Sunday Rerun: Just Something We Say

 There are verbal solutions that we all fall back on.  A lot of people end almost every sentence with "you know what I'm saying?" or some variation thereof. 

You will find that if you answer them ("Yes, I do!") they are as surprised as the guy who lit a match to see how much he had left in the gas tank.

There's a new one going around. I think it was first popularized by Donnie Wahlberg in his sensitive portrayal of NYPD detective Danny "Danny" Reagan, who spices up his accusatory speech with "not for nothing."

As in:

"Not for nothing, but why were you carrying a two-foot sword on the subway?"

or

"Not for nothing, but I think you're guilty as hell."

(No one is ever innocent as hell, you know? Not for nothing)

Wahlberg said it a lot, and now I am seeing others do the same.  Just the way everyone on cable news answers a question now by starting with the word "So..." That replaced "Basically...."

There is a debate among linguists (and these become high-pitched, I assure you) as to whether "nfn" is a literal phrase or an idiomatic phrase.

I think it's both.

In the literal sense, here's an example: "Not for nothing, he had thought to pack jumper cables in his trunk, knowing his battery was unreliable."

And the idiomatic (slangy or trendy) sense: "I think you need to stop and buy me a hamburger. I'd appreciate it, not for nothing."

Idiomatically, it's just something to say to fill up space while waiting for your hamburger.  Gotta run, see you tomorrow, not for nothing.

The Saturday Picture Show, February 27, 2021

 

They're so cute when they're young, aren't they? Baby Hippo, salute!

The way it worked out, the old Picture Show is sort of animal-heavy this week, but this is not an animal...it's an animatronic Chuck E. Cheese that someone found discarded in a county dump. Let's bring it back to life!

For Frosty the Snowman had to hurry on his way, But he waved goodbye, Saying "Don't you cry," "I'll be back again some day!"

I've tried for years to hire this act for my birthday party, without success, because they don't list the area code on this billboard!

I understand that the old days of orange pickers going tree to tree with a ladder and a huge canvas bag on their shoulders are over. Today they encircle the tree with a giant shakedown machine, in the manner of old time politicians.

It's cool to see a hummingbird hanging around.

Real pure creamery butter on a Saltine cracker. They say this treat is coming back! We heard about butter crackers a lot when we were kids, and along with descriptions of the sparse snack came the slogan, "We ate them all the time during the Depression, and we were GLAD to GET them!" 

Who else was hoping that movie-style Martians with the little antennae were going to pull up in their Marsmobile and ask if we had a permit for this thang?

There's only one way this could have been a cooler picture, and that would be for Mama here to be wearing a pill-box hat.

With my newfound passion for all sorts of potatoes, I think I need to order a potato sorter. We don't use the dining room all that often anyway...

Baby Boom

If you're alive and paying attention in 2021, congratulations! I would estimate that within the next five years, the current rage for gender reveal parties that feature elaborate pyrotechnics will be over, and you will be able to say you remember them.

To be clear: there is nothing wrong with gender reveal parties. When they began, it was all so anodyne. It caused no problem to have someone wheel out a cake and cut into it to reveal pink, or blue, cake inside. Then, everyone knew the sex of the little blessing on the way AND they got a piece of cake. No one went home mad, except for Uncle Ferdinand, who wanted more boys in the family.

But someone decided we had to step up our game a bit. First, they went with tinted smoke bombs, and then someone said, "Hey! Smoke bombs are great, but what if we set off a REAL bomb to announce that Stella's having a girl/boy!"

And the ceremonies got louder and louder, and often, there was no cake. Or there was one, but it "got blowed up" in the parlance of those who are enchanted by loud noises.

You'll recall last fall in California, a place where sparks and lightning hits start wildfires, and so they don't need help burning the place down.  A family gender party lit off the El Dorado Fire, which burned more than 19,000 acres, and most tragically, killed a firefighter.  All this for a pyrotechnic device.  Big fun.

And the year before, a 56-year-old grandmother was killed. She lost her life at a planning party for a gender reveal. Her family was looking over the various devices they could use, and someone detonated a pipe bomb as they filmed the whole thing.

And this latest one happened this past Sunday in New York State. Christopher Pekny, pictured below, was about to be a father. He was 28 and will not see 29, because the device he was devising to entertain guests at a gender party exploded, and he died.

New York State Police say they got a call for an explosion at a residence in the town of Liberty, NY.  Upon arrival, they found Pekny dead and his brother Michael, 27, injured. NYSP continue to investigate. They aren't specific about what sort of device Pekny was making. They did say there are no charges to be filed.

So now, this child as yet unborn will come into the world without a father. The child's mother and the father's family have to suffer this unimaginable loss, this tragedy, and for what? I simply cannot understand it, but I hope that like Lawn Darts, raw milk, and nunchaku, gender bombs will soon become a thing of the past.

It cannot be worth the risk.

I don't find him appealing

As a American citizen, I am fully aware of how necessary the legal system is, that everyone, no matter how obviously guilty, deserves a good defense in court, and that the law should be respected and not made to look like Lady Justice just sat on a whoopee cushion.

