Alternative Ways of Exercise

This was a complicated game, Mousetrap. We used to not play it but just put it together and watch it go. In fact, I don't think I ever actually played the game and don't even know how you're supposed to. But it was fun just sliding the pieces in their slots and seeing how well it worked. And more often than not, the whole thing could make it from start to finish without screwing up. It seems like the ball overshot the first thing, the stairway, once in a while. But that wasn't even the most complicated part.

I like efficiency, but I also like alternate ways of doing things. My first inclination is to get from Point A to Point B by the shortest, most efficient means. Then there is the "enjoyment" of life that we're reminded of every once in a while, such as taking the obscure highway instead of the interstate. It would be my habit to take the interstate. And it is my habit to try to come up with a form or format for whatever the job is, to get it done, to have more free time to sit around and feel tired.

We used to draw pictures in school -- while we were supposed to be studying, probably -- of crazy machines, like the peanut butter and jelly sandwich making machine. I was fascinated with the idea of assembly lines -- conveyor belts, where you could picture the bread getting spritzed with some peanut butter, etc. Actually, if you watch "Modern Marvels" on History Channel, it's about that way with things. I saw one episode where they were making toothpicks. Fascinating stuff. And making hottubs. Again, they've got it down to a science.

The doctor says I need to exercise more. So that means going to the fitness club and standing there going back and forth. I need an alternative way of doing it. Like they strap you in and it moves you back and forth like toffee on one of those toffee stretching machines. Probably they can't do it because you'd be locked in, your leg would break and there you'd be, spinning away in a million pieces.

In my whole Grandma Slump/Loser Grandson universe, I was thinking of hooking my exercise bike to the motor of my old go-kart, then sitting there and letting the mechanism take me back and forth. Sounds funny at first, but that's just the same as saying you've got an exercise bike with a motor. Which they probably really have. It might be funnier if I hooked it up and sat on my easy chair and watched it. But in what sense would that be exercise? It's absurd.

The only real way to do exercise is to chugga-chugga motion, do it yourself.

The Song "Auctioneer"

There is a song I have on my mind almost constantly. I will tweak the word "constantly," because I'm excluding any time I have to be in conversations, emergency situations, etc. This song is on my mind often enough to say it's constantly there.

It's the song "Auctioneer." It was most famous as recorded by Leroy Van Dyke (co-writer). That's the one I've always known. I think he recorded it a couple times, once the original, then a remake that was on a "Greatest Hits" collection on another label. But I have another 45 of it, by a guy named Chuck Miller. Chuck's version is on Mercury Records, 71001X45. I haven't heard Leroy's version lately, but I believe it's the one I'm singing most often.

Chuck's version seems pretty fast, and he does an oddball up and down thing with singing the lyrics, that makes it sound looser, less true to the tune. His auctioneer voice is very good. I think when I'm singing it I'm not quite that fast. I don't have Leroy's on MP3, just Chuck's. But somewhere in my records -- unorganized -- there's either one or both of Leroy's versions.

I love the part that starts off like this, "Hey, all right sir, open the gate and let 'em out, and here we got, and what are you gonna give for 'em?"

The song, in case you're unfamiliar with it, tells the story of a boy from Arkansas, who didn't listen to his Ma, when she told him that he should go to school. Instead he wanted to be an auctioneer, so he sneaked around, listened to the auctioneers and practiced calling bids both night and day. His pap would find him behind the barn, just a working up an awful storm. (I'm paraphrasing lyrics there in case you didn't notice.) Anyway, he gets really good, and people are coming from miles around "just to hear him make that rhythmic sound that fills their hearts with such a happy cheer." He gets more famous and has to buy a plane to get around, finally becoming the greatest hillbilly auctioneer.

Great song, but a real burden when you can't get it out of your head.

Bozo the Clown, Larry Harmon, Dies

I haven't heard much about Bozo's passing -- Larry Harmon, who portrayed the clown for over 50 years, died the other day. But I haven't been watching TV for the last few days, so if it's been on the news -- a funeral like the Pope's, Ronald Reagan's, or Tim Russert's, please forgive my ignorance.

Since the character was licensed out to numerous TV stations around the country, I suppose the odds of your Bozo actually always being Larry Harmon were pretty limited. So it's a little different, the sense of sadness we feel, than if there had been only one of him. Like Santa Claus.

