I do love me some Tom Waits, he's one of my two or three favorite singers and songwriters. And of his albums, the fairly recent "Real Gone" is among my favorites. And on "Real Gone," my hands-down favorite song is "Don't Go Into That Barn," and in that song one of my favorite lines goes like this:

"Everett Lee got loose again / It's worse than the time before
Because he's high on potato and tulip wine / fermented in the muddy rain, of course"

I like that line so much because that "...of course" sounds to me like Waits' is saying "You know, because it's one of my songs. Of COURSE it was fermented in the muddy rain. If some Southern Gothic psycho's going apeshit on fermented potatoes and fuckin' tulips, for cryin' out loud, you can bet it was all fermented in the muddy rain. Matter a'fact, you're lucky that the he wasn't drinking it in an overcoat, driving a Studebaker, sporting a bleach job he gave himself in a train station bathroom, on the run from the cops and lamenting the hooker he left behind. I'M TOM WAITS, BABY!"

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Kate has a CD of Turkish Romany music on the front room coffee table, it's called "Sulekule." I keep seeing it out of the corner of my eye, and thinking it says "Skullkulele," which sounds to me like a goth ukelele band which I honestly totally wish really existed.

Also, this is a skullkulele.

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Along those lines, while hunting down some supplies to finish the Halloween decorations on our balcony, I saw a brand of fog juice (you know, the stuff you pour into fog machines to make, er, fog, or at least that foul-smelling, clinging concoction which passes for fog ...) called "Ultimate Fog Solution." I guess if you have a bad enough fog problem, you're going to reach for the ultimate fog solution. And then that's also inspiring a vision of a Nazi fog juice called the Final Fog Solution, but that's good enough for that train of thought, I reckons.