern rain is about getting pelted with fierce wind-blown drops, and you need shelter. Worse, I experienced southern rainstorms along the gulf coast, and no way can you ignore that and amble along.

The stuff about beer in the ad is nonsense. When I was growing up, the only debate was between two mass produced cheap beers, Rainier and Oly, and I didn’t care much about either. I was drinking coffee from an early age, though, and yeah, we grew up with Sasquatch lore and would look for him in the woods. Never found him. Also, I-5 is a hellish choke point.

Otherwise, though, the scenes of misty fog and big trees on steep hillsides and seastacks off the coast did make me a little bit homesick.

It’s an odd phenomenon. I lived near Seattle from birth to age 22. I’m 68 now, which means I spent 46 years living in Oregon, the Midwest, Utah, and Pennsylvania, and none of those places made the impression on my identity and self that the Pacific Northwest did. I suspect that if we asked my kids, my oldest might have a strong connection to Philadelphia, but the other two are Minnesota kids. There is such a thing as a sense of place that get fixed in our brains at an early age.

I waited too long to prepare for winter

I am resting at home, weak and weary, my knees knackered, because I have been on a quest that sent me staggering all over town. A quest that has ended in failure.

Where it began was the weather, freezing cold, bitter and blustery, conjoined with the fact that my wife labors every night until almost the midnight hour, when she comes home, tired and cold, to fall into bed seeking warmth and rest. I, on the other hand, am already in bed at that hour, and I am well insulated and tending to run hot; I’ve nestled down in snug pocket of sheets, blanket, and quilt, a cozy burrow of comfortable warmth, sleeping contentedly. My wife naturally reaches over to my side of the bed with feet like blocks of ice and fingers like icicles. This is a shocking trauma every night.

I decided to implement an easy, inexpensive solution: a pair of hot water bottles, low-tech and simple. The idea being that they would warm her side of the bed before she got in, she would clutch one to her chilly breast, and rest her frosty toes on the other, sparing me the frosty nightly surprise. Surely, this would be an easy quest!

First I visited the pharmacy on the far side of town. They were pleasant and helpful, and not so helpfully pointed out the shelf where these items were normally available. It is the onset of winter in Minnesota, unsurprisingly, the shelf was empty.

I crossed the street to Dollar Tree, it’s aisles cluttered with boxes and its staff hard at work taking down the Halloween supplies and putting up Christmas decorations. “Already?” I thought, but asked a clerk anyway. They had no idea if they ever had such things.

Disappointed, I trudged up the street to Homestead, a Walmart wanna-be run by a local fundamentalist church. I was reluctant, because I have been in this store before, and it hurts my brain…but at least they weren’t taking down the Halloween displays, because they never put them up in the first place, and their Christmas displays were just the Jesus merchandise they always have on show. They have a housewares section and a pharmacy, so maybe they would serve my needs, even as the constant tinkly worship music battered at my ears, frustrated at my lack of soul. I wandered about, before asking clerk if they had water bottles. “NO!” she exclaimed with outraged confidence, as if she feared I had sinful plans with such a diabolical device.

My last hope was the Ace Hardware store in town, which has an eclectic collection of miscellaneous household gear, but alas, no hot water bottles.

So I have come home, a frustrated failure, and turned to Amazon to order from the wicked Bezos.

They will not arrive until Friday.

I dread tonight, when in the darkness I hear the door open at midnight, and I will lie trembling in bed for the ice queen to slip between the sheets and reach over with Arctic claws to rip down my spine.