Bozo didn't even start with Larry, but was originated by some other fellow, and Larry acquired the rights to the character. Originally Bozo was a character on a series of Capitol records. I have (or have had) a 78 rpm album involving Bozo as a deep sea diver. I said "have had" because my possessions are not well organized. And Grandma's had numerous garage sales over the years, meaning certain things of mine have a way of disappearing.

But back to Bozo, you know, I can't remember much about his show. It seems like I remember having seen it, but this stuff goes way back. It's like Howdy Doody. I was culturally aware and into it, but forgot it five minutes later. So what can you say? I remember seeing Bozo merchandise over the years and seeing the little phrase on it, "Larry Harmon Enterprises." So when I heard Bozo died, I immediately thought of the name Larry Harmon.

I was at a garage sale myself a year ago and they had a pretty nice Bozo doll, with a string that you pull to hear it talk, but the mechanism didn't work.

Larry Harmon was 83 and died of congestive heart failure at the age of 83. He was one heck of a clown and very successful at it.

On behalf of the entire Slump family, our deepest sympathies are extended.

© 2008 Grandma Slump Enterprises

The Lawrence Welk Show (Record Review)

I decided to hook up my record player to the computer to see if it'd work. Then when it did work, it was time to choose a favorite album or two to transfer to my Ipod. And I couldn't think of a better one to get me going than this great one from 1978, put out by the Kellogg's cereal company, "The Lawrence Welk Show." Record buffs will remember it, RCA Special Products DPL 1-0318 Stereo. I can't remember exactly where we got it, but it's too big to have come in a cereal box. We must have sent in for it with boxtops, or, I'm thinking they had them at the grocery store.

I will be listening to it and live blogging it as we go along. There's 10 songs. And I think we shall start with song number 1, if you think that would be all right. Then we will proceed along from there in chronological order. For one reason, it's common sense. And, two, it honors Mr. Welk, in that one of his well-known trademarks was "And a one, and a two..."

Bubbles in the Wine (Theme Song) - Who can forget this happy song, his theme song? It takes me back. Wow, it has a great sound! The stereo separation is really nice, like sitting in with the orchestra, trying not to get a bubble in your eye. It's definitely infectious, intoxicating even, and puts me in mind for great things. The bubbles are floating about, filling the house, so realistic there are literally soap stains all over my wall, or at least there would be if I weren't listening with earbuds. A very crisp and clean song. It even makes me tipsy!

Moon River - A very intimate song, and very close to my heart. The orchestra has a kind of water lapping sound they're working up, with some runs up and down the bank as well. So simple a tune but so precious. So realistic are the water effects you'll have to pee, so make sure you keep a toilet handy. The strings give it a very lazy feeling, and the piano is insistent in its progress. Finally, there's a very subtle choir with ahh's rounding off this atmospheric and very wet song.

Baby Elephant Walk - One of my all time favorites and a big hit for Mr. Welk as well. As playful a tune as there is, yet with a steady, forward march feel. You can see the elephants dancing, very graceful, prancing for one another, dressed perhaps like the Chippendales. There's a powerful brass in there, too, and some delicate tinkling for extra delight. This is a tune everyone would like, with the single possible exception of some goth pothead in prison. Maybe he wouldn't care for it.

Born Free - Powerful, inspirational song, with a little bit of everything. The full sweep of emotion for one, and enough voices and instrumentation to lift your soul to new heights. This is one to return to over and over. I'm up in the air, close to Heaven. The ultimate freedom is in sight! I'm riding a happiness high that's out of this world. If you actually are addicted to stimulants, try this song. It's a natural high, and there's absolutely no letdown, until it ends. Great one.

It's All in the Game - In my opinion, the greatest song ever written ("Hey" to KIOA there, a nod to Dic Youngs, the old Youngster). This is a straightforward instrumental of the Tommy Edwards classic, with a choir making "doo doo" sounds. You know, your heart can fly away on this one, too. If you have a "main squeeze," maybe squeeze her somewhere very discreetly, like on the elbow. This song brings back tender memories of my own very private fantasies of being at the malt shop with my "Wild Thing," who, of course, orders whiskey.

