Life In The Slow Lane

There’s nothing like the call of the wild to rouse somebody from a deep slumber.

Two cats decided to have a battle on my front porch.

Or at least that’s what I figure based on the screeching I heard.

But then again, it could have been two bears squaring off for all I know because at 4:30 in the freakin’ morning my brain’s not really functioning all that well - at least not until I’ve downed a couple of Pepsi’s and dipped into the tin for a few handfuls of M&MS.

Don’t get me wrong. I love cats. But I don’t love them at 4:30 a.m. when they’ve just come home from the bar and decide to have a little alcohol-induced spat on my front patio.

I know that one of them had to be Tommy, the big orange cat that’s been hanging around in the back yard keeping a watchful eye over the bird feeders as the birds sit on the roof and cast a wary glance in his direction.

I don’t like Tommy too much as long as he’s sitting in my back yard waiting for an easy dinner. Aren’t his folks feeding him well? He was back out there again later in the morning, thinking he was hiding in some brush. Well, I saw him. And if I saw him certainly the birds saw him - and that explains why there wasn’t a single bird at the feeders even though all three of them are filled to the max.

If I chase Tommy away, the birds go away too.

Ah, what a tangled web we weave.

I won’t have time to watch for him tomorrow. It’s another early wake-up call, this time to head into the office and out to the schools for their grand opening of the 2008-09 school year. I’ve covered all the orientations and now it’s time to get down to the real deal - back into the classroom for the next 10 months.

Seems like an eternity, doesn’t it? Well, in reality, it’s only 180 days of actual time in the school - if that’s any consolation to the kids.

Time to take down the “Pool’s open, dive carefully” signs and replace them with “School’s open, drive carefully.”

Luckily, summer hasn’t gone totally away. The fine folks at AccuWeather say today’s gonna be hot, hot, hot - about 90 degrees. Too bad we couldn’t have had that during the summer. Better late than never, I suppose.

Still, it’s time to face reality. Summer’s winding down, autumn’s only a skip away and I’ve already got my junk mail catalogs advertising the Christmas season.

It should only be a couple more months before I get the summer 2009 catalog.

I’ve extended my long Labor Day weekend by taking a couple of vacation days today and Wednesday and heading back to work on Thursday for the opening - again - of the new school year.

I need the couple of extra days to mentally prepare myself for driving around to every school I cover and taking the same pictures I took last year and the year before and the year before that and doing the same interviews I did last year and the year before and the year before that.

Some things never change.

So far I haven’t done anything of any substance over the long weekend except clean the tub.

Excitement personified.

Not that there aren’t a million and one things I could do. The garden needs to be weeded, the gutters need to be cleaned in anticipation of the falling autumn leaves that will no doubt end up in them, the interior of the house needs a general GI party, I need a haircut, I’ve got a slew of garbage bags filled with soda cans and bottles to turn in for redemption, and it wouldn’t hurt to take some of the stuff in the garage up into the attic for storage.

But will I get around to any of this?

Well, the haircut, maybe, because it’s starting to make me look like Shaggy in Scooby Doo - or even Scooby Doo himself. I keep telling myself I’m going to see Bob the Barber on a more frequent basos and I always renege on that vow. But when it’s time to start putting gel in the hair to keep it from looking like a porcupine, it’s time to see Bob.

It’s a great day to be outside anyway. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the temperature’s a balmy 70 degrees. There’s a hint of autumn in the air as leaves start to change their colors, and the pumpkins in the garden are just about ready for picking.

What I’ll do with them after they’ve been picked is anyone’s guess. I don’t think that far in advance when I throw the seeds into the ground.

Maybe I’ll try my hand at a pumpkin pie.

Maybe I’ll carve them out for Halloween and hope they stick around for the next two months.

Or maybe I’ll just go ahead and toss ‘em on the ground to save the young punks the trouble on Halloween.

Katie D. Kat has her appointment with the vet tomorrow. It’s spay day and she’s the last of the bunch who needs to be fixed. It’ll be a relief to get that done and over with, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on her tomorrow to make sure she doesn’t start doing her normal Mexican jumping bean impression and rip out her stitches.

Friday’s a day on the road. I have to travel to Utica for a story, leaving early in the morning and likely arriving back late in the afternoon and writing. It’s going to be a long, long day.

