ESCAPE

from the city lights. Even small town illumination. Even streetlights, front porch lights, lights coming from neighboring windows.

No car lights beaming down the street. Not even a flashlight. Hopefully no fireflies (don't you like that better than lightning bugs? The only nomenclature I like better was when our young son would want to go out and catch lighty bops).

No fireworks, no nothing to cast even a faint glow. It must be a clear night, too. The kinds we have in 'Zona. The moon can be bright, that's ok, but that is absolutely all incandation.

Now take some time. Take four minutes. That might seem like a long time. And look at the stars. Identify if you can. If you are no better than I perhaps you can find the north star, the big and little dippers. But it doesn't matter that much. There will be no test.

Well, that's not right. There will be the biggest test of all. It's about faith.

If you can look up to the stars as they are and think that through no master designer, through no omnipotent God who placed them there. If you think the matter that was created (how does one do that exactly?) came from some primordial soup in the form of a big bang. If the precision in the stars alone doesn't convince you that Creationism is a fact, then I certainly will never be able to convince you.

Go ahead, try it. Even if you are 100% opposed to my notion. Try it some night. You just might change your mind.

I JUST RETURNED

from having lunch with a movie/tv star. How lucky am I?

I had played behind him at a golf course in Scottsdale once. I knew he lived in our fair city.

Today at Brios, an upscale (kinda) Italian chain, I ran into him. I said, "Hello, Dennis. How're you doin'?" I tried to sound Italian, too, but not Rocky Balboa Italian.

Mr. Farina said, "Fine, just fine."

Then we were seated. He and five other genuine Italian looking guys and the star of Crime Story and a whole bunch of other stories, mostly about guns and cops. In fact, before becoming an actor, Dennis Farina was a policeman in Chicago when someone told him he should play police roles in the movies. It all just went from there, I guess.

He dominated the conversation which apparently bothered no one else. He sounded just like he does in the movies. He looked a little younger, a little thinner, and a lot tanner in person.

And, oh yeah. My wife, daughter and I were seated at the next table. But we ate at the same time, at the same place, and I did speak with him.

I kinda think next time he'll ask if we want to join him or something. So I expect to have more ddetails to report at a later luncheon date. To be determined.

COSTUMING

One of the best Halloween costumes that I ever answered the door to was a neighbor wearing a gas mask. We used to have an army surplus store in town before that location became a drive-in. That's where his mask came from.

But there he stood with the alien type head, hose dangling from the mouth hole. He didn't say a word. I didn't recognize him. But I was scared. I was only 33 or 34. Just kidding. I was probably 11, but in those days 11 was still young and brim full of naivete.

I handed him his candy or first I may have called for one of my parents to look at the cool costume. But I think I did it solo. My mom would have been too frightened and my dad too pre-occupied or apathetic. He didn't dislike Halloween; he just didn't see the point of it.

For me, I loved it. I loved a good scare. I loved to think what could be out there that would chill me with fear.

I wasn't too creative in my costuming. Mostly, I would wear old clothes and take a stick with a handkerchief on the end and go dressed as a hobo. I didn't know any hobos, but I identified with them. If not that, I would drag out a big paper mache head we made in art class. My nieces and I took turns wearing that big thing for half a dozen Halloweens.

The last costume I wore was Raggedy Andy along with Raggedy Ann, of course. My wife, as usual, looked a lot better than I. She really could have been Ann. As for me, I just looked goofy.

This year I think I'll go dressed as an old guy. With tee shirt and shorts and some real flip flops that my toes finally got used to. It's not much of a costume, but I won't need a mask. At least sometimes when I look in the mirror these days, I scare myself.

"GIVE ME, GIVE ME A QUOTE"

Why do any reporters need access to players' locker rooms? Even if they are poured into a pair of designer jeans as Inez.

There's much to do, albeit late on my part, about women reporters wanting to interview players immediately after the game. In order to do that, they want permission to go into the locker room and ask questions.

I'm not going to ask if men are allowed in womens' locker rooms after the game because to me it's not a matter of sexual discrimination. My animus is why are any reporters allowed access?

