LOOK OUT!

Hey! Where did that cantaloupe come from?

This past Sunday morning when I went to fetch the newspaper from the front porch I discovered something a bit out of the ordinary. There was a lone cantaloupe sitting on the top step of our porch. There was no note, no indication of where the fruit could have come from, whom it belonged to or how it got there. I felt as if someone had abandoned a baby in a basket on our doorstep. So quickly I scooped up the Sunday paper and cantaloupe and took them both into the house. As if I was afraid that anyone would see me taking in an orphaned melon.

I brought the cantaloupe into the kitchen with me and placed in gently on the counter. As I continued on with my morning I couldn’t help but wonder where it came from. Did someone we knew go to the Public Market and leave us a cantaloupe? The BF’s little brother T.J. spent the night at our place on Saturday. He had to get up early to go to work. Did he leave it for us? If so, why? And where did he get a cantaloupe? Did it roll here on it’s own? Was it a gift from the Gods? Or aliens? The neighbors? These are all things that ran through my head while I sipped my coffee, obsessively staring at the taunting fruit.

After a while the BF woke up and came downstairs into the kitchen. When he walked in, we kissed each other “Good Morning” and he completely missed the covert fruit sitting in the middle of the counter.

“Hey look,” I said sheepishly. “Someone left us a cantaloupe this morning.” The BF looked around, confused and finally noticed the melon sitting on the counter.

“Where did it come from?” He asked with his brow furled.

“I don’t know. I just found it on the porch this morning.”

We looked at each other perplexed. He was an intrigued as I was where this alien fruit came from. We began going down the list of people we knew would or could have possibly left us a cantaloupe on our front porch. Once we mauled it over for a while, I was still VERY curious where this “gift” cam from and also a bit concerned. The BF on the other hand did seem that worried about it; he grabbed a knife from the drawer. He was going to cut the cantaloupe up for breakfast but I quickly leaped out of my chair and positioned myself between he and the melon like it was a live grenade.

“What are you doing?” I exclaimed.

“I was going to cut the cantaloupe up and eat it for breakfast.”

“That might be a bad idea. We don’t know where this came from.”

“Hmm. Good point.” He said.

A little later in the day I began calling various friends and family whom I suspected to be “cantaloupe ditchers.” All of them denied leaving the mysterious fruit on our doorstep. There was one neighbor who didn’t convince me of his innocents. His snickering was a possible give away. But he was clean. Damn it! For the rest of the day questions of the cantaloupe plagued my mind. Who? What? Where? How? WHY?

After spending most of the day trying to solve this puzzle, the BF thought it would be best to sit and watch a movie. He thought it would take my mind off of the days events and shut me up about the bloody cantaloupe. While watching the movie T.J. returned from work. Before the boy set one foot in the door I was on him like Oprah on a cheeseburger.

“Did you leave a cantaloupe on our porch this morning!?”

“Yeah.” He said. Like it was commonplace to deposit a melon on someone’s porch at 8am on a Sunday before scurrying off to work.

“Why?” I asked with tremendous curiosity!

“Because it was in my car.” At this point the BF perked up turning his attention from the movie to T.J. We both at each other and in some telepathic way asked the same question. Why would anyone keep a cantaloupe in their car? It was the BF’s turn to ask the obvious question.

“Why would you keep a cantaloupe in your car?” He asked. We waited with anticipation for his answer.

“To make it smell good.” He said while giving us a look like “Duh?” And went upstairs to his room.

Not exactly the climax I was looking for. No space aliens, no secret message hidden inside the melon or divine fruit of the gods. It was only T.J. taking the stink out of his pimpmobile. That will have to do.

I am the walrus!

Did you ever notice how much John Bolton looks like a demented walrus?

THE ALL NEW STUPID-METER!

I could have used this little gadget this week. It would have saved me a lot of grief!

WEEDS!

I have been an avid TV watcher since my early childhood and recently I had all but given hope of ever seeing anything stimulating on TV ever again. The three big networks, for the most part, are dead to me now. The only things I do watch on network TV are “The West Wing” and “60 Minutes” the rest of the programming is lifeless. When they do stumble upon anything creative or smart (like “Arrested Development”) they stomp that fire out right quick. But cable channels such as FX, HBO, and now Showtime are filling that void left by the networks. The other night I saw one of the most well written shows I have seen in quite sometime a few nights ago. It’s the Showtime comedy series called “Weeds.”

The show is about a suburban housewife named Nancy Botwin, whose husband dies of a heart attack while jogging with their son. In order to survive and maintain an income, Nancy (played by the incredible Mary-Louise Parker) begins selling pot to all neighbors. That’s when her world begins to unravel. All of the dirty secrets of her suburban cesspool start bubbling to the surface. Fro example, her friend (and nemesis) Celia, who has nanny-cams hidden all over the house (one hidden in the rear-end of a pink fluffy teddy bear.) The hidden cameras are for the soul purpose of catching her slightly over weight twelve-year-old daughter (whom she lovingly calls “Isa-belly”) sneaking a candy bar or the oldest daughter having sex. Instead, she catches her husband fucking the country club’s Asian tennis instructor. This is thanks to her oldest daughter who is on to her mother’s CIA like approach to parenting and who can be seen at the end of the “teddy bear tape” flipping her off and mouthing “Fuck you” into the camera. And that’s just the beginning! The only “functional” family in this whole show is the James family. Their family business is growing, selling pot and they are Nancy’s suppliers. From the gay drug dealing teenage son of one Nancy’s best customers, who also her biggest competitor in this buyer’s market; to Celia, the alpha-female who rules the PTA with an iron fist this show has suburbia DOWN COLD.

We’ve all seen, met, heard rumors about or lived next-door to these characters. They are the people with the perfectly manicured lawns, SUVs, well adjusted-soccer playing children and open communication between the members of Team Family. But, it’s all a cover for the gross under belly that is SUBURBIA. Mom has three martini lunches without having a job. The kids are taking the Mercedes into the city and spending their seventy-five dollar allowance on “E.” And Dad is constantly daydreaming about the young, nubile sixteen year old babysitter while banging the Latino coffee mistress at Starbucks. The suburbs have become one big masquerade party, where everyone dons their masks of perfection never to reveal who they really are or how unhappy.

“Weeds” rips the masks off! It’s witty, clever and funny because it’s true. Watch it, trust me you’ll love it!

Check out the website to get a little taste: http://www.sho.com/site/weeds/home.do

ROCK-N-ROLL!

Did you ever wonder....

Did you ever wonder what it would be like to have a monster for an arm?

Beauty is in the eye...well...maybe not.

A Haiku for the U.N.

Bush, Bolton, what a coup!
Congress on recess, STRIKE NOW!
The mad walrus reigns.