• Well yesterday was a bit of a bummer. I spent more than four hours mowing a lawn I had slacked off on for some time, and the grass was too thick to be picked up by my hippie mower. In order not to have huge clumps of foliage scattered throughout my property I had to rake these clippings and manually bag them. Four-plus hours and seven trash bags later, I was finally done. As I was finishing up, my neighbor’s son was doing some yard work for his parents. (You might remember me talking about my neighbor and his policy toward groundhogs.) I asked him how his father was doing because I hadn’t seen him out for a while and I was wondering if he was OK. Turns out he passed away two weeks ago. Ouch. He had been suffering from anemia and it turned into full-blown leukemia; he was taken to the hospital on a Sunday and passed away on a Thursday. This got me the thinking on how I would like to go out – is it better to just get hit with death all of a sudden, or take that extra time and suffer? Would enduring the extra pain be worth it for reflecting one final time on your life? I don’t know the answer to this one, although I’d probably opt for Decision A. When I told the better half what happened to our neighbor later that day, she began to freak out because we didn’t attend his funeral or offer our condolences – I reasoned that as they were rushing him off to the hospital I doubted that “informing the neighbors” was on that family’s list of things to do. Either way, it’s a shame he died. The last time I spoke with him was the previous time I mowed the lawn. I was using a wheelbarrow to haul some stuff out of our shed to the curb for garbage pick-up and we chatted for a few minutes. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about (I do recall making fun of the Pirates though), but I remember him saying something about how if you get a group of women together they’ll gossip about an anthill until it turns into a mountain. RIP Steve – once your wife passes on and your son sells the house, I shudder to think who will be moving in next to us. On the bright side, his son lives next to his parents' house, so the chances of getting somewhat normal neighbors would be good.

• The Penguins kicked off their NHL season last night with a 4-0 victory over the Philadelphia Flyers. What made the evening interesting was a press conference in-between the first two periods with the Pens new owner, Jim Balsillie. I know nothing of this guy, and according to the Penguins Web site he is co-CEO of a company that makes those Blackberry things. While witnessing his press conference, it was amusing to note the number of times he mentioned that the Mellon Arena, which is where the Pens call home, is nearly 50 years old (I counted about a half-dozen references). He also noted that the NHL has stressed, not him, that it is imperative that the Penguins get a new arena; I’m not sure if he’s going to move the team, but if Shittsburgh drags its feet any longer on this arena issue, I wouldn’t blame Balsillie for heading out to Kansas City, Portland, Seattle, or any other city that will give him a better deal. It’s a shame in a way because this town bent over backwards (and the taxpayers bent over forwards) to give new stadiums to the Pirates and Steelers back in the late 1990s. A new arena would make more business sense, in my opinion, because it would be used much more than a football stadium, and unlike PNC Park, since it’s an enclosed structure, an arena is more suitable for year-round use (there are currently 28 events scheduled from October 6 through the end of the year and 51 events scheduled through April 7 of 2007). But then again the Penguins have always been the red-haired stepchild of this region, so why should I be surprised there isn't the same public/media outcry about the need for building a new arena as there was when the Pirates threatened to take their ball and leave?

• I normally don’t remember my dreams, and the ones that I do recall I don’t dare to mention for fear of the better half ever finding out about them. However, since I’m typing this in the early morning, I still have the events of last night freshly lodged in my memory. Every Thursday we change the litter boxes for our three cats – Dessa, JJ and Max. We have four of them scattered throughout the house. One is in the basement, two are in “their” room on the first floor and one is in the upstairs computer room. The two in “their” room are the ones that get the most use, so they get changed every Thursday; the other two get changed every few weeks. This week is my turn to change the litter boxes, and this is what I was doing in my dream. The problem was that the kid from those Grudge and Ju-On movies was running around me as I was trying to complete this task. When I was getting the litter ready to be taken out to the outside curb, I finally yelled to this kid, “Will you get the fuck out of my way?!” He did, and I was waiting for that crawling chick to come down the steps and make that goofy noise she does while sucking the life force out of a person. To my benefit she didn’t show up, but then I woke up with a parched throat and realized that I still had to change the litter boxes in the real world before the garbage truck makes its rounds. Sonofabitch.