OUTBID NOTICE

I was informed that my paltry bid fell short of securing Finance and Fortune, a precursor of Monopoly. The board game came out one year before Monopoly in 1935. It was complete and in excellent condition.

Why did I want it? I don't know. The grandkids and I still play Junior Monopoly. It's fun and doesn't last nearly as long. My only complaint with the real deal game.

There's just something about board games. They're competitive, they're played by several family members or friends, they take us away from mindless tv, and they allow time for conversation or good natured ribbing while playing. Like it says on the Finance box, Fun for Everybody.

My favorite Monopoly game piece was the dog. Usually everybody wants the car, so I just snag the dog. Why a cannon? Even more so, why an iron? Now, if the cannon was cool like the one on the Square in MTV, then ok, but the Monopoly cannon is lame. And who ever gets excited about ironing? "Yeah, let me be the iron, man." "No way, I'm always the iron."

Come to think of it, the hotels could be a little more fitting for the prices they charge when landing there. Why should Boardwalk's hotel look identical to St. James Place? Or the flop house Baltic Avenue of the dreaded purple group? Fix 'em up if you're going to charge me top dollar.

Oh, I guess could tweak Monopoly. Like the Universities have and make their own Boardwalks and railroads, but then you're tweaking an institution. Your revising history. So, I say leave it alone. But I would have liked to pick up Finance, just for the novelty.

LISTEN TO HIM

Hill St. Blues was one of my favorite tv shows back in the early eighties. Lots of action and lots of good actors. From Belker to the Captain to and his wife to Ed Marinaro to Renko. They took care of crime and those whose committed it.

One of the best parts, besides when the really bad guys got roughed up by the police. I know, that's not a good thought, but catharsis is like that. Besides that, was roll call at the show's beginning.

When they would review what had happened and what suspects and characters they were looking for. Sometimes, more important issues intervened. Other times, apathy did. Sometimes poignancy dictated reverential silence. Other times boisterous clowning around set the tone.

But the man in charge, and I've forgotten his actor or show name, but he's pictured, would always stop the policemen and policewomen before they left. He'd always say, "Hey, and let's be careful out there." I always liked that part. Maybe because a lot of fellow teachers liked that show as well, and when many would leave the Teachers' Lounge at MTV High before, well sometimes even after the first bell rang, on a lot of occasions, someone would parrot that line from Hill St. Blues. And, of course, some days we needed the reminder and assurance that somebody cared for our safety.

THERE'S ALWAYS GOOD, BAD, AND UGLY

Let's go backwards so I can end on a positive.

Bad, first. The 2007 baseball season, for one thing. Well, for the first time all season and for a very, very few games ever, I rooted against the Cardinals the last three games. Oh, I still rooted for Mr. Pujols to get his 100th RBI, but I honestly didn't want them to win. You see, they were playing the Brewers who are chasing the Cubs for the division title. The Cubs have been losing along with the Cardinals, so my Brewers (does that sound funny) were gaining ground. Until their manager, some former player by the uncolorful name Ned Yost gets bad. He awakens the sleepy Cardinals by having ex-Cardinal Suppan throw a fastball at Mr. Pujol's head. In the eighth inning of a game already in control by the Brew Crew. You guessed it--the Cardinals came to life and won the next game putting the Brewers 2 games back with three to play. What is he thinking? Bad.

The Ugly: that's easy. Kevin Spacey, along with Sean Penn and Danny Glover. Three actors that I thought were excellent in their craft. But their personal choices are ugly, ugly, ugly. You see, all have recently gone to Venezuela to have discussions with Chavez, that country's political dictator/leftist/tyrant/etc. And they're friendly to him. Because? Who knows?Amazing! And some students, hopefully only a few, but some applaud Iran's imam, Amahmadinejah at Columbia University! More ugliness. More disbelief.

The good: Just Apple Pie. At least that's what my wife calls her splendid apple pie that she baked last night. Without revealing any trade secrets, it contained sugar- free pie crust, Splenda brown sugar and apples, topped off with, actually baked into the pie, sugar- free carmel sauce. Oh, and a little vanilla ice cream on top. Oh, how good!

After a day of Cubbery--Defined: the hapless ones closing in on the NL Central title due to a Yostian mismanagement; Spacey courting, cuddling with Chavez; and Amahmadinejah in

New York, this blogger needed some good news. Just apple pie filled the bill. And the belly.

