ARE BABY CARROTS SEXY?

That's what the headline of the lead-in article in our paper's Food Section said today? I re-read. Sometimes my mind sees stuff not there. In fact, there are so many times, that I can't give an example.

So I'll make one up to serve. If I saw an advertisement for Fresh Greens, my first read might just be Freshen Gums. Maybe not the best example in the world, but I guess I'm such a fast reader that my mind processes faster than my eye. I meant that sentence as a joke when I started it, because I graded too many papers for too many years to think that I can read fast. But maybe just fast enough to make that statement about processing accurate.

But back to the headline. Someone really needs to help me out on this one. How in the world can baby carrots be sexy? Maybe eating them instead of a banana split everyday would help you become more sexy. But the carrots themselves? Any food? Or car. I've heard people describe their cars as sexy. Just how?

What's next? Boats, houses, Best Buy Stores?

Maybe the woman in the old coke ad is sexy. Not to me. But coke probably thought so back then. And maybe back then she was. I won't explain what sexy to me is. But it's not anything I've mentioned so far.

But when I heard a young man (30's, maybe) express to the aunt of a four-year old that her niece looked sexy, I about lost it.

Maybe sexy has a different meaning than it used to. I get behind in slang. I'm still getting used to "spot on" and "my bad". I don't care for either. I'm so out of it technologically, too. When a Facebook friend wrote Ty, I thought he was talking about someone named Ty (as in Cobb). When he informed me it meant "Thank You," I felt as if I were on the outside of an inside joke.

Well, it's mid-morning for me, and I'm getting a little hungry after an early up and at 'em and a 3-mile walk. If I could only find something sexy to munch on. We have some yellow organic baby carrots, but I had some last night watching pre-season football. They weren't sexy to me at all. They just tasted a little bitter.

Is sexy the new bitter?

THIS PICTURE GOES WITH THE FOLLOWING BLOG ENTRY. NOT THE TWO IN THE FIELD, THOUGH THEY ARE NICE PICTURES

COME ON IN

Welcome. It's all right. It's just me. (I know, grammatically it's just I, but that sounds awkward too me.) I don't like uncomfortability.

Take a load off. You're invited to see what's inside. Most everyone likes secrets. And with this blog, I'm see-thru. Transparent. Open. Honest.

I've been doing this for a long time now. Don't fret Frequent Reader(s), this is no swan song. On the QT will continue. Stale sometimes, I know. Pressing to meet a self-imposed deadline, I show it. These last hectic months have affected my focus. Narrowed my scope. Rushed me to perform.

I'm all out of whack with my writing right now. I need must (I always hated that, as I hate the word and the kinds of people who use the word shan't as well as those who say might could) write a travel log of our sojourns this Summer. As well as take care of two fantasy sports teams and FarmVille.

So what suffers? My blogging. But I'll endure as Faulkner said in his 1950 Pulitzer Prize acceptance speech, because well Sonya's Gotta Dance.

That was the name of the dance class that our daughter took for several years. I thought a funny name, but it makes sense to me. Sonya's gotta dance so she teaches dance. TQ's gotta write, so he blogs.

Thanks for coming in the open door. It was only cracked a little today to let in some air. Ideas need circulation/ventilation. Other times, it'll be wide open for exposure. Sometimes just a sliver when I want to be personal, but it will always be somewhat opened to all those who choose to come on in.

SO WHAT WOULD YOU ADVERTISE IF YOU HAD TO

Let's say they make a new law. Who's they? Legislators, of course, civic students. Recently I heard of another goofy California law going into effect soon. One cannot click on the gas handle while pumping to indicate one wants a fill-up. No, no, no as our youngest granddaughter says. It must be hand held until the hose overflows a bit to illustrate full. What a waste!

So what if the law were to require one to advertise a product on the side of their house that faces the street? You know, like "See Ruby Falls" or Burma Shave of days gone by. The guy in the picture of course hocked Coke.

Potato chips came to mind for me, along with Italian food. Maybe an heirloom tomato. Or a brat. Some re-fried beans--they'd have to be the real deal, lumpy and all. A big chef salad. Gelato. In a waffle cone.

Maybe some Oscar-Meyer already fried bacon just warm it up in the microwave. Maybe Arizona suntan lotion. How about a Lexus? A bookstore?

Well, this list could go on all day. But I'll end the suspense right now. I'd advertise an 8-iron. A Callaway. I've had two holes-in-one and both have been with my trusty 8-iron. One from 132 yards and one from 160 yards. That'd be my big picture on the side of our house.

Plus, it would give my wife plenty of room to advertise her fave. A travel brochure, Paradise ice tea, a good steak, peanut butter cookies, chocolate, naturally. Special K. Michael Kors. And some awesome shoes that fit like a glove. Five Finger something. She wiggles her toes which are separated like a glove and voila her toes fit into the shoes with a sole that she can jog in or walk in or wear to the beach, or to church. Ok, not the last one. Se what merchandise does to me?

