Either someone doused my house in barbecue sauce and lit it on fire or one of the neighbors is having a bonfire. Need to start cruising the 'hood.

The Most Dangerous Game of All . . .

Tomorrow, I'm joining 10 or 11 friends out in the woods. We're going to walk out onto said fields, and start hunting one another.

What's the catch, you ask? Well, we'll be using paintball guns for one thing (well, they will be at least . . . JOKING!!! - I wouldn't 'fess up to murder here. Only in places where THE MAN can't track me down - like a chat room).

I haven't done this in years, so it should be a great time.

Hope everyone out there had a safe and happy Halloween. I did all my celebrating last weekend, so I stuck around the homestead for the trick-or-treaters. Next year, I plan to scare the beejesus out of them as they come up to my house.

If I'm really lucky, they'll be so frightened that they'll drop their candy in my front yard, and I'm all for a little free candy. HHHMMMM . . . free candy.

Rrrrriiiiiggggghhhhht

So I'm flipping channels last night and see that ABC is having mystery writer Patricia Cornwell "investigate" Princess Diana's death.

Can you see the queen sitting in her throne, saying "Thank God! Now we'll get to the bottom of this!" Of course, given the recent "revelations" by Diana's butler, she probably isn't.

I'm not a big fan of the royal family. In fact, I really don't care about them. In fact, I'm still bitter when, for some reason, the news media in this country decided we needed a 24-hour Diana Deathwatch upon her untimely death a few years ago.

It became personal when I returned home from work after a crappy Monday afternoon, all excited to get my nerd on at home at watch the season premier of "Star Trek Voyager" that I had taped the night before. All summer, I waited with baited breath to see how the crew disentangled themselves from those pesky Borg.

I popped in the tape, but instead of Captain Janeway, I had a local woman talking about how she felt sad because she and Diana were married on the same day. For 20 minutes, she talked and talked and talked and talked.

I still haven't seen that episode, and I'm still bitter about it.

So good luck, Patricia, may you find conspiracy where none exists, and may you find an audience that actually cares. Me? I'm going to scour the TV listings to see if I can find that missing episode, which all this hoopla has brought back to mind.

For some reason, I couldn't remember anyone's name at work today. I don't know why -- there was no traumas in my life, no depression or nothing out of the ordinary, but when people walked by and said Hi, I couldn't remember their names.

Maybe I'm growing old. Perhaps I need a vacation.

In any case, Emdad, Joel, Laureano, Yanhong, Indulis, Oleg, Lisa and Kevin, I apologize for blanking out on your names. Not that you'll ever read this.

Smack, Jack?

I've been waiting for 24 to start all day, and I wasn't disappointed, but I am a little concerned.

Since the show started two years ago, Jack Bauer lost his wife, was coerced into an assasination attempt and was tortured to death. And now, in a very special season, we've learned he's addicted to heroin.

You know, I like the show, but I'm thinking I can see the shark swimming nearby, and Fonzie's putting on his skis. Not a good sign. It's a long season, though, and I'm optimistic.

Freedom was outside the window - clouds lazily blew by in the breeze; traffic buzzed by on the highway, and generally, life continued at its usual lightning pace - except for those of us inside the window.

I spent a fair amount of time this morning looking out the window and wishing I was anywhere else when I started studying the building next door - the county animal shelter. In the yard, a golden retriever ran around playing ball with one of the employees. It looked like fun. It looked like a lot of fun.

Then I started thinking.

That dog lives at the shelter - he isn't an inmate - he lives there. The workers adopted him, and while he has a good life, I started wondering if he felt as if he's sold out his fellow dogs. Does he relish being a narc?

"Psst. Master -- word has it that the Doberman and the Terrier are tunneling under the wall tonight at midnight. Be ready!" Then he runs off the play with the dogs and continue collaborating with the pound workers.

Does he get better food? Does he get privleges? Or does he merely get to live?

I guess we all have our price. Thirteen years ago, I projected that I would be working as a diplomat, writing a novel or preparing my latest column for the New York Times; however, I was burned out on college, writing and journalism, and the newspaper industry is a tough business to break into, especially if you want money fast.

Overall, I'm happy with my life. I have a decent, unglamourous and somewhat frustrating job, I own a house and I have the best friends and family a person could ever want.

Still, today I wondered how that alternate universe me was doing.

THHHEEEE YANKEES LOSE! THHHEEE YANKEES LOSE!!

Proof to King George that you can't go out and buy a championship every year. Congrats, Marlins, I hope you and your 50 fans enjoy the celebration.

I don't have much respect for Yankees fans -- you don't have to work at loving the Yankees - it just takes blind devotion. I have more respect for teams with ups and downs (or downs and downs, like the Cubs - "Wait 'till next year!").

However, I will say that when I was at Yankee Stadium for a game this summer, the fans were fun, knowlegeable and genuinely enjoyed the game, and they didn't give us a hard time for wearing our Cardinals' jerseys.

But even if they were nice, I still don't respect them; after all, it's easy to be a fan when your team always wins.

It's late, I can feel the night in my veins, I'm tired but don't feel like sleeping. The world goes on as I pound away at the keyboard. Late at night, I become pretty restless and tend to lie awake very late, so tonight, I decided to give this blog thing a try.

Incidently, I've already messed it up once.

Not much on television tonight, so I rented a movie - 28 Days Later. One word: Zombies! I love cheesy horror movies! The lower the budget the better. I can't tell you how many times I've sat awake on a school night, watching some lame monster movie.

However, I have to say that 28 Days Later isn't really cheesy; it's actually pretty good. The basic story is bicycle courier Jim wakes up from a month-long coma to find London deserted. It seems that some animal rights activists busted into a lab and freed some chimpanzees who were infected with a virus that's so infectious that the smallest exposure will turn you into an enraged zombie who runs around screaming, puking and biting everyone in sight (kind of like Herman, MO during Octoberfest . . .).

The movie's third act gets away from that a little, but it's still a damn good movie.

Well, I'm crashing out for the night. However, before I go to bed, I need to push the dresser in front of the door - childhood habits die hard. ; )