THERE IT IS! MY BUNNY, MY CHICKEN FOR SALE ON EBAY

I was so excited to see this product for sale. Never mind that it was under the category of Antiques. But that was mine. Well, one like it. How do I know this one is not mine? I still have it.

My wife puts it on the tv every Easter season. It occupied the fireplace mantle when I was a kid. I have nieces just younger than I, so it was placed there for safe keeping, I figure. Oh, we would still play with it and make that chicken haul the bunny wherever we directed. Once about every five years some new Easter grass would have to be added to the cart. But that was an important part of holidays, the putting out of seasonal decorations.

I'm glad my wife continued that tradition. When one holiday is passed, though, down come the old. I honestly think, no, I know, as much as she loves Christmas, the tree would be taken down December 26 if it were up to her. It may go up the day after Thanksgiving, but come whatever holiday it may be, out with the old and in with the new.

You know, I've never seen another Easter chicken pulling the Easter Bunny in a cart like that. The seller of this item is located in Red Bud, Illinois, just a stone's throw from MTV, so maybe it was more of a regional thing. But I hope she gets big bucks for it. What's that commercial say? Priceless. That's the way with old toys and memories from childhood. I gotta go now. I think I need to bid; my chicken and bunny have been lonely for years.

THE LAST GAME AND NICHES AND CRANNIES

Those are the titles I selected for two novellas I wrote. I started a third and got through four chapters before it expired. I don't even recall its title.

They were never published. Only a few people have copies. I'm sure they feel blessed. They're really not very good. I always thought maybe I could edit and add and fuse the two into one. But those plans died after some initial copy and organizational work.

Both were about neighborhoods, schools, and relationships. About fitting in. Many of the chapters were episodic based loosely on some things I did as a youth, or things I thought about or wished I did.

The point I was trying to make is that somehow we try to carve out our existence that fits us. Sometimes we can't even recognize what fits us. Sometimes it takes others to show us. To pull us up, or to let them pull us down. But somehow, someway we finally take shape. Like a picture when an artist starts out, if he/she doesn't know how it's going to end.

Maybe someday I'll get back to it/them. But writing is really tough and I'm not sure I have much to say. Except a neighbor of mine claps for the cart girl on the golf course to come over to her. She doesn't yell for her: she claps. She pays $10 for 4 Pepsis. She does this once a week. Now, there's a story there somewhere.

WHITMAN AND AMERICA

Maybe because it cooled off. It was actually in the 60's this morning when I went out to fetch the morning paper. And I lingered. Maybe because of the Autumnal Equinox. But I've noticed a change in people today.

In fact I'm reminded of a Walt Whitman poem. And not much ever reminds me of Walt Whitman. Oh, I had to teach him in American Lit., but I didn't dwell on him at all. I did that with a lot of literature. How about the lit I liked? Oh, I saturated them in it. Did it make them appreciate it any more? Did it turn them into avid readers? Hopefully. But if it didn't you have to blame it all on my old profs who made me devour literature that I didn't like and couldn't understand. Just because Prof Vieth got his Ph.D. on the Earl of Rochester, did I really have to submerge myself in his arcane and sublime references and footnotes to explain his obscure allusions? Oh well, I survived, but possibly warped a few high school minds as a result of my tutelage.

As I was saying, when all the matter of truth got in the way, as Robert Frost might have said,

today I noticed people a little less serious, a little lighter of step. It is almost like the first day of Spring weather warm up or thaw in the Midwest and East after a long, too long Winter. Only reversed. After a Long Hot Summer as Faulkner once said. But back to Whitman.

He wrote, "I hear America singing, Her varied carols I hear..." He continues talking about Americans enjoying their jobs and, if not whistling while they work, singing.

All sorts of jobs. People were happy working, happy to be alive. I don't see that much anymore. I hear a lot of grumbling. In newspapers and magazines, I read about how bad things are. But when people are happy, and at work like the man in the picture, it just puts you in a good mood.

Maybe it's just me after a good round of golf today, almost a hole-in-one, almost an eagle on a par 4 on my third favorite course in the valley. Maybe because my Cardinals played a decent game yesterday winning in the ninth inning of a meaningless game. Maybe because I'm happy to be alive.

Whatever it is, I could take a lot more of it. A lot more often. Now listen carefully to see if you hear America singing.