Calcutta - Mr. Welk's greatest hit. Like "Baby Elephant Walk," one to cherish for the time it evokes, when we were young and dancing on a Saturday night so long ago. Even now I'm attempting it, but what I'm managing is a slow shuffle not in time with the beat. I need to get my exercise bike going again, I guess. But this tune is one I have a real love for. I'm thinking back to Grandpa cutting the rug, and Grandma canning beets or doing some other work around the house. Clean sound, thrilling instrumentation.

Yellow Bird - Slower paced song. Sparse instrumentals to get us started, as simple as can be. It becomes very familiar, bringing a smile to my face when we get into it. For those into trivia, this song has nothing to do with Big Bird from Sesame Street. It has a Latin America vibe, like what they play at the Mexican restaurant without the huge guitar, overbearing horn section, and all the insane yipping.

On the Street Where You Live - Here's a swing-uh, Broadway style. This one swaggers, yet keeps the Welk cheerfulness. It hints at moroseness, but that can't last long, and we're happy and gay once again. This is a street I'd love to live on. Everyone's happy to see you. "Hello Mr. Baker, Hello Mr. Butcher, Hello Mr. Fruit Guy," I'm just peeking in to wish you 'Pleasant day, sir,' and get something to eat, now that you mention it! I'm happy-go-lucky, like Georgy Girl, with a strident beat!

To Each His Own - This song always has an autumn feel to me. I think of a lone person wandering, maybe seeking to end it all at an interstate overpass, and the title sounds like that, too. You're looking up at the naked trees for the last time and feeling wistful. A very strong horn carries that sense and the piano keeps it at the fore. Yes, there's some gaiety in the lighter instruments, but nothing can keep it from expressing the seriousness of a suicide attempt. The goth pothead in prison, referred to earlier, would probably dig this one.

Last Date - The Floyd Cramer classic, an instantly likable song. Piano driven, of course. A strings section eases into the mix. There's a real Nashville flair going on here. Midway, the strings take over, and some voices present themselves. But the piano tops it off and carries it to its heights, repeating the song's main theme. It's been a while since my last date. It was high school, if memory serves, a party with about 20 kids, and I went home alone. Kind of like every night since, except now I don't even know 20 other people. Maybe I need to listen to "To Each His Own" again.

Sex and the Single Girl

When I was in the cellar the other day, I was poking around and there was a box of books under a table. Old ones, some pretty well read, stashed away for storage. I pulled it out just enough to see what they might be and this one was on top and fell out.

I picked it up and was a little surprised as to what it was: Sex and the Single Girl, by Helen Gurley Brown. It says it's "The unmarried woman's guide to men." I'm thinking maybe it could've been my mom's or my aunt's, but I'm looking and this book was printed in 1963, and they were both married before that.

If I leave out my uncles and grandpa -- none of them would be the owner of course -- the matter remains a mystery. Unless, I don't know, there's always Grandma. But she also was married in 1963. But Grandpa died in '78, so its conceivable she could've gotten this book somewhere after that. She was still in her 70s then, so it's not impossible.

I think I can leave out my mom and aunt for another reason, which is they didn't live here in 1963 or any of the later years. They had their own place. So it about has to be Grandma, who may have even gotten the book earlier, like when it first came out, just as a thing of general interest and not because she was stepping out on Grandpa.

Now that I think of it, back then she did have some interesting reading habits, including "True Story," "True Confessions," "Secrets," those magazines lying around. They were pretty racy. I remember one that had a story called "I Was Raped on My Husband's Grave." So that about settles it. This was exactly her thing. And she liked Peyton Place, etc., so, now that I remember all that, there's no question about it. This book has to be Grandma's.

I wonder if she'd remember it now. Maybe I ought to sit there reading it at the dinner table. I doubt if she'd notice. She can't really be into it anymore. It's really hard to believe, in a way, that she ever cared about such things. But I guess she must have. She snagged Grandpa, and with five kids, they obviously did something right.

Wild Thing

I just heard one of the greatest songs of all time on the radio, "Wild Thing."

You know, you hear a song like that and it puts you in a certain mood, a certain frame of mind, like rrrrrowwwl.