But there comes a point at which the attorneys start to look like damned fools, and I think George Huguely's attorneys have reached that point.

You remember George Huguely V as the vile piece of human dreck who is nine years into a 25-year sentence. In 2010, he killed Yeardley Love. They were both lacrosse players at the U of  Virginia, just two weeks short of graduation when she was killed. The two had been dating, but had broken up, and Huguely was known to behave aggressively toward her.  At his murder trial, evidence of threatening emails and texts he sent Ms Love after their estrangement were presented. 

As the story unrolled, first responders were called to the apartment where Love lived. She was found dead at the scene from multiple injuries. Huguely lived next door and was the obvious suspect. He was arrested, and his attorney said, "Ms. Love's death was not intended, but an accident with a tragic outcome."

Under interrogation, Huguely waived his Miranda rights and wove a story in which he admitted to kicking down Love's locked bedroom door and banging her head against the wall repeatedly, and further stated that when he left, he took her laptop, with the intention of disposing of the messages it contained.

And when the police told him that Love was dead, after hearing him say that he "may have" grabbed her neck and "maybe I shook her a little bit," Huguely replied, "Kill me."

The jury in his trial found him guilty of second-degree murder, and you cannot find a person on this earth who would deny that Huguely killed Love. Huguely is 33 years of age now, and spends his days in a prison instead of walking among us, because he gave up that right when he killed a woman.

However, he did not lose his right of appeal, and get this: his latest filing said he should get a new trial because someone said the jury used a dictionary to look up a word.

Really.

In December,  U.S. District Judge Thomas Cullen in Roanoke ordered an evidentiary hearing to determine whether the jury it was all right for the jury to  look up the definition of “malice.”

You need to prove malice to convict someone of murder. Huguely's mouthpieces said that looking up the word "malice" is the same as looking at inadmissable evidence because the jury instructions had contained a legal definition of the word. 

But Cullen ruled last week that the claim that using a dictionary was not right pales in the light of 26 witnesses who said what they said. 

Predictably, as the Attorney General of Virginia affirmed that the conviction will be upheld, Huguely's attorney's said they will continue to appeal.

I mean, why not? What else do they have to do with their time?

This is why people don't take such a high view of your profession, Perry Mason.

For Good Measure

 

According to strength and conditioning coach Mike Antoniades, there is a definite speed at which jogging becomes running. That speed is 6 mph. So if I go by Joppa Rd, the county courthouse is 6 miles away from our house. 

Algebra question: Mark leaves his house at 8:13 AM, running at 6 miles per hour, westbound on Joppa Rd. What time will the ambulance get him to the hospital?

Forget it. I don't run, and the only thing I "jog" is my memory. But I guess Antoniades has a point, not that I even know who he is. You jog fast enough, you're not jogging any long; you're running. 

So let's set some other rules for when one thing becomes quite another:

• after six Buffalo wings, wings are no longer your "appetizer," they are your "entrée."
  
  
  
• you step into the walk-in cooler at O'Hoolahan's for some barley, wheat, and yeast juice and then up the register. It's cool in there. That's a "draft." But when you're stuck waiting for the MTA in a sleet storm and little icicles are forming on your nose and eyelashes, that's a "CHILL!"
• You do four laps walking around the high school track. That's a "stroll." You walk to the Bay Bridge (unless you live at that McDonald's down there) and that is "hiking" for sure.
• A surgeon lances your boo-boo at an "outpatient surgicenter." That's a ''procedure." A year later, you have a major organ transplant. That's an "operation!"
• The weather forecast calls for a foot of snow, so you run to the Try 'N' Save and stock up on Doritos, clam dip, hamburgers, hamburger rolls, frozen pizza, milk, bread, toilet paper (of course) and sidewalk de-icer. The forecast changes in the morning; we wind up with an inch of rain and 54°. You put all that extra chow in the freezer. The next week, they call for rain, and the front stalls and colder Canadian air rolls in, so we get a foot of snow and you're right back at the freezer, getting out all your chow. That's called "Baltimore weather!"
• Finally: you're in line at the delicatessen. An attractive person takes the number following yours and lingers near the corned beef. You ogle her/him for 30 seconds. And that's "enough!" Or so her/his significant other says.

Wrap it up

People who buy first-aid kits for car and home are often surprised to find a Mylar blanket tucked away along with the bandages, ointments and disposable gloves. As we all know, the real name for Mylar is BoPET (Biaxially-oriented polyethylene terephthalate).

I feel silly for even mentioning that. I mean, we all call BoPET "Mylar," and vice versa. But anyhow, Mylar is a thin polyester film with amazing qualities of heat retention and liquid blocking, and they say that you can keep warm by wrapping yourself in a big ole sheet of it. And it's not very costly, so that's why you find it in that first-aid kit you got from KMart before they closed.

Ever notice that they use something like Mylar in potato chip bags? Same thinness, same heat-reflecting quality. And people who take an interest in protecting people experiencing homelessness have noted that an efficient sleeping bag for those without basic comforts can be fashioned from old chip bags!