I’ve been asked to cover a clean-up effort on Saturday, so I can kiss some of that day good-bye.

And then Sunday is the day of rest to prepare for, what else, work.

Yes, my friends, the hits just keep on coming.

See you in a few days.

In the meantime, how about a game of bowling?

So I’m driving through downtown Thursday and thought maybe my bifocals were playing havoc with my eyes.

The sign at the local Sunoco gas station had gas at $4.27 a gallon.

It had been $4.33 for, oh, about the last three centuries, no matter how much the price of crude oil dropped on the market.

Could it really be? Or was I simply dreaming? Or were my eyeballs just not reading things right?

Nope, it was true. Every single cent of it was real. The price of gas had gone down.

It made me want to fill up the car’s tank and head home and get all my gas containers and fill those up because it surely won’t last long.

And, at least according to John McCain, we can thank Bush, George W., president, one each, for getting the price down. The article said he made that statement during a town hall meeting, but I don’t know for sure because Mr. McCain’s been focusing his recent efforts on the throngs of people who crowd the tomato display at the local supermarkets and the bratwurst buffet at German restaurants and it’s hard to imagine him actually visiting any place that has significant campaign value.

McCain credits Bush for drop in oil price
WILKES-BARRE, Pa. - Republican John McCain on Wednesday credited the recent $10-a-barrel drop in the price of oil to President Bush’s lifting of a presidential ban on offshore drilling, an action he has been advocating in his presidential campaign. The cost of oil and gasoline is “on everybody’s mind in this room,” McCain told a town-hall meeting. Bush recently lifted the executive order banning offshore drilling that his father put in place in 1990. He also asked Congress to lift its own moratorium on oil exploration on the outer continental shelf which includes coastal waters as close as three miles from shore. “The price of oil dropped $10 a barrel,” said McCain, who argued that the psychology of lifting the ban has affected world markets.

Hmm, maybe you’re right, Johnny Boy. Or maybe it’s just that the bloodsuckers we call oil companies realize they’re not gonna make their regular billions in the next quarter because the average person can’t afford their gas anymore. So maybe, just maybe it’s time to drop the price to make it look like, yes, the price of gas really does fluctuate and doesn’t just hit the stratosphere every time somebody says “boo.”

It’s all part of the “me, myself and I” culture we have in today’s world. The world revolves around me and to hell with everyone else. Let ‘em suffer. I don’t care. As long as I’ve got my money.

Need some more proof?

Take Devin Hester, a two-time Pro Bowler for the Chicago Bears football team who says he’s not reporting to training camp until he gets a new contract.

“I’m not coming,” Hester told the Chicago Tribune in a phone interview. “I have to make a statement. I showed by going to (organized team activities) that I was a team player. But then, I just felt like they weren’t taking it seriously that I wanted to get a new deal.”

It’s all about me, me, me, according to Hester.

“I can’t go out and play this year making $445,000. Come on, man,” he said.

Ahem. Did you say $445,000? As in six figures? As is nearly a half million buckeroos? And you say that’s not enough?

Here’s some food for thought. Screw you, Hester, because a lot of people would love to be in your shoes.

Only $445,000.

Oh, but wait, there’s more.

Andrew Giuliani, the 22-year-old son of New York City’s former famous mayor, is suing Duke University, according to the Associated Press, who says he’s “claiming his golf coach manufactured accusations against him to justify kicking him off the team to whittle the squad.”

Giuliani says he had dreams of becoming a professional golfer and was dismissed without cause from the golf team in February without a chance to defend himself.

Well, Andrew, maybe your golfing prowess had something to do with it.

His best - yes, best - finish last season was a tie for 36th at the Fighting Illini Invitational in Olympia Fields, Ill. His season competition average was 74.5, good for the 12th best on the team.

But Duke’s wrong, wrong, wrong to say he can’t make the cut on their team.

Huh?

Screw you too, Andrew.

I had dreams of becoming a sergeant major in the Army, but I never did because I couldn’t make the cut, so should I be suing the Army?

I have dreams of becoming the next managing editor of our newspaper, but I’m nowhere near that goal. Should I be suing St. Lawrence County Newspapers for derailing my professional growth?