All day yesterday I was thinking of me in a Cadillac. But you know, those things come with more than one seat! And I'd like to have my very own "Wild Thing" right across from me, or, better yet, right in the middle as I'm crusin'.

To quote from "Wild Thing," with the guitar bits necessarily a part of it:

"Wild thing, bah duh bah dah dah, you make my heart sing, bah duh bah dah dah, you make everything... groovy."

Then I love it how the guy says in his best, most plaintive, casual, laid back aside to the lady fair, "Wild Thing, I think I love you." That'd be cool to say, just like that. Let's say she's extra wild. In the seat of your car. And obviously it's a convertible. Her hair is blowing free. She's very very sassy. We go to a malt shop and she orders whiskey, slamming it down and looking at you in with that come hither glance, her hair tossed back before looking straight ahead like she's impatient. I'm looking over at her but she's not looking back, pretending not to see, filing her nails. But she can see well enough, and she goes, "Like what you see?"

Then right after that part, "I think I love you...," which would be hard to argue with if you said it in just that way, he goes, "But I wanna know for sure... C'mon and hold me tight..." Ummm. This is the part where I pull her in real tight, real close, up close and personal, right here, and growl it, "I love you..."

Bah duh bahba bah bah dah ... Ending off with "Wild thing, I think you move me... You move me."

Wish I Had A Cadillac

Well, I spent quite a bit of time working on the old exercise bike. I greased it up extra slick and dug out some of the gunk in the chain. There was some rust in some of the other places, which I couldn't do much about, so I spritzed some oil on it. Things seem to be loosened up quite a bit, at least to the point that riding it is not a nightmare.

I'm kind of proud of my diligence. It's not everyday I take on a task like that. The thing has been in Grandpa's garage for 30 years -- although one other time I had it out and was checking what it'd take to get it fixed. It seemed like a real job, so I put it back. Except I hung it upside down, because I heard that's supposed to help if you're not going to use something for quite a while.

Now it's down -- I did it! Now I'm thinking what other worlds there might be to conquer. I guess it's true, if you set your mind on something, and you want it badly enough, you want to accomplish it, things actually are possible. But wishing, wishing, wishing does not always make it so. It takes, like I said, diligence, and you can't be afraid to put some work into it. If you're afraid to do a little work, believe me, you're not going to get much of positive value in life.

You know, there's something I always wish I had, and I'm setting my mind on it right now. A Cadillac. I don't care what year it is, just so it's in nice shape, runs, and hopefully gets good gas mileage. And what else? Looks good, which is the same as nice shape. A '56, '58, '66, '74 -- those are some of the vintage years. Which would likely be fixer-uppers, although if I can oil up an exercise bike, what is there I can't do?

Something newer would be better -- if it could be managed. Now that they use Led Zeppelin music and edgy, shifting graphics on their commercials, a Cadillac isn't just for old timers. Although Grandpa of course preferred Chevys. You think of a Cadillac for the stuffy old banker, the guy with the toupee who doesn't like to talk to you. But that's not just who they're for anymore. They're for the youthful business exec, they're for the grocery store manager, and, if I knew where to get the money, they'd be for me.

There's where my wish is going to come up against the hard reality of an actual quandary. I haven't got the money. But if I had the money and then I had the Cadillac, I would be driving downtown, and people would see me, and guys would call out, "Hey, Easy Money! How's it goin', dude?"

Anything That Doesn't Kill Me

I've found over the years -- perhaps fitness research would bear me out -- that when despondency is present, when "Old Man Blues" pays his sometimes daily visit, it's best not to take it lying down, certainly, but to be up and at 'em! I sometimes forget that, then there I am moping around the house, lying in my bed looking up at the ceiling, or dulling the pain with an extra helping of apricots.

Then suddenly it hits me, it's time to get up and get with it! Why let life keep passing me by? There's no percentage in giving up. To postpone misery's passing is to submit to the theft of what quality time I may have remaining, or something like that. Anyway, as my cousin always wisely said, "Anything that doesn't kill me makes me stronger." He could turn a great phrase, and this is one I remember.

So here's the way I handled the post-terrorist threat blues:

First, there was a box in the yard -- must've been blowing through. I took a club and beat the crap out of it.

