The glory that is television.

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When this posts I’ll already be wandering around a cow barn in Wisconsin wearing a Santa suit. Yes, it may be the perfect place for my intellect to mature but I’m there to film a television commercial. We’ll also be at a cheese factory.

Wednesday is prep day for shooting the commercial. I must ready my already put-together Santa suit and rebuild another that is partially complete in a suit bag. The worst part of it is preparing new synthetic fur for the trim. One word covers that task – tedious.

Following the excitement of doing the fur I will have to shine my boots to a mirror image, shave my fat head, and Brasso my belt buckle. All of the veterans in the group just groaned when they read that word. Trust me, you never escape Brasso once you’ve opened the first container in your military career.

Wednesday I will get up very early and reshave my head. (You have to do it two days running or the scalp looks funny on camera.) I will take a long shower, blow-dry the beard and apply makeup. A little Ben Nye’s Snow White for the beard and I’m ready to go.

The drive to Wisconsin should be fun, I’m working with a good director/producer on the spots. We’ve done things together before and he’s a fine gentleman. I know I’ll be treated well and have a good time.

The script is pretty charming. It should sell a whole bunch of cheese for Christmas if I do my job well. Jim Snapko (the director) is a pro and he’ll make me look good.

My only concern is this darned flu that’s hanging on. I’m barely up and about today. Last night was restless and nightmare filled. I don’t place much stock in dreams but last night’s makes sense – I lost my girl dog on a road trip and barely found her before the tornadoes came. Old dogs sleeping next to the bed fill one with comfort and sadness at the same time. I’m tearing up just thinking about her passing. But it’s coming soon and the dream reflects that fact. I’ve just got to be a man and not be selfish when the time comes. Pray for me.

Well, when the commercial is done I’ll either post it here or put up a link. Remember, no time like the present to subscribe to the blog. It’s at the upper right! You must subscribe to be eligible for the extra content/contests/used bed sheets that are available only to subscribers.

The question for today (and my good friend Raj said any decent blog ends with a question – so go read her blog next) is what sleeping dog is occupying your dreams? And why don’t you take the time to rub their tummy and enjoy the love in life while you can?

Guest bedroom sheets.

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I have discovered the perfect sheets for the guest bedroom.

Perhaps you are aware of the Bedouin tradition of accepting any visitor to their camp for three days?

The sheets were even black like the tent.

Even their enemies (assuming they don’t get nailed before asking for refuge.) I have been told by more than one Arab friend that I have the heart of an Arab. I took that as a compliment. And now I have the perfect solution for making sure that your guests don’t exceed that three day time limit and force your hand into asking them to leave. Polyester sheets.

A few weeks ago one of my favorite sets of bed linen announced that it was moving on to the promised land (becoming rags for cleaning my guns.) I immediately (well, after a week or so) went to Walmart and commenced my shopping trip in traditional male fashion: get it and get out.

Now the cheapskate in me popped to the surface and took control. Why would you buy the 80,000,000,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets for 6 bazillion dollars when you can get this really neat set of polyester ones that not only cost under $30, but they come in their own little stuff sack so the set doesn’t become a bunch of loners after you take it out of the dryer? As Eric Cartman says, “Cooh!”

And thus they went home with me. And into the washer. Three washings to get all the excess dye out of them. And a few days later onto the bed. Man, they looked all shiny and nifty. My twisted little brain thought, “This will be just like silk sheets! Sweet!” Not so much.

Night number one I darned near fell to my death when I sat on the edge of the bed and slid to the floor like an avalanche of mine tailings bursting their dam in a rain storm. By the third night I was tired of being cold from the chest up as the sheets inexorably slid toward the end of the bed. Polyester on polyester has no friction. However, if you turn over against the fabric’s grain it leaves you with a bit of a rug-burn.

After a week I had taken a new approach to the problem: I wasn’t going to let the sheets beat me. Sure, it stunk on ice not being able to sleep through the night between the rug-burn and the shivering but I was certainly tougher than a set of cheap sheets! After all, hadn’t I slept on a rubber mattress with no sheets at all in the transient barracks? Hadn’t I slept on countless marble floors waiting for aircraft in the Navy? And most of all, hadn’t I made it through last winter with the hockey rink banging away across the street?

Yes to all of the above. And no to toughing it out. The sheets are in the dryer right now after being carefully laundered. I’m going to hold a contest among the subscribers to the blog. Subscribe to the blog in the next ten days. In two weeks I will have a post asking for you to send a comment, 50 words or less, as to why I should mail the sheets to you. Only subscribers will be eligible to win. I will take the most articulate (read: most trivial and mean spirited) comment and publish it on the blog. Include your address when the time comes so that I can mail these things to you.

I’m back to cotton sheets. And, if you’re the lucky winner, you will have a set of lovely, queen sized, polyester sheets guaranteed to rid you of the most dedicated house guest in three days or less. I’ll include a recipe for Kufta so you can feed any Bedouins that want to try the sheets.

The ad with the bears and the toilet paper.

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Am I the only one deeply disturbed by the latest bear ad for Charmin?

Not only is mom looking for skid marks in junior’s shorts at the range of about 6 inches, but dad evidently has issues as well.

Combine this with the implication, since she’s doing wash and looking for skid marks, that they have appeared naked in every ad? Did you ever see any of them wearing clothing at any point in the series? Do they engage in family nudity? Their hygiene is awful. ON more than one occasion they have toilet paper cling-ons!

I’m not sure that’s a great message to send to people.

Well, wanted to get this blog back on the high road after the political stuff lately. I think I’ve lowered the bar sufficiently. After all, what did you expect from a blog with “bear humor” as a category?

Well, no invites to the White House this year either.

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Guess I’ll go to bed. Nuts, I always wondered what the White House Christmas tree smelled like. Guess I won’t know for at least 4 more years.

This blog will return to it’s usual format in just a few short hours.

Just a note about election day first: It really stinks to wake up with a raging case of the flu when you’re a political junkie who lives for this stuff. I spent most of the day alternately shivering and sweating with bouts of random nausea. And that was before I turned on the television. I hope to kick this puppy in the next few hours. I’m so sick that I didn’t even have coffee today. Alert the authorities!

Thanks for dropping by.