And I have dreams of the price of gas going down.

Oh wait, that happened.

Maybe life isn’t so crappy after all.

Remember as a kid when your parents threw you in the back seat of the car and you headed for a three-hour drive to some godforsaken place to visit relatives and all you could think of was, “Are we there yet?”

Well, now we’re adults and we have to translate that over to the working world.

We’re thrown into the back seat on Monday and we’re driving Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and by the time Friday rolls around we’re wondering, “Are we there yet?”

And, of course, like mom and dad, the boss says, “Nah, baby, nah, we’ve got a lot of miles left to cover.”

And they wonder why I look like this by the time Friday’s over.

Typically I spend my weekend in a stupor. My brain cells have evaporated during the week-long trip we call employment and my body’s aching from the running around I do for stories and my eyes are bulging from sitting in front of a computer monitor 25 hours a day and peering through a teeny tiny camera lens for just that right angle to make an interesting picture.

So when people ask me, “What ‘cha doin’ this weekend, Bobby Boy?” I tend to growl something like, “Headed to P&C for a case of good old Samuel Adams and 20-pound bag of M&Ms and I plan to have both of those devoured by noon Saturday while I’m watching a Law and Order marathon on the boob tube.”

And suddenly life is good all over again. Even if we are getting a big pudgy in the belly.

Happy Friday, my friends. Eat, drink and be merry.

Ho, ho, ho.

I don’t know why, but sleep hasn’t been good to me lately. It seems I’m tossing and turning and waking up all hours of the night and, even if I went to bed at 5 a.m., I’d still be awake at 8.

Maybe it’s because of the three cats who insist on using my body as their bed, pinning me motionless for the evening. If I really need to turn over, I’m fending off 60 claws - estimating 20 claws per cat on the front and back legs - embedded in my skin.

Of course, they don’t lose any sleep over it.

Or maybe I’m not getting enough sleep because I keep dreaming I’m someplace else - and lately it’s been back at Dugway Proving Ground, Utah, my final assignment in the Army.

I don’t know why I’d dream about Dugway. There’s really nothing to dream about as you can tell from this YouTube video.

I’m so tired these days that I can’t think straight - which maybe means I could get my own newspaper column just like Clay Thompson. Seems Mr. Thompson doesn’t need to work very hard to answer people’s questions - and I’d be perfectly suited for that role.

Here’s an example:

Dear Clay: I have some large wind chimes on our patio and the pipes are like 20″ to 30″ long and an inch or so in diameter, but they are not tuned. Do you know how I can tune them?

Clay responds: I have made tuned wind chimes in the past, but like making bird feeders out of old pill bottles the directions are long lost. Go to Google and type in “tuning wind chimes.” You’ll find some books for sale there on the procedure. I haven’t read them, so I’m reluctant to suggest one. And buy a hacksaw.

Geez, I could do that.

Dear Bob: I’m having trouble making ends meet on my measly paycheck. How can I make money go farther?

Bob responds: Simple. Tear your $5 bill into four pieces so it makes it seem like you have more money than you really do. And stop buying food.

But getting back to this sleep issue, I’m thinking maybe I should start shoving a DVD into the player and let a boring movie lull me into a deep sleep - or in the case of some movies, death from boredom.

And if you don’t like the movie, great news. They’re disposable now. Really. I saw it at Kinney Drugs yesterday when I was picking up my supply of M&Ms and Pepsi for a grueling day of work. Apparently you buy the DVD for like $5 and it plays twice before it goes kaput. Then you just chuck it in the trash.

Sounds like a perfectly good waste of money to me - even if you’ve taken that $5 bill and torn it into four pieces.

And if you happened to like the movie? Well, not only have you just shelled out $5 for a copy that’s no longer any good, now you’ve got to plonk down another $20 to get a version that will keep playing more than a couple of times.

Who says technology is smart?

Or are people just stupid?

Especially those of us who don’t have much brain left because of sleep deprivation.

I hate holidays.

When they fall during the week, somebody has to work to put a paper out for the following day.

So much for the 4th of July barbecue.

Actually, the boss gave me as senior reporter a choice - work the 4th of July on Friday or Labor Day in September

I chose neither

It didn’t fly.

