Where You Go Detective Diago

Joe Diago sat back in his cushy office chair, pushed his hat back on his head - the same as his P.I. cousin down the hall as they shopped at the same hat store - and stared at the ceiling fan while listening to it making it's whoop, whoop sound as it pushed down the cool air, what little cool air there was. The constant swish of the blades made him dreary and he fought to keep his eyes open. Things were slow in the Private Eye business lately and if something didn't come along soon that fan wouldn't be spinning around anymore because he'd not have been able to pay his electricity bill.

What was that ringing in his ears? He'd drifted off and hadn't realized the telephone was chirping. It was an unusual sound as he hadn't heard it in weeks and almost forgot that destinctive trill of the telephone.

Diago looked at the dial. "Diago Detective Agency" he spoke into the receiver, though very few knew the "agency" consisted of Detective Diago.

"Yes, hello. This is Donna. Donna Diablo and I need your help Detective Diago."

"Please call me Joe."

"Well, if I do that this bit won't work, Diago."

"Oh, I see, yes. Continue Mrs. Diable."

"Well, Diago something diabolical has happened. Someone has stolen my diamonds.

"Your diamonds, Diablo? That's something worthy of my unique investigative diagnosis!"

"Well, I'd appreciate your diagnosis because losing my faux Lady Diana diamonds has given my husband considerable concern. You should have heard the diatribe he unleashed on me last night. We couldn't even have a decent dialogue."

"I'm beside myself Detective Diago. I haven't slept, I have diarrhea and my diabetes is through the roof. Not to mention my diaphragm keeps popping out. I won't rest until this diabolical business is put to rest?

"Gosh you sound as though you'll be in diapers soon, Mrs Diablo."

"Do you need a diagram of where the diamonds were kept."

"Actually because we live in a diaspora I'm confident this won't take long. And with a "dia"lect like yours Mrs Diablo I'm sure we'll succeed."

The prompt this week from the folks at Studio30+ was dialect. I took some liberties.

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...

nonamedufus

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