Second, I got Grandpa's old exercise bike out of the garage, squirted a little oil in some of the bits there and got it loosened up to the point that it could squeak along. Not smooth at all, but I'm thinking as I'm working it, "Anything that doesn't kill me..." This thing might, though. I rode it a mile, which, with the severely constrained mechanism there, giving out, freezing up, then freer for a few seconds -- all quite unpredictable -- is equivalent to about 20 miles.

After that I thought about crashing. Rest by the old maple tree. But that's just life passing me by again. So I was up and at it, running around the half acre, through the weeds, tripping over the clods that have been rooted up by moles or gophers or whatever, and around. Over and over. By now I've got my shirt off, tucked in my back pants pocket. I'm rolling my arms through the air -- you know, like they do. "Anything that doesn't kill me" is going through my mind, but, hey, I'm pretty much out of shape.

Now what? I've worked off a lot of the stress. It's time to live!

Despondent Boy

For a few days there we had some real excitement. But now things have died down and we're back to normal. And one day is just the same as others.

I felt like we were at a peak experience there for a while, when Grandma and I thought the terrorists were coming to get us. We weren't thoroughly prepared -- I went into all that -- but the preparations were good enough, let's say, to survive a quick strike. Such as if the terrorists had taken out most of the neighborhood, including our house, and had moved on. We would have been OK in the cellar and would have been able to come up to the surface after everything died down to live another day.

I can see myself, really, in the aftermath of something terrible. Let's just say the house was destroyed. And the half-acre was littered with our possessions. I would be sheltering Grandma through most of the explosions. Then when it all died down I would tell her to be patient, that we must not go out too soon, no matter how curious we naturally would be. Then, perhaps in the dead of night, when there was not a creature stirring, and no sound, I would get my flashlight--

Here's where it gets good. Because then I would still be very cautious, even with the flashlight. My first hope would be that I was able to see without it. Such as if it were a moonlit night or a car was driving by with its lights on. I would attempt to see what there was to see. And I've always been real good at moving -- like a ninja -- without making a lot of noise. (Now, if the floor is naturally creaky, of course I have trouble with that -- who wouldn't? But for the most part, you don't know I'm coming and you don't know I was there until I'm gone!)

So, I would be outside the house. Perhaps all that is left is just the cellar door under a hundred pounds of debris. Grandma is safely behind in her chair. I lift the debris and climb out. I can picture myself, a very grim look of determination playing across my face, hoping it is a moonlit night that my heroic features might be accentuated for posterity.

Moving in my silent way -- as best as can be managed, with no creaky floors in sight -- I see the possessions of a more peaceful day scattered and blowing in the wind. Over there against the fence, pages flapping, is a TV Guide, but there's no TV.

In the distance I can hear the tanks rolling for the city. I'm able to run -- like 40 mph -- over to the interstate. I get there and see them, and can tell by their markings that they're ours. Yet there's no way they would know me. They'd likely take me for a hostile character. So I give them a silent salute. I mouth a silent prayer of godspeed -- the wind takes it and makes it its own.

Back in the bunker, I report to Grandma all the many images I have seen and declare how we will be OK. I'm rocking her in my arms for comfort. Still, I'm wondering to myself how exactly we really will ever manage. The house is completely gone. Only the outhouse is still standing. But you can't live there, of course -- not unless you added on a couple rooms.

Getting back to normal is sort of depressing. But, hey, we do still have the house.

The Morning After

There was a song that kept running through my mind all night, "There's got to be a morning after if we can hold on through the night."

I'm by nature an optimist and like to look on the bright side. Even if the terrorists didn't strike -- the Republicans somehow stopped them -- being in the cellar was a good drill. It showed how prepared we were for the worst. And as far as I'm concerned we're a lot stronger for it.

We're wiser for it, too, because I was able to discover in real life testing what some of our shortcomings are. Now, if I tweak those and touch up the conditions of our confinement, we'll be doubly prepared the next time there's a terrorist scare. And don't think it won't happen! That would be a September 10 mindset. Constant fear is the best course.

