"Blue is Back!" That was the Kentucky Democratic Party chairman's message to a throng of thousands celebrating election victory Tuesday night. As well as taking back the governor's office, Democrats claimed several other statewide offices: attorney general, auditor, and treasurer. The newly elected treasurer said that he recently told a voter that this is a good year to be a Democrat, and the response was "Young man, any year is a good year to be a Democrat." While agreeing with that sentiment, I also feel that this is definitely a good year, and it looks like we're on a roll for next year to be just as good. So is blue really back?

I may be risking eternal damnation for this egregious breach of faith. But I need to ponder a question which has frequently bothered me in the past, because it became personal this weekend. I have long been amused by the tendency of believers who have suffered some tragic mishap to thank the deity of their choice that it was not worse. "It's too bad the still exploded and killed Grampa, but thank God a few gallons of shine survived." Why does the Almighty always get the credit for the good parts, but not the blame for the bad? If he was really intervening, why couldn't he save the whole still instead of just a couple of gallons? Saturday, as Crossbo and I galloped through the woods with a freshly-blessed St. Hubert's medal hanging around my neck, a catastrophe occurred which left me wondering whether there was any mojo in that medal at all.

For the last few days, it seems that the infamous Murphy has been hell-bent to complicate my life with his unbreakable law. It's been said that Murphy couldn't have been a horseman, because he was too optimistic. And, as I've pointed out before, he really wasn't a horseman. He was an Air Force flight test engineer, aka rocket scientist. Now I think I may have managed to prove that, even though Murphy's law has a firm foundation in rocket science, it can at least be bent, if not broken.

Yeah, I realize October started a while ago. This is the third Wednesday that I've been faced with the tough decision of whether to get up at 5:00 AM to go hunting, or sleep until 6:00 and go to work. Looking at it from that perspective, that extra hour of sleep doesn't seem much like a bargain, and I've made the right decision each time. But now, unlike previous weeks that the calendar insisted were October, the weather finally seems to agree.

It's amazing to see the huge progress Kentucky has made towards tolerance and diversity in just a short time. It was just a few years ago that the legislature and voters overwhelmingly approved a Constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. Now, just a few short years later, a newspaper reports that a legislator wants to make cornhole the official state game.

The photographic evidence isn't very clear, because I wasn't expecting today to be a photo-op and wasn't well equipped. But Crossbo had yet another encounter with a celebrity surrogate rider. Like last year's experience with the Mounties, I once again entrusted Crossbo to the hands of someone who was frustrated with my inability to achieve his full potential. What do you say when the next First Lady of Kentucky asks to ride your horse? Since she's an eventer who rides at a level way out of my league, and has provided me with some valuable coaching in the past, and was once again offering assistance, the only reasonable response was to dismount and hand her the reins.

I was cruelly reminded of my age today. We're 3 weeks into the fall semester, and as usual, campus is swarming with gorgeous young things who keep making me forget that most men my age have children older than that. The unusually hot weather has had a wonderful effect on their choice of attire. Cleavage is in this year. It's enough to make a grown man cry. I'll be lucky not to get arrested. And, considering that at least one of my regular readers has a daughter on campus, maybe I should stop now. But anyway, back to that age thing. It's easy for a man in these surroundings to forget how old he is, only to be cruelly reminded. But surprisingly, today's reminder actually had nothing to do with the swarms of teenage beauties that usually overwhelm my senses.

There seems to be a trend in our justice system to impose additional penalties beyond those specified in the statute for the actual crime committed. These penalties are often claimed to have the purpose of protecting society from future crimes. But it seems a little far-fetched to punish someone in advance for crimes he might commit in the future, which is what some of these penalties amount to. And the severity of the penalties is sometimes extremely drastic.

I just wanted to mention a couple of videos that have been making the rounds recently, in case any of my loyal readers have missed them. One isn't exactly new, it dates back to 1994, but it's suddenly the subject of a recent surge of interest. The other is a recent creation, and is being circulated in slightly more quirky circles to which some readers here may not have had much exposure.

Apparently, I've been a negligent cad, so I'll attempt to belatedly atone for my sin of omission. The weekend before last, Crossbo and I joined some of our buddies at Masterson Station Park for a romp around the cross-country course. It was recently brought to my attention that I had dissed him by failing to muse here about how wonderful he was. So I'll try to give him the credit he well deserves.