Me, My Brownie Elf, and I

"You live in a church - where you sleep with voodoo dolls, and you won't give up the search for the ghosts in the halls. You wear sandals in the snow and a smile that won't wash away - can you look out the window, without your shadow getting in the way-? Yeah, you're working, building a mystery..."

So, winter is upon us here on the North Coast - and I am not the least bit prepared. So much so, in fact, a Swiss Alps St. Bernard had to rescue me from the blustery bile that a cold front regurgitated onto my home in Lake County ("the l.c.") this afternoon. This loyal creature literally pulled me out of a snow bank, while still fully clothed in my Notre Dame Brady Quinn jersey and matching cargo shorts. After fixing himself a martini from his hotel bar in a barrel attached to his Pet Smart dog collar utility belt (Bat-Bernard?), he finally saw fit to revive me with a bottle of Hoegaarden and a slice of orange (perhaps a technique he learned from watching an episode of "ER" or something - I don't know!). Whatever the case, I awoke in my living room to watch the first full blast of winter cascade the country landscape outside my patio window.

It's times like these I wish Bowling Green had a satellite campus ...in Cancun. Perhaps I could teach Pop Culture to the underprivileged or something. I'm not really sure of anything right now, but at least if I could pontificate about the pop, stuck in some Corona commercial, it might ease the tension of these tedious winter doldrums.

But that's probably when FOX News would send the tsunami to "get me." (They have a secret doomsday machine that controls the weather, you know! I read all about it on George Clooney's blog. Email Bill O'Reilly and ask him about it!)

And I know if that happens, I have faith that Aquaman will come and rescue me riding Shamu or something (Hey, if nothing else, I'm a realist!). Oh, sure, I might be sold to the "secret sex-slave trade" down in Atlantis, but that's a blog posting for another time, I suppose. At least the weather might be a little nicer down in that dome...

***

I am a little confused about the direction of The Cleveland Browns right now after that pitiful loss to The Pittsburgh Steelers. Oh sure, I'm concerned, but I'm not going to do anything extreme like handing out "Cleveland: Abandon Ship!" or "Cleveland: The Bizarro Chicago" bumper stickers to the fans down at the stadium ...just yet.

I admire and applaud the fact that Romeo Crennel does not buckle under the pressure of the masses to toss Charlie Frye into the mix - but, still, at this point in the season, what could it hurt? I mean, I understand he doesn't want to damage the future in Frye - but, at the same time, this is not your father's Tim Couch team. They significantly upgraded the offensive line - they have a durable running game in Reuben Droughns - and they have receivers who can catch and run with the ball - so what's the deal, Daddy-O ...?

It's time to see if Charlie Frye can learn to fly. Trent Dilfer had his chance - and he did an admirable job under the semi-depleted circumstances - but what are The Browns playing for now-? A high draft pick that will end up breaking his leg the first week of the season by showboating on his jet ski on the brown-and-green shores of scenic Lake Erie-?

***

My friend Alicia and I are fixated on Target. Target is like a Wal-Mart - just for more "upscale hillbillies." It's an oasis for pop culture Peter Pans like myself who end up buying Atari 2600 Flashback machines, Wacky Packages, and Hawk and Dove action figures from the toy aisle to ease the pain of a world gone mad.

Hawk and Dove are my favorite "aggressive-passive" DC crime-fighting superhero brothers - one, obviously, who goes into "attack mode" on a moment's notice while the other is a pacifist. While working at my college newspaper, The Cleveland State Cauldron, we used to stand up on on our seats and scream out "Hawk and Dove - ATTACK!!!" whenever we used to write a scathing editorial review on the corporate circus-seal-slurping CSU administration. And then print a remorseful retraction 2 days later...

Oh, sure, I admit - it was a bit theatrical. And why then Cleveland State men's basketball coach, Mike Boyd, never had me buried in the end zone of Krenzler soccer field like Jimmy Hoffa for some of the things I wrote about him is STILL beyond me...

But time - and Atari 2600 - heal all wounds. And ripping through those Wacky Packages made me think a great deal about my own mortality. That's why I have amended my will so I have those "Ghoul Whip" and "Count Funkula" stickers slapped on my coffin before I go to that big Blogosphere in the sky.

So, as the cold clutch of winter smothers me, I choose to retreat to my cave for the moment, and hand off Luke Skylwalker in a Trent Dilfer-like-fashion to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru as I scurry off to ponder my Pitfall high-score like Obi-Wan Kenobi on holiday.

At least until some brave soul seeks me out with the "secret plans" to The Death Star hidden inside an Atari 2600 console. To which then I can only scratch my SPJedi head and mutter: "I don't seem to remember ever owning an Atari 2600 unit...???"

May The Force Be With You, Cleveland!

"Yeah, we're never going to survive - unless - we get a little ...crazy."