Grandma's back upstairs, on her bed right now. She was beat -- physically, emotionally -- completely spent. I haven't seen her this wrung-out in a long time, I guess since Grandpa's death. And that was 30 years ago. And she was a lot younger then and could take it. Now she's practically at death's door herself. It took me a good half hour to get her up the cellar stairs; stopping and starting, clutching at her heart. Her poor old frail body can't take much more of this. But somehow, someway -- a lot of prayer and patience -- we made it, both of us staggering, she in a state of collapse. After that, it was literally all I could do to prop her up at the stove to rustle me up some breakfast.

Now the evaluations must begin. The biggest downside I saw in this whole experience was the sanitary facilities. The bucket. It would be much better to get one of those camper toilets -- I think I've heard of them -- where there's some kind of really hungry enzyme in there, in the millions, in a constant state of anticipation, that helps keep it clean. Or possibly a chemical dissolvent, something that would neutralize the whole works with a minimum of fumes and sizzling. And that wouldn't attach itself to us! You think, though, you're down there, helpless, and anything could happen. I can see myself living in the fear that an enzyme or a chemical like that might attach itself to us, and essentially eat its way up and out our mouth! So we'll probably keep the bucket handy till I work through some of these things.

And there were other obvious downsides: Cooking, cleaning, ventilation, lighting, no generator, old supplies, dampness, everything else. Plus, I left my gun upstairs. If the terrorists had come busting in, we'd have been dead meat.

It turns out survival is a tough business, something that needs a lot of planning. About the only thing that worked well was the duct tape on the door cracks, but then that also gave us more ventiliation issues.

Last night was a long one, but in the end we came through it OK. Now Grandma can rest up through the morning -- till lunch time. And then we'll see what the rest of the day brings. But I'm looking out right now at a beautiful day. The terrorists didn't come! Somehow John McCain kept us safe -- I guess -- but we also had a hand in it, bravely doing what we could.

And we'll do it better next time! Because it's not a matter of IF but WHEN.

Bunker Mentality

The electricity's been going out all day, off and on. We heard numerous explosions, great blasts. My sense of the thing is that it's either Al Qaeda blowing up the neighborhood or another thunderstorm.

I left the cellar once, to empty the bathroom bucket, but if the enemy closes in on us we might have to just sit tight and endure the smell. It's not a good option, of course, but survival is the main thing, not comfort. Grandma was up and down all night -- heck of a time for the trots. And there I am -- can't sleep anyway, my nerves are shot -- and she's over on the bucket giving it her worst. But the morning did finally come.

Anyway, with the electrical problems that meant this computer was going off all the time. But I'm doing my best here. I just hope there's someone out there still alive. If John McCain is reading this -- or one of his aides, assuming any have survived -- please save us. We're too young to die; that's definitely true of myself, I guess I should add.

It's only been one day and already I feel like I've got bunker mentality. It's very tight quarters in here with the stores Grandpa packed away. I'm looking at some of the bags of this stuff. Rice, beans, powdered water. All of which seems OK. This is not going to be pleasant if it lasts too long. But how long is it going to last?

Let me pause a moment here, to think...

I guess, I don't know, maybe, could be ... I probably should've waited for some official notification from the authorities before going to the cellar. We came down here simply on reflex, it was her idea. But when you think about it, you know, McCain only said he would have an "advantage" if we had another terrorist attack. But -- I think I'm on to something important here -- you know, if you parse that out, then take it in the literal sense of the words, really that's quite a bit different, that's removed from an out and out actual declaration that Al Qaeda is already on their way. And the assumption that they would first attack a rural neighborhood like this, here at the edge of town, on a gravel road, is something else to reevaluate...

I need to take another look at this print out ... looking at it here -- rereading it -- I think the plain sense of this document is absolutely clear, that all of it seems to be merely hypothetical. This in no sense reads like an actual warning, nor, quite frankly, do I see any directive, any instructions as to what citizens should do at the present time -- which you would expect to see if it were like other emergencies; they always have some notification component. Hmm, come to think of it, we had the radio on most of the day and they didn't say a word about it.

But there's Grandma Slump sitting there in her civil defense helmet, rocking slowly back and forth, drifting in and out of intense alertness. I might have to suck it up and take the blame here. So she got siren happy! She's old, and entitled to a certain extent! Well, I'm sitting tight for the moment. Maybe. I'd hate to get up and disappoint her and tell her we're wasting our time down here. She might not believe me. She knows I swing Democratic. She might take it as a personal affront, since we got this alert from a Republican.

