A Different Little Story About Jack and Diane

Jack lived a simple life. Up at 5 o'clock to feed the chickens, milk the cows, unpack the alpacas and jump on the tractor and head for the fields. Jack lived the single life tending his farm. In his mid-thirties he was a ruggedly handsome fellow but having left school in grade 7 to work on the family farm, the rural farm he tended now, he didn't have a lot of time for dating.

That was about to change.

One quiet evening, with the dishes done and the television dialled to a rerun of Sex In The City, the phone rang. It was his buddy Bud - no shit - on the other end of the line, telling him he'd be by in 15 minutes to pick him up for a guy's night out at the Lonesome Dolt, their favourite bar down the road in the small town of Littleville.

The joint was hopping when they arrived and they ordered a bootfull of draft. The 20 ounce glasses were shaped like boots. They didn't really drink out of their boots. What kind of hicks did you think they were anyway?

The Dolt was just like any rural western bar. It had sawdust on the floor, wagon-wheel lamps over every table and a bunch of guys in the corner doing a rendition of Boot Scootin' Boogie. A couple of couples were tripping over their cowboy boots attempting to line dance. And the washrooms had cute wooden plaques on their doors reading "Chaps" and "Split Skirts", the former proposed by a rodeo rider and the latter dreamed up by a Pete Townsend fan.

Bud poked Jack in the arm and pointed to the bar. "Jack" says Bud "You oughta mosey on over to the bar and buy that girl over there a drink."

Feeling he had nothing to lose Jack did just that.

"Hi, I'm Jack. Can I buy you a drink?"

With a nod of her head, she looked him up and down and agreed. Jack had succeeded with the first step and learned that her name was Diane.

"Are you from around here, Diane, or are you one of those city girls?" said Jack pressing his luck and himself closer to her.

"Oh, I'm bucolic."

"Bucolic" repeated Jack. "Should you be drinking' then?"

She fluttered her big blue eyes and proclaimed "Oh golly you're right. I just blew my whole 12-step program."

Jack had met his match. They lived happily ever after.

The Studio30+ writing prompt this week was rural/bucolic.

The Polka Dot Door

A long time ago, when I was 22, my first child was born. That kid grew up on a little Canadian kid's show called Polka Dot Door, produced by the TV Ontario network. And Dad, more often than not, sat through those shows with his little one. Nine or so years later when a brother, and a year after that when a sister came along number one son was moving on to Knight Rider and The Dukes of Hazzard. But there was a nice overlap where his siblings picked up where he had left off with Polka Dot Door. And Dad was right there to welcome them. So you're looking at a Polka Dot Door veteran. The show began in 1971 and ran to 1993. I didn't watch the full run but I did get in my fair share. The formula was pretty simple. A young male and female host, which seemed to change every week, sang songs, told stories, made crafts and generally did their best stimulate little brains. The show opened as follows... Imagination Day! Oh boy! ...

30 Days of Photos III #4 Sour

Check out Ziva's Inferno for the rest of today's photos.

I Am Charlie, I'm A Bore

Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Mel Gibson, Tom Cruise, Colin Farrel...you know the list, it goes on and on. The list of Hollywood hick-ups who not content to meltdown behind closed doors have to drag each and every detail out into the light of day and share it with all of us. Well, add Charlie Sheen to that luckless and lascivious list of losers. In the past few days he's been on every major media soapbox complaining abut how he's been treated and how he's misunderstood. Last night he spent an hour on ABC's 20/20 "in his own words". Charlie, you should have stuck to the script. "I have a highly evolved brain". You know I never did like that song by Helen Reddy in the 70s "I Am Woman". But I have to say the melody really leant itself well to a parody of Hollywood's latest flame-out, Charlie Sheen. Although I never thought I'd hear myself say this, my sincerest apologies to Helen Reddy. And now if you're ready (a little play on wor...

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