Fritz the Night Owl that is. As the season turns toward autumn, and the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock, I can't help but enjoy the odd spook movie from years gone by. I'm not a fan of the gore and blood and disembowelments with axes in the forehead that defines so much of Halloween today. But autumn, and things that go bump, are for me inextricably linked. While spending a little time trying to keep my mind calm, zipping around the net to see which of my fancies might be tickled, I happened across this little gem:
When I was in school, Mr. Night Owl defined the ultimate in self-deprecating coolness. His monotone narratives, with wit as dry as a dust bowl disaster area, spoken over the best darn smooth jazz you could imagine, brings back memories. On Friday nights, he had a double feature of horror movies, usually bad. It wasn't until later I was able to watch them, and then usually only in the summer or if nothing was going on the next day. But still, thinking of the fall and Fritz, it's enough to make me want to get a sleeping bag out and curl up in front of the front room TV like I used to!