But she's stirring a bit, shifting uneasily, and that's what she does when she's fixing to use the bucket. I might get sick. I'll turn my head, of course. There's nothing I want to see. Especially in her sickened condition. Basic hygiene and all that, it's lacking.

One more night of this and we'll reassess in the morning.

The Terrorists Are Coming Again!

Those darned old terrorists are coming again -- since it's an election year!

It wasn't enough that they got lucky on 9/11, but they've threatened us and scared us out of our everloving wits ever since, like clockwork at two year intervals.

As sure as anything -- it must be her instinct -- Grandma Slump perked up at the news that they were on their way again, and she's been grinding out that old siren I got one time at an army surplus store.

That's my cue to get to the basement. There's really something about the paranoia of a 104 year old woman. It's not constant but it's very intense in spurts. In those lucid moments she has the urge to survive like a young sprout half her age.

This all started with John McCain raising the very real specter of Osama bin Laden just over the next horizon. Grandma's always been for the Republicans, since she knows no one can protect us like they can -- like they did on 9/11. I've always been pretty much a Democrat, but as soon as the news starts chattering about terrorists, and when Grandma starts cranking that siren, there's nothing I can do but submit and look to the Republicans for protection.

Charlie Black really got it going, saying what an "advantage" terrorism is for McCain. And McCain himself has agreed with that verdict in the past, as I think we all do. Yes, McCain's the man to keep us safe! If we vote for McCain we will be safe! Although, truthfully, all we have to do is get him elected and make it past election day in November, and then, if history is any guide, the threat will subside significantly. So that's a pretty big relief.

Well, that old siren's going off, so Grandma must be awake again. I have just a couple minutes to wish everyone out there well, then I'll head for the cellar. She's already down there, of course. We're ready for the long haul. We've got a bucket for bathroom necessities. And all those boxes of civil defense rations -- crackers and canned meat -- Grandpa put down there in the '50s. I hope it's still good.

Remember, world, if this is the last chance I'm able to communicate with the outer world for the foreseeable future, all these problems with terrorists will be solved if only we have the good sense to elect the Republicans.

The Slumps and the Swishers

Everybody needs an enemy. And, it would seem, when we get one it's also necessary to use them to good advantage.

When our enemy was a country -- like the Soviet Union -- some of us (not me) used them to good advantage. They kept us pretty much terrified (me) of what might happen -- the Soviets were barely people like us -- and so, no doubt, there was a lot of money to be made in defense efforts, armaments, etc.

Now our big enemy are the terrorists. Whether they really have much power and presence or not, it doesn't make any difference. They're our enemy, and we (somebody) will use them to good advantage. The watershed moment -- which the neocons were thankful for -- was 9/11. You see it pays to have a good defense, but if the enemy still manages to get through, by luck, by hook or crook, or by our own negligence, that also can pay. 9/11 paid big time. There should be no dispute about that. Bush rode it all the way to Iraq and hasn't come back yet. The Republicans used it to ride to victory in 2004 and it looks like that's about all they have left this year.

Today we had it in the news something of this very thing, that the McCain campaign thinks another terrorist attack on America would be beneficial. McCain aide Charlie Black said the assassination of Benazir Bhutto in December was an “unfortunate event. But [McCain's] knowledge and ability to talk about it reemphasized that this is the guy who’s ready to be Commander-in-Chief. And it helped us.” The subject of another terrorist attack on U.S. soil was brought up, and Black said, “Certainly it would be a big advantage to him.” So, try to imagine John McCain's prayers every night before he goes to bed, "Oh, please Lord, please, pour out your wrath on this nation once again, so I can get my sorry butt elected. In Jerry Falwell's name I pray, Amen."

"Certainly it would be a big advantage to him." That's what the Republicans are hoping for.

Here on the Slump half-acre, things are pretty calm. But it wasn't always so. We used to have an enemy -- I never really knew why -- the Swishers next door. It was common knowledge that the Slumps never had much use for the Swishers, and the opposite was no doubt true.

