Frontier Former Editor

October 11, 2008

Small town surreality

Blogger’s log, earth date 10-10-08.

Walking the dog in the neighborhood park. The not-so-dark Dark One exercises her normal restraint when confronted by one of the neighborhood cats, staring at it as it sits on top of a storm drain giving NSDDO a dirty look. Both creatures leave it at that.

The neighborhood Mexican restaurant’s smells drift across the main drag, a block of houses and churches and into the park. I’d eaten there not an hour earlier, and the smell of carnitas (shredded, spiced pork roast) wafts across an unusually warm October night breeze. Incidentally, my¬†order of carnitas was excellent.

(Note to Stiletto: I can have pork and you can’t.)

The sounds of the local high school Friday night football game halftime also blare across the rail yard and the main drag. Then comes the announcement.

“The Burton Raiders Marching Band plays the music of Danny Elfman!”

And not one Oingo Boingo song in the set. One would have expected at least “Dead Man’s Party.” If the Burton Raiders Marching Band is reading this, please consider modifying the set.

Blogger’s log, out.

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