Look! It's a werewolf cupcake! (And the one astride it is an owl.)


My neighbor, the architect of the brilliant Halloween cupcakes, was no doubt

Dammit. I just got up in the middle of writing that sentence, returned, and now I have no idea where I was going with it.

Anyway, she befriended me on Facebook yesterday, saw the blog, and then sent me the pic, justifiably proud of the accomplishment. I thought I'd round out my postings by putting it up, mindful that THE NEIGHBORS ARE WATCHING and I should be cool about what I put on the blog.

There are 5 Jims living in my cul-de-sac, (Okay, 4. I made one up.) so if I ever make a reference to a neighbor, he will be called "Jim". That way, if he doesn't like what's written about him, we can always claim it was one of the other Jims. If we are at a party with all 4 Jims in attendance, all denying what I wrote, I will blame the 5th Jim whom no one has ever met. The 5th Jim owns the house that is seemingly always empty. He lives in another state or country or on the road and has asked me to turn the lights on and off and mow the lawn every so often to throw off potential burglars. He sends me a check every month. I buy beer and iPhone apps with it. The 5th Jim is a helluva guy; smart, clever, impeccably dressed. He's a jet-setter. He has untold adventures. He will not be crossed. But he does not have a wife who bakes bitchin' cupcakes in the shape of werewolves, and because of this he is incomplete, insecure, jealous, and lost. I feel sorry for him, which is why he tells me he will never publish any of my work, even though he has untold millions in the bank and connections with every major publishing house in North America. He humors me.

Oh, hell, it's Hump Day, which never lives up to its name in the manner that you are thinking. I went to bed so tired last night, and I woke up this morning so sore, and I can't seem to explain myself since I did not work particularly hard yesterday. Nor can I complain about it, since my Mrs. Ditchman was up somewhere between 4 and 5, again. I have tons of stuff to do today, and I mean that literally, since I have to figure out what to do about these Hoover Dam-sized footings I have to dig, pour, and set at that house in Encinitas. Curses to the engineers! Curses to the inspectors! I long for just a small, simple cover to build and be done with, but, oh wait, I have one of those today, too.

I sat down this morning to give you a review of what I watched on tv last night, which was V. Here's my review: it was good. I don't feel like writing a review now because I just read the funniest review of a movie I've read in a long time. It's by Charlie Jane Anders and it covers Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen:

'Transformers: ROTF' is so long, you'll need to wear adult diapers to it. But the movie's pure celebration of the primal urge, and unfiltered living, will make you rejoice in your adult diapers. You'll relieve yourself in your seat with a savage joy, your barbaric yawp blending in with the crowd's screams of excitement... And yet — and here's the part where I really think ROTF approaches "art movie" status — the movie's id overload reaches such crazy levels that the fabric of reality itself starts to break down. Michael Bay has boasted about how every single shot in the movie has so much stuff going on in it, it would take your PC since the dawn of time to render one frame. After a few hours of this assault, you feel the chair melt and the floor of the movie theater becomes an angry mirror into your soul. Nothing is solid, nothing is real, everything Transforms...

Anyway, have a good day. You can do it. "Yes we can," as President Obama said, even though he couldn't yesterday in New Jersey. I guess some days... we can't.

~