Grandpa Slump was the most vocal about it, of course. But he was known to get drunk and shoot rock salt at random. So he was always the most vocal. Grandma always had the basic quietness that is natural for women of her generation. I suppose you have all those kids, and raise them in the depression, and everyday's another heartache, it gives you a softer nature. Not for Grandpa. But of course the drinking took away whatever softer side he might've had.

The odd thing about this feud was it was very low-key. I wouldn't have known the Swishers existed, basically, if Grandpa wasn't grumbling about them. They didn't seem to be bad neighbors and kept to themselves. I said that was the odd thing, but the oddest thing of all was that one of my uncles -- Babe -- married a Swisher daughter. That was before I was born. So why Grandpa couldn't like them at that point, I don't know.

Everyone's got enemies.

Live Blogging 20 on 20

My favorite radio station in the whole world is XM Radio's 20 on 20. It's like a candy store of music. The same songs in quick rotation. They have the top 20 a few times a day now, then the rest of the time it's just top songs, including of course some of the 20 that will make the top 20.

Lil Wayne - Lollipop -- I've heard this song a few times. It has a nice interplay of voices. Some of the vocals are overly filtered with effects. It mentions "Shorty" or "Shawty" a lot, like some of the other songs popular these days. There are a few drop-outs, probably censored bits. I haven't heard an uncensored version, but I have my suspicions about this "lollipop," if you know what I mean (nudge nudge). There's a real neat drum sound on this record, overly trebled, and it sounds cool. I've been thinking about it lately.

Coldplay - Viva la Vida -- This is a nice song. I got the CD the other day and I like it. I have the other Coldplay CDs and have heard them, especially X&Y, but I'm not so well versed like the gurus at All Music. com who must sit in ivory towers listening, charting, dissecting, and interacting with live hookups with every artist in the world. They know so much! I just say, cool song, cool album, etc. But I do like it. It starts off with a little tune, the same tune it ends with, so it's connected back on itself. I've noticed it's an easy CD to listen to while doing other things, not something that needs to be concentrated on or is intrusive. So, I really haven't noticed what the lyrics even are, on any of the songs, and I've heard the whole album four or five times. This song, the single, I've heard a lot more, since it's on 20 on 20 every hour or so. It has some nice strings, and a thicker sound, thanks to Eno, no doubt.

Jessie McCartney commercial -- Taking over 20 on 20 on Friday.

New Kids on the Block - Summer Time -- I've only heard this a couple times. I read about New Kids the other day, back together, doing a tour, with a CD. I myself wasn't a fan of the group. My kids liked them. We got one of their CDs at a garage sale in May, to fill in my daughter's collection. (By the way, I'm out of my Grandma Slump pathetic hayseed character for this post. So if you're worrying about continuity, don't. It's all fake.) This is a good song, affirmative, thinking about you in the summer time. The whole group's in on the vocals, of course. Sounds like a hit to me! Welcome back! I don't remember their names, Jordan, Donnie, that's all I got.

Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown - No Air -- This is a hot song. They did it together on American Idol and it was burning hot. I like it a lot. I've liked Jordin's singles, Tattoo and the other one, the name escapes me. Chris Brown always sounds good. It's a hot duet. "It's so hard for me to breathe. Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air." It's a song like this that makes 20 on 20 a candy store. If you like the colors and jars in a candy store, these songs are that. Classical music CD stores -- of which there must still be one somewhere -- are candy stores too. I used to see one at Westport at Kansas City, Missouri. Candy store.

Britney - Break the Ice -- I don't think I've heard this before. I haven't been on 20 on 20 that much lately, just in the last couple days, so I might've missed a few things. But it's time to get caught up. Less electronic effects on the vocals than on some of her recent singles. Sounds OK, but it's not engrained in me yet. Hmm, she says, "I like this part." I seem to remember that from another song. Didn't she say that in one of the other singles from the latest album? Plus I heard a song by some guys the other day where the guy says, "I like this part."

OK, we're at the top of the hour. Jessie McCartney is taking over, playing his top 20. Here he is, talking, speaking to us, updating us guys about what's going on. He's back in 2008 and hopefully it will be a great year. He's been working on a new album, has been working with a lot of R&B guys, and the album is a big step forward for him.

His first song played:

Snoop Dogg - Sensual Seduction -- Well, I have to go ... so we'll leave it there.