I JUST KNOW

It never bothered the Baumgartners. The getting dark early.

Like some Ray Bradbury character, I moaned tonight to my wife,"It's getting dark earlier. I hate to see that."

Bradbury loved Illinois and Summer. He loved Summer nights and kid games and neighborhoods and families. He wouldn't have minded the dark as long as kids weren't rushed to bed. And if they were by unassuming parents, he would want them to be reading under the covers by flashlight.

He would want them to awaken in the night by a gentle breeze blowing in their screened in window. He wouldn't mind a storm and the smell in the air of electrons refreshing. He wouldn't even mind a good scare. No blood;no Freddie necessary. Just good clean imagination.

So maybe that's why at my advanced age, I still hate to see the end of Summer and confinement dictated by the clock. Maybe because I still remember all the fun that sunshine and Summertime brought. I even recall quasi-sneaking (I think my parents knew) my transistor radio into bed and listening to a Cardinal game when they were on the West coast. Or listening to Dick Biondi on WLS in Chicago.

But there was nothing like the freedom of Summer. Even if you blew off a day. It was your day. No strings.

But Summers end. See you in September is more than a great old song. Reined in. No longer unleashed. And I feel for the kids/ the times.

I know crabby old Mr. Baumgartner, our neighborhood Boo Radley who never would have saved any of us would care at all about today,perhaps marking that pasage, but I do.

BUT WHY IS SHE LAUGHING...AND CLAPPING

I once missed a pitch when I was warming up a minor league (not AA or AAA) pitcher and I flat missed the ball. I was 9.

Goose egg. Big time above my right eye smack in the middle of my forehead. I caught in the game though my catcher's mask strap hurt the bump. I went home after the game with the big knot.

I wasn't sure my mom was ever going to allow me to play baseball anymore. But she did. And it never happened again.

So I understand how the fan missed the foul ball. Believe me, no one felt worse about it than he. But why is the girl seated behind him so exuberant about the incident? I mean, she's looking right at him. She sees it. She's even going to text someone about it.

I'm not sure about the guy next to him either. He's turned away but seems to be eyeing the girl and may just be sharing in her elation. What gives?

Or is it just me. Over analyzing again. I'm sure the photographer was focused on the ball and the fan. I mean that's what makes it a picture, but background is important, too, and in this case, to me at least, overshadows the main event.

ART AND ANN AND ABBY

Linkletter, Landers, and Van Buren. They asked questions; they had answers.

Kids are the ones that crack me up. Three cases in point and if you don't find all 3 funny, then add doddering to TQ. I'm really not sure what doddering is, and I don't think any of the aforementioned are living, so whom do I ask?

On a recent walk through the Dallas-Forth Worth Airport with our 7 -year old grandson, he spotted a woman wearing the burka. In all seriousness, he said to his 9- year old brother, "Look, Grant, a woman ninja." We kept walking.

After I got them to San Diego for an all- too brief vacation with us, we were walking on the streets in Coronado when we stopped to talk to the Stegway man and pet this dog. "How much to rent one?" he asked.

When told $50 for the whole day, his eyes widened and he reiterated, "fifty dollars!!"

"Does that seem like a lot of money?"

Nathan's response as he looked at me, "Not for us."

"That's what I like to hear," the renter responded. Needless to say, we petted the dog and walked, not Stegwayed away.

My wife's niece when very young was observant. Back in the day before little ones were confined to the backseat, she saw a bad driver pull out in front of her dad.

"Horn him," she yelled, meaning to honk the horn at him. It's now become one of those family expressions that we use when encountering bad drivers.

Feel free to use it or the other two I wrote about. We can expand our family when it comes to good stories.

Did you laugh at least at one?

DON'T BE SCARED--IT'S TOMATOES

At the Tomatina Festival in Bunol, Spain, this week, they celebrated. They threw tomatoes at volunteers/participants. To celebrate the harvest? I don't know, but that's a guess.

Festivals like this have been going on for a long time. With so much depending upon a good harvest, farmers and eaters have felt like celebration. Based on what kinds of weather, what kinds of growing conditions, farmers specialized. Bunol, probably with similar soil conditions of central Illinois, focused on tomatoes. At the end of the growing season, it was time to party. By throwing tomatoes.

Hey, it could be worse. Just think what sweet corn and watermelon tossing could do to an MTV participant who received those hurls. Or even worse. How about West Frankfort's Old King Coal Days. We could have another "Lottery". Wayne City has Bean Days. Lots of possibilities there that don't include throwing anything. Bonnie, IL has Straw and Hay Days. That wouldn't be too bad, unless bales were included. But that would have to be a close range chuck.

I'm sure that with a little Google time, I could come up with some other really good Fall Festivals. But I just wanted to give you a taste, a little savor of what festivaling is all about. Feel free to expand my list. But when you go to Wayne City, IL's Bean Days and you see farting post referenced, well that says enough for me about those festivities.