So here are my choices. I can work the 4th of July and drive to Norwood for their big-time parade and festivities at the Firemen’s Field, snap a few pictures, talk to a few folks about oh what fun it is, head back to the office and write.

Or I can work on Labor Day and cover Massena’s granddaddy of Labor Day parades, featuring every member of labor you’d ever want to see - and plenty of politicians tagging along to show their support for organized labor and maybe campaign a little bit to keep their elected position. And since this is an election year, there’s sure to be tons of politicians already in office or wannabes who hope to be in office marching along the parade route. Hell, the governor even came one year.

And then when the parade’s over, all the labor dudes head down to Springs Park for the free beer and hot dogs and beer and hamburgers and beer - along with the politicians, who as a newspaper reporter, we have an obligation to interview to find out (1) why they’re running again, or (2) why they want to run in the first place. And we get to talk to all the organized labor bigwigs to find out why labor is so important. Well, they always say, without labor no work would get done.

And then we head back to the office and write the myriad of stories and then check in at the Knights of Columbus to see how Jerry’s Kids are faring during this year’s Massena telethon. And when all is said and done, we’ve written more in one day than we’d normally write in a week.

So let’s look at the big picture.

Independence Day. Parade. Fireworks. Fun events.

Labor Day. Parade. Politicians. Free food and beer.

Free beer at Springs Park or not, I’m choosing the lesser of two evils and working on Friday. Somebody else can have the politicians, thankyouvermuch.

I am, however getting a day off Thursday.

I just have to write my ass off today to get the day off.

Don’t you just love taking time off? You work endlessly to catch up on everything before you leave and you work endlessly when you get back to catch up on everything that’s landed on your desk while you were gone.

There’s no happy medium.

It almost makes it senseless to take time off.

But I’m doing it anyway. The cupboards are getting bare and need to be restocked. The hair’s getting a little shaggy and I need to visit Bob the Barber. The garden needs to be weeded. The house needs to be cleaned.

Maybe I should just call Thursday Labor Day.

The weather forecast is the same day after day.

Rain.

Thunderstorms.

Right now it’s raining in barrels and the sky is black and the only way not to stub your toe on furniture in the house is to turn the lights on because it’s so dark - at 11:30 in the morning.

And I’m sick.

I don’t know what bug has bitten me this time around, but it’s not good.

I went into work yesterday for a 2 p.m. photo shoot that got canceled, and I left right after that because my stomach is so torn up right now.

Today’s not any better.

Maybe it’s the weather, or not eating right, or not eating at all, or maybe the stress of the job, or maybe not getting enough sleep because my internal alarm clock has been getting me up at all hours of the night lately.

Whatever the case, I’m miserably sick.

But I’ll try work again today.

If it doesn’t pan out, well, the house is only a hop and a skip away and I’ll come right back home and toss myself into bed again like I did yesterday.

Sick sucks.

Did you hear that Tim Russert died?

How could you miss it? It was tossed at television viewers hour after hour after hour after hour.

I was beginning to think that perhaps Mr. Russert was the reincarnation of Jesus Christ himself - or least the pope - with the gushing tributes that were paid hour after hour after hour after hour after hour.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m sure Tim Russert was a very nice guy. I’m not a big fan of Sunday morning television, so I can’t comment on just how nice he was.

I’m sure he was a good, loving family man. I’m sure he was a good journalist. I’m sure he was a good friend.

But he wasn’t a head of state or a prince or a pope or a person who had eradicated AIDS from the world.

He was simply a very nice journalist who had medical issues that likely contributed to his passing.

His untimely death should not have gone unnoticed by the media, but don’t you think hours of tributes were just a wee bit over the top?

Where were the tributes to 22-year-old Army Sgt. Shane P. Duffy from Taunton, Mass., 23-year-old Army Sgt. Cody R. Legg from Escondido, Calif., 20-year-old Army Spec. Jonathan D. A. Emard from Mesquite, Texas, 19-year-old Pfc. Joshua E. Waltenbaugh from Ford City, Pa., 26-year-old Spec. Quincy J. Green from El Paso, Texas, or 22-year-old Spec. Justin R. Mixon from Bogalusa, La.?

They’re June’s casualties (so far) among the 4,083 members of the military who’ve died during Operation Iraqi Freedom - and we treat them exactly like that. Just a number.

