And then, more corn.

Last night, for the first time since I moved from the pitch-fragrant forests of Northeastern Maine, I watched a movie that I never gave much thought to until now:

Signs.

I mean, for the love of God, what the hell? As if living in so much corn wasn't strange enough for me, now I have to be thinking about the likelihood that I will be savaged by greyish freaks from space. I thought I had to worry about that enough with the whole Allagash Five thing; those aliens, though, were just looking for a good piece of human ass, but these crop circle ones want to harvest us for God knows what. I, for one, don't relish the thought of being turned into man-jerky. Mmm...jerky. But I'm more careful with my jerky consumption now, as once when I bit into a Slim Jim, I encountered something that resembled a bone fragment covered in hair. That didn't stop me from finishing it, though: waste not, want not. I called it the "Jimmy Hoffa" Slim Jim, as there can be no other explanation than that it was a mafia informant I'd consumed. Strangely, that's a more comforting explanation than what it probably was: some unfortunate rodent who fell into the flesh-grinder. Mafia informants deserve to become low-quality meat snacks; how many of my relatives now languish in prison because of them?

Bloomington's a weird place. Today whilst driving to breakfast (Cracker Barrel), I saw a pickup truck that had a big bearded flannel-wearing guy smoking a Marlboro Red (as evidenced by the four empty packs on the dash); he had two bumper-stickers and two slap ribbons on said vehicle. The slap ribbons were "Don't Mess with the U.S." and one pink one for breast cancer awareness; the stickers were "Rednecks for Peace" and "Free Tibet." I saw another one today that looked like rolling plains; the rolling plains were the American flag, of course, and the little saying above said "Heartland at Heart." What the hell is that supposed to mean? Should I fashion one that has a lumberjack, a lobster, and a rusted-out pickup on cinder-blocks that says "North Woods at Heart"?

Thanksgiving quickly approaches. Of course, in the world of commercialism, it's already Def-Con Five for Christmas; Target already has dozens of pre-trimmed Christmas trees in a startling variety of colors on display, and at the mall, Santa now holds court in a cotton-batting Wonderland filled with animatronic deer and elves and squirrels and penguins. It can only mean one thing for me: it's time to start carrying my hip-flask full of whiskey again. Every year, I feel less and less festive when the holidays come around. In about five years, it's going to take me going on a Holiday Bender to even be able to stand a minute of it. Maybe I will just make good on my threat to move to Turkey, where the best holiday is Şeker Bayramı, or Eid, the day after Ramazan (Ramadan) gets over; you eat until you pass out, having fasted for a month. Plus, you give kids candy. So it's Thanksgiving AND Halloween, but I will be you dollars to donkeys that there isn't a media blitz lasting a month and a half extolling the virtues of battery-driven plastic delights and parades with giant fabric helium-filled cartoon characters. Maybe I am wrong: Turks, care to comment? Hmm. Do any of my Turks have the link to this thing?

Bok.

It's 6 PM on a lazy Sunday. Holding court in my belly is some chicken-fried chicken and grits; how does that happen? One of the high points of my day was chatting with my buddy Gai online for like three hours. We talked about many things; among them, how I am to be avoided at all costs. Behold.

Gai : yeah, I can see that... Yeah! stay away from that guy!
domtheturk: he's badass!
domtheturk: *snort*
Gai : don't mess with his fire
domtheturk: that's right bee-otch!
Gai : um hmmm snap snap snap

Fan-effing-tastic. Word to you, my Virginia-livin' mofo.

Good night, Bloomington.

Dom