Athletes have the right to privacy, to shower and dress without anyone else around except other players and coaches. Then they can make themselves available in the press/media room for interviews or question and answer sessions.

Furthermore, if they don't want to answer questions or be interviewed, then they won't show up. They don't really have to provide insights or answers if they choose not to. The public simply doesn't have that right, though I'm sure they think they do.

Then to compound the issue, you get Inez who dresses like she does, gets heckled, cries foul, and then gets an offer to pose in Playboy.

Sports are getting crazy enough as it is (300-pound linemen in high school? When I was in just out of high school, one of the best offensive guards on our team that lost 1 game all year weighed under 150.) Let's make it easier and restrict only those that played or coached in the game get to go into the locker room. Either that or let's go completely berserk and allow them in the huddle.

WHAT THE HECK?

One of my best friends says that when he's perplexed. And I'm perplexed.

What the heck is the country's seemingly fascination with vampires? Shouldn't we have grown up by now?

I mean I've been patient. I haven't written anything about how infantile this attraction is, but c'mon. Is there no end to this lunacy?

Why not the desire for more Frankensteins? Because we grew out of it as a reading/viewing--heavy stress on viewing both the original Dracula and Frankenstein. The stories have been told. There's nothing more.

At least not to the creative writer and reader and viewer. Let's stop the madness now. If the viewership wants lust and blood, then give it to them in more creative ways than worn out vampires.

I always thought Dracula sucked anyhow.

IT'S SO HARD TO SAY GOOD-BYE

Man, I hate it when baseball season is over. And it is for me. Though my wife doubts it, it is. My Cardinals tanked it. It's inconceivable that they're not in the playoffs.

So who's in? The Redlegs. I don't like that team. The Army Insects (GI ants) I don't like them either, mainly because I was rooting for the Padres in that division. The Giants don't have their names on the back of their uniforms. That's reason enough. And the Bravadoes, chokingest team in the nineties. I don't like the tomahawk chop. Again--reason enough. The Fightin' Phillies who refused to rest Chase Utley, but chose to rest Roy Halladay. The later was on my roto team who lost the World Series partly due to that. Utley was on the winning team and he hurt me Saturday. Plus, their fans are too mean. So as you can see--there's not a team in the bunch, though I lean to the Phils, but not enough to watch them.

In the Junior circuit (I love to call them that since it disturbs American League fans almost as much as the DH disturbs me) you have the Yankees. Too East Coast big spending for me. (Oh and I'm rooting for the Phillies? OK, you talked me out of it. I favor no NL team.) The Twinkies. At least they destroyed that stupid place where they used to play, but not enough for me to erase the '87 World Series loss to my beloveds. The Rangers. Huh? How'd they get there? Ok, I suppose I'll choose them. I like Nolan Ryan their owner but probably couldn't name 5 players on their team. And the Devil Rays. Evan Longoria was another fantasy stud of mine who sat out the last 9 games of the season leaving a big old hole in my line-up. Plus their lousy ball park is another reason to stay untuned.

There you have it. My sour grapes. My bursted bubble. I'll wait till next year for anymore baseball.

FILL HER UP

Now that is one cool filling station. Now that is one cool Shell gas station. Which is it?

Somehow when I see something like this, I feel good inside. Like someone was creative. Like someone cares about products and appearance.

Not so in my old hometown. It turned into a haven for pole barn construction. The once very homey, very traditional downtown area built like so many downtowns of previous times lost its personal touch. What was once a beautiful south side of the town square allowed the hometown newspaper to take up an entire city block. Housed with pole barn construction. Then a brick facade covering three sides. It couldn't do a very good job of hiding the cheap construction.

All over the town, the metal trailer like quality buildings sprouted, took root, and ruined a once beautiful landscape. There's absolutely nothing beautiful aesthetically with a pole barn building.

And long time residents wonder why nearby Marion has grown while their city remains stagnant. Just maybe it's time for re-development beginning with a cool gas station on the square. One as in the picture. One that could replace the Register-News building for a start. Along not only with a moratorium on pole barns, but a good raising of existing structures.