I guess they just weren’t as famous as Tim Russert.

Did you hear that Saudi Arabia plans to increase its oil production by 200,000 barrels a day next month, according to Saudi officials, who are quoted as saying, “The king believes that the current oil prices are abnormally high, and he is ready to restore prices to their appropriate levels.”

Well, isn’t that sweet of him.

Today’s news headlines report that crude oil declined for a third day amid concerns that slower economic growth will curb consumption of oil products. Oil has retreated more than $7 from yesterday’s record of $139.89 a barrel.

So how does that translate to you, the consumer?

It doesn’t.

Anytime there’s negative news like a hurricane that might threaten oil supplies, the price goes skyrocketing - and you pay dearly at the pump.

When the king says oil prices are too high, the price goes down - for everybody except the consumer, who’s watching the Sunoco sign day after day for some hint that $4.29 a gallon might actually become $4.19.

It’ll probably be a cold day in hell before that happens.

What goes up doesn’t necessarily need to come down in the world of high-stakes oil production.

Did you hear that it really doesn’t matter how companies perform because CEOs are gonna grab their megachecks and laugh all the way to the bank?

According to an Associated Press Article, “Collectively, the 10 best-paid CEOs made more than half a billion dollars last year. Yet half the members of this stratospheric club were leading companies whose profits shrank dramatically.”

Rick Wagoner, chief executive of General Motors Corp., announced earlier this month the company had to close four plants that make trucks and SUVs because of lagging demand as fuel prices soar. That followed the posting a $39 billion loss in 2007, a year when its stock price fell by about 19 percent, without adjusting for dividends.

And Wagoner? His pay rose 64 percent, to $15.7 million.

If I had that kind of a year as a reporter, my ass would have been booted out the door a long time ago.

Only in Corporate America can you be rewarded for your failures.

And speaking of failures…

Did you hear that Willie Randolph was fired as manager of the New York Mets and reporters found out after Mets management waited until the wee hours of the morning - and I’m talking like 12:15 a.m. PDT - to send out a mass e-mail announcing the change.

Hey, I’m not a big Willie Randolph fan simply because he doesn’t have the fire in him to light up his ball club. I can’t think of the last time he was thrown out of a ball game after battling with an umpire for one of his ball players. Hell, I don’t think he’s ever been thrown out of a ball game.

But Willie shouldn’t be the hit man for an underperforming bunch of babies who collectively are earning paychecks of $138 million.

This group, by and large, is older than the over-the-hill gang, and it shows on the field because they’re never there. Pedro Martinez has barely thrown a pitch because of injuries. Moises Alou came off the disabled list and went right back on it again after his calf began to hurt. You’ve got a bullpen that implodes at every opportunity and cast of characters who couldn’t hit their way out of wet paper bag.

Or maybe they’re not trying hard enough because let’s face it, it’s not their ass that’s on the line. It’s their manager’s, and now Willie’s gone and the players are still around cashing their megachecks when they should be in Double A ball trying to work on their hitting - and attitude - issues.

Maybe they should have kept Willie and just let all the other jokers hit the road.

At least it would be for St. Lawrence County government employees who are campaigning for a four-day work week.

You can read about it and view the video here.

As I watched the news last night and heard about their plight, all I could think of was, “Boo friggin hoo.”

Gas prices are hurting us, they say.

Who aren’t they hurting?

We’re paying too much in utility costs to keep the buildings open five days a week.

What business isn’t? It’s one of those necessary evils of being a business, and that’s what St. Lawrence County is.

Even with a five-day work week, the lines are already long enough at the Department of Motor Vehicles.

So let’s close one of those days and see how long the lines really become.

Need some help with government assistance programs like food stamps?

Sorry, it’s Friday. We’re closed.

They say it’s an average of 45 miles a day per worker to get to and from work. Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass that you’re having a hard time making ends meet with gas costs. We all are and we suck it up because it’s a job.

Here’s a novel idea. Move closer to Canton.

I would hope that county officials will look long and hard at the ramifications this move would have on “customer service” instead of simply rolling over and saying, “Our workers can’t afford it anymore.”

It’s not about the workers.

It’s about the customers.

