After a week with temperatures in the mid eighties, somebody flipped a switch Friday afternoon and suddenly fall is here. It was a somewhat muggy 70 degrees or so as I waited for the bus at 7:00 Friday morning, and by the time I sat waiting for the bus to take me home at four o’clock, it was a rather chilly and damp 61. Between the relative cold and it being Friday, the bus, of course, was about 25 minutes late. Plus I (as usual) attracted the attention of one of the local street people, who decided to hang out at the picnic table with me. Which is fine, of course (theses are my peeps, after all), but he had a rather disconcerting tic that was kind of distracting. Plus he was shading my view of the bus arrivals.

Normally Friday and the weekend would give me something to look forward to, but as I’m once again on the wagon (no beer in over two weeks – not that I’m counting), basically my life is empty. It’s kind of like my best friend died or something. Where once I could look forward to hanging out with my good buddy Beer, sharing a laugh or two after work, now I got nothing. So I basically just go to bed as soon as possible (which is easier now that it gets dark so early). Since I get up before 4:00 these days, I guess that’s just as well.

On a side note – and I guess this is a rhetorical question, but… – does anybody really a give a shit whether Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are getting a divorce? I wish they’d spend this much energy on climate change or cops shooting black people. Those insipid celebrity “entertainment” programs are advertising that they’ll be telling us how the pair spent their “first weekend since the split was announced,” and another promises to tell us who the famous couple are “turning to” in their time of need. Oh for chrissakes.

So now the weekend’s over, and tonight’s the big night. The “Super Bowl” of debates, as one moron just referred to it on the news. Clinton fans think that Hillary will “mop the floor” with Donald, but I think that’s pretty naive. I mean, no matter how well you (or I) feel about Hillary’s performance or how obviously clear it is that she’s way more qualified and intelligent than Herr Drumpg id, the expectations for Trump are so low that all he needs to do to “win” is not fling is feces at the audience (otherwise, it’s a draw). He’ll make shit up (which may or may not get corrected during the post-game show, after everybody turns off their teevees) while looking “presidential,” and the “liberal” media will spin every Clinton misstep as criminal offense while the right wing nut jobs will call for her execution.

I don’t care how prepared and in command of the facts Hillary is, she can’t win. It’s the equivalent of bringing a knife to a gun fight. Or maybe bringing a brain to a food fight.

Needless to say, I have no intention of watching the festivities. For one thing, it doesn’t start until 9:00 and even with beer I’d barely make it long enough to see the start of it – no way I’d be around at 10:30 when it ends.

And, sadly, we say so long to Arnold Palmer. My dad was a golf fan (and therefore so am I) and if you were his age, then you were an Arnie Palmer fan. I was a Jack Nicklaus fan, but my dad wasn’t too crazy about Nicklaus at first, because he came out and started beating Arnie. I don’t really follow golf anymore (and I don’t think I’ve even played since my dad died), mostly because where once there was Palmer, Nicklaus, Watson, Player, Trevino, Rodríguez, and Elder, now there’s…. I don’t really know. Tiger seems to be washed up. I guess I should like that Rory guy since he’s Irish – but he’s from the North, so, he’s not one of the “good ones.”

I guess that’s just part of getting old. I don’t care for the new golfers, the new music, football aint what it used to be, and if those damn kids don’t get off my lawn I’m calling the cops!

But first I better get ready to catch the bus and start another mind-numbing week of work.