Up in Detroit, Michigan, where it gets cold as Hell, Michigan, people have help from an environmental activist named Eradajere Oleita. Eradajere saw a video from England that showed an English woman homemaking sleep sacks: "The process is simple: collect bags, cut them open, iron them and then line with plastic."

25-year-old Ms Oleita took the idea and ran with it. She rounded up as many old snack sacks as she could find, asked online for more, and got to work.

The sleeping bags she makes comprise about 150 chip bags to make, but when they are complete, they last a long while, they're watertight and they weigh next to nothing.

Born in Nigeria,  Ms Oleita moved to Michigan as a high school sophomore. She's been a land and water works ambassador at Americorps the last four years. She seems to be on the those gifted individuals who spots a problem and does something about it.

"I want people to think about these things and for our products to come full circle. I have never been shy of humanitarian work because firstly I am ... a human."

I can only hope all her dreams come true. 

Quiet, please

In 1967, a psychotherapist named Arthur Janov developed what he called "primal scream" therapy, to be used in dealing with what he called "primal pain."

At the time, Janov was in a therapy session with a young male patient when he heard "an eerie scream welling up from the depths of a young man lying on the floor." From this, he came up with primal therapy, "primal" being the term psychology uses to define "the full reliving and cathartic release of an early traumatic experience." In primal therapy, Janov told his clients to re-live and express repressed memories and feelings.

And not only relive and express them, no sir! He told people to holler and let all the pain out.

Please note that I was 16 in 1967, but, then as now an avid reader, so when I started dealing with my adolescent angst by screaming like a banshee around the house, as I read that Janov advocated, my wise father offered to give me something to scream about for real.

I guess it was Janov's theories that led to a briefly popular trend in family lives in which Junior and Matilda were encouraged to give voice to their emotions wherever and whenever, and at whatever volume they could muster. "Let him get it all out" became the watchword, as the rest of the family at dinner, or the people in line at the BuySumMor, or the other assembled congregants just had to sit there or stand there or kneel there and endure the vocal barrage. Congress outlawed this practice in the early 90s.

But the COVID-19 has brought it back! In Herzliya, Israel, some Israelis who have grown tired of quarantines, and are looking for communion with others and emotional release, are getting together to give the world a good screaming-to.

They are vaccinating for the 'Rona in Israel, but they are still limiting social events. And with all that going on, and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's legal battles, many citizens are just down with the malaise. 

As you might expect, some take to the street to vent their feelings, and some, well... some are going out to shout it to the sky!

"We decided to meet, our group together, in order to take the group screaming so that we can release our bad energies," said Mary Peery, as she and ten others took to the hills in an orange grove, yelling all the way.

"When we do it in a group it's like a prayer ... and maybe God will hear us and release us from this COVID-19 curse," Ms Peery said.

The Ten + One arrange themselves like a chorus. They have all either been vaccinated or have recovered from the virus, so they doff their masks and howl to the four winds and seven seas.

Will this take hold across this sea? I don't know. Hey, Gwen Stefani was nominated for a Record Of The Year Grammy for "Hollaback Girl" in 2004, and now 2021 finds her living with Blake Shelton.

There's not enough hollering in the world to help her with that situation.

Sunday Rerun from 2019: Getting Jumpy

 Just the other day, a Florida congressman (he would want us to mention his name) with a history of drunk driving offenses said the following about the impeachment inquiry:

"What we see in this impeachment is a kangaroo court and Chairman Schiff is acting like a malicious Captain Kangaroo."

Well, as they say on the morning news shows, there's a lot to unpack there. First of all, what is a kangaroo court, and where did we get that term (as opposed to calling an informal tribunal a "giraffe court"), and what does Captain Kangaroo have to do with all this?

A kangaroo court operates outside of the judicial system.  A good example would be a group of citizens holding one or more persons for perceived violations of the law, and having a trial right there in the clubhouse at the community pool. This sort of thing is, of course, strictly against the law, and if you try to have a trial for your neighbor in your basement, you will probably get to see how the real court system works firsthand very soon.

Judge Robinson presiding.

Baseball teams tend to hold kangaroo courts to deal with mistakes made by players. The players will decide to fine one of their own for dropping a fly ball or not stealing a base, that sort of thing, and the fines levied go toward a nice team party at the end of the season. The Baltimore Orioles, in their glory days, were famous for running a lighthearted court with future Hall of Famer Frank Robinson as presiding judge.

As to where the term comes from, there are many notions. The most interesting to me is that during the California Gold Rush in the 1850s, Australians were accused to coming to the American West to "jump" claims and take gold from the area that some other prospector had already spoken for. The thought here is that Australians came here from the land of kangaroos and jumped, so, when the other prospectors sought justice, they called it a Kangaroo Court.  Maybe, but no one knows for sure.

Capt. Kangaroo

As to Captain Kangaroo, perhaps the congressman is too young to know who he was. A man named Bob Keeshan played the Captain on a morning TV show watched by me and millions of other baby boomin' kiddos in the 50s and 60s. The Captain was a grandpappy kind of guy who wore a big coat and had a gigantic keyring and more or