Those were the words for one of the many cadences we used to sing while we were marching or running in ye olde U.S. Army.

Now it’s more appropriate to recall them as I finish my vacation and head back to work.

Nuts.

Of course, after a miserable rainy weekend, the sun’s shining today and the birds are chirping and the temperature’s a refreshing 61 degrees - just as I head back to the office.

Not that the rain was a bad thing. I managed to finish my gardening yesterday. Laid down the seeds for the onions and radishes and green peppers and carrots and all that good stuff that costs an arm and a leg in the store these days. Because of Saturday’s rain, I was sloshing in mud that came halfway up my shoes and they’re still sitting in the garage caked over until I feel like scraping the crud off them.

But, when it comes to planting - at least from what I’ve read - moist ground is good. So was the rain that came down after I finished the planting. The seeds are cool and comfortably nestled in the ground and I can only hope there’s something growing after the birds get done pecking.

Yeah, those pesky birds. I’ve got a feeder that I filled to the brim yesterday with wild bird food. But I see few birds taking advantage of the free lunch. They must not be Democrats - motto: if it’s free, it’s for me.

No, instead, they choose to peck away at my garden and I’m thinking they’re picking up my carefully placed seedlings.

I may have to put scarecats out to guard the place.

Tabu would love it. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Nice little birdy in my mouth. Tastes so good.

Anyway, the week of vacation is over and I feel some sense of accomplishment. The body’s creaking, which meant I put it to good use, and the hands are all blistered up. I’m not sure if that’s because I did a lot of heavy manual labor or because my hands are just wimpy these days and start blistering at the thought of holding a hoe.

No, not that kind of hoe people. Get your minds out of the dirt.

The blisters remind me of basic training a couple of years ago - OK, maybe it was more like 31 years ago. Same difference.

But I digress.

It seems that anytime we wanted to eat, we had to cross a set of monkey bars that were carefully placed in front of the dining hall door. Oh, they were in other places too, but the dining hall is what I remember because, while we were in the process of building our upper body strength with those little exercises, our hands were also so blistered that we could barely pick up a knife and fork. Maybe that was the idea. Less food, less time in the mess hall, more time for the drill sergeants.

Yeah, it was all a plot.

And it worked.

Speaking of plots…

There were some decisions made last week regarding who the Democratic candidate will be for the 118th Assembly District that covers our area.

One of the people who put his hat in the ring is our eligible-for-retirement Police Chief Tim Currier.

Three days later the hat was kicked off his head.

Here’s the scoop. Timmy, being a police chief, hadn’t endorsed any one party in the past. In his position, in an effort to stay neutral, that’s not a bad idea.

But now that he’s retirement eligible and interested in a political career, he registered as a member of the Democratic party. That party affiliation, however, won’t kick in until after the next general election in November.

So, as it goes, Tim wanted to run for the Assembly seat as a Democrat. He was, after all, going to be an official Democrat later this year. But because he wasn’t “officially” a Democrat yet, the chairpersons of both the St. Lawrence and Jefferson County Democratic Parties had to offer their support.

That’s where it all fell apart. The Jefferson County chairman said, “Hell no, I’m not supporting him. I’ve got my own candidate.”

You can read about it here.

So, rather than let the Democratic party as a whole decide if they wanted Tim Currier or Jefferson County Legislator Addie Jenne Russell, the choice was taken away. Tim, they said, you’re out of here. Pull your name and throw your support behind Addie.

Three days after announcing he was making a run for office, Mr. Currier was out of the race in favor of a woman who I’d never heard of until this whole fiasco started.

Perhaps Massena Town Supervisor Gary Edwards said it best when Currier announced his intention to leave the race.

“I don’t know anything about this lady,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll do a fine job, but we need a voice up here.”

And wouldn’t it have been nice to let the Democratic voters decide instead of shoving a candidate down our throat?

You may want to close your drapes on May 31 - if you believe the Weekly World News, that is:

THE MAN IN THE MOON IS A PEEPING TOM!

“Those allegations were never substantiated, and time will prove that I’m right,” Dr. Eisenstone replied confidently. “My research will give an entirely new meaning to the term ‘blue moon.’”

So, you think that’s dumb?

Well, here’s something even dumber.

The scary part is, it’s true!

Candy wrappers help police nab suspects

CINCINNATI - Police in Cincinnati say a trail of candy and wrappers led them to suspects in a break-in at a downtown candy store. Four people have been charged with breaking and entering. One of the four also has been charged with child endangering. Police say 19-year-old Christine Ruther had her 7-week-old daughter with her when she and three others broke into Peter Minges (MIHNG’-guhs) & Son candy store Thursday. They are accused of taking about $400 in candy. The group was arrested a few blocks away.

In the real world, meanwhile, there’s confusion on the home front.

I rolled around a bit this morning before getting out of bed because I thought it was Saturday.

I’m moving up in the world - I used to think Fridays were Saturday.

They’re getting earlier by the month.

Come July, I’ll think it’s Saturday on Monday.

What a disappointment when you look at the paper and really discover it’s another work day.

And your list of “to do” is bigger than a breadbox.

Hell, right now mine’s bigger than the piles of snow we had this winter - and that’s some big honkin’ list, lemme tell ya.

So…

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go.

And on a Saturday, no less.

Happy Labor Day. Hope it was a long, restful weekend for everyone.

In usual Labor Day fashion, Jerry Lewis is back on the air looking for money for “his kids.” God love him for doing it for the last 50-some years. And not to degrade his loving effort in the least, but I just have a couple of quick questions…

(1) Why aren’t there any telethons for other diseases that affect as many, if not more people? Like cancer. I don’t ever recall seeing any major fundraising efforts for cancer, but we’re no closer to solving that disease than we are muscular dystrophy. And, at least up here, we have a lot more people dying of cancer than we do muscular dystrophy.

(2) Just where does all this money come from that plops into Jerry’s lap year after year? Nearly $60 million right now. Maybe it’s because I live in a small community, but I see major sponsor after major sponsor - supermarkets, firefighters, real estate companies - coming into Jerry’s studio and presenting him with checks for millions. Yet I recall very few, if any, fundraising efforts in this neck of the woods that would raise that kind of money. Maybe I’m just too much in the boonies. The only time I see folks around here get serious about muscular dystrophy fundraising is when the calendar says it’s Labor Day.

So again, where is all this money coming from? And along the same lines, I’m curious about how many people pledge money and then don’t fulfill that pledge. Not to be a party pooper, but there have to be some folks out there who get caught up in the passion of the telethon and run to their phone and say, “Put me down for $500.” But then when it’s time to pay the piper, they don’t have $500.

Just food for thought…

Every time I watch the telethon it reminds me of when I was young and we knew summer was coming to an end. The days were getting cooler. Our houses had the smell of brand new clothes and supplies that we’d be taking to school when it started in a few days. We celebrated the end of summer by grabbing the pigskin and engaging in some rough and tough tackle football in the back yard in preparation for the upcoming NFL season.

And now we’re adults and if we tried that football stuff in the back yard, we’d up in the Massena Memorial Hospital emergency room with doctors putting splints on our legs and arms.

NEWS FLASH: Now they’re up to nearly $62 million. The money keeps rolling in. Harold from the International Association of Firefighters is back with his final check of the telethon. Only a few more million, bringing their total this year to $25,230,000.

I didn’t know firefighters were that rich. Maybe I’m in the wrong job.

But I digress…..

In case anyone cares that I haven’t posted as regularly as I used to, let me explain.

I’m being worked to death.

I have a ton of work to do around the house when I’m not being worked to death at the office.

I’m in the process of rebuilding my computer with all the goodies I used to have before it crashed.

It wasn’t a pretty sight watching a grown man sit at the computer and cry as the blue screen of death repeatedly came up saying it couldn’t boot up. Everything - pictures, movies, financial data, etc. etc. - gone with the wind. So needless to say, when I’m not working at the office or at the house, I’m in the rebuilding process. Sliding CD after CD into the drive and searching high and low on the Internet to find programs. Reconstructing my financial files from the credit union so I know what my checking account balance is. Making sure every picture I had on my computer is safely tucked away on the file storage website, Flickr, and keeping my fingers crossed that Flickr doesn’t suffer a meltdown.

It’s getting there. Some of the programs aren’t being cooperative this time around for some reason, but I suppose I can do without having Front Page Sports Baseball on my hard drive since I do have High Heat Major League Baseball. Concessions, concessions, concessions.

Actually, what would be really cool is if I just bought a new computer and started fresh.

Maybe Jerry has a few dollars he can lend me.

After being on vacation for a mere three days, I knew there was a good reason not to go back to work today. Well, actually there are a lot of good reasons for not going back to work, but I just couldn’t convince the boss otherwise.

Anyway….

The big reason?

Spam!

Three lousy days off and I had to wade through 550 pieces of spam in my personal work account, and another 75 in our main office account. That’s pretty deep. I should have worn boots.

I would have deleted all of it, but there’s always a legitimate message in there somewhere. In this case, there were three.

I honestly don’t know how I got on these spammers’ lists because my Internet surfing habits at work are work-related. I don’t visit porn sites, so don’t send me spam about adding 5 feet to my girth. I don’t visit E-Bay, so don’t send me spam about all the great bargains you have. I don’t do drugs unless they’re prescribed by my doc, so enough with the Hoodia shit. No, I don’t want to cum like a porn star - whatever the hell that means. And no, I will not act as a broker in the strictest of confidence so you can get $20 million out of a Nigerian bank account.

So shove that back in your spambox.

Other than that, the day was just hunky dory, peachy keen and all that good crap.

Gee, it’s great to be back to work.

I guess it’s better than being in Iraq. We all know Georgie Boy’s gonna send more young men and women over there so they too can become target practice. Maybe he’s thinking about a certain goal - and that’s not to win the war. As of Dec. 20, we’ve lost 2,956 members of our military in this ill-conceived party for the oil barons. Anyone care to bet whether or not we can reach that unlucky 3,000 by the stroke of midnight Dec. 31? It’s a lofty goal indeed, but The Decider’s not losing any sleep over it. He said so himself. No problem sleeping at all, despite the many families who still cry themselves to sleep because their son or daughter or husband or wife won’t be coming home ever again.

Will it get better before it gets worse? Highly doubtful if you listen to the man at the top. He’s bracing us for another rough year in 2007. You see, he says, we’re not gonna cut and run like the Democrats would have us do. We’re gonna stay there until (1) the commanders on the ground tell us it’s safe to leave or (2) the Iraqis tell us to get the hell out of their country that we invaded, bombed to hell and can’t rebuild because every time we do somebody shoots at us.

Since it’s the holiday season, allow me to paraphrase Tiny Tim from “A Christmas Carol”:

God help us everyone.

Has anyone else been collecting the state quarters like I have? Just curious because I was sorting mine today - yeah, ok, I’m anal - and I discovered that for some strange reason South Carolina seems to have barraged us with their state quarters. They’re followed closely behind by New Hampshire.

Now I don’t know how distribution of state quarters works, but I would have thought I’d have a glut of New Yorkers instead of South Caroliners. Not by a long shot for whatever reason.

I also have to admit that some state quarters are just downright fugly. Connecticut comes to mind, along with Georgia. Whoever designed their quarters needs to take a refresher course in marketing because those two state quarters do absolutely nothing for me.

Oh, and by the way, if you’re wondering why perhaps you don’t have a South Carolina quarter, it’s because I’ve been hoarding them and all the other states. Well, not really hoarding. I get one, I drop it in a milk jug I have in the bedroom. Just wanted to make sure I had all the states, you see.

Well, it turned out I had $115.50 worth of states after a gleeful hour at the table counting them all out.

I better hang on to that money. I may need it real soon. The “Happy Holidays” letter from our corporate offices came in today’s mail. Oh, such wonderful holiday cheer.

We’re freezing pension benefits on Dec. 31, 2007.

We’re increasing your weekly contributions to the health care plan and dental plan - even though there’s only one dentist in the county who takes the insurance and he’s not taking any new patients.

Oh, but your accident, death and dismemberment coverage will remain unchanged, they say.

That’s a relief because I’d really hate to have my wife pay through the nose for my funeral services when my head’s lopped off by the printing presses.

And yes, we’ll be providing you a pay increase in 2007. All 2 percent of it.

“We wish you a very joyous conclusion to 2006,” they say, “and wish to extend our best wishes to you and your families in 2007.”

Gee, thanks.

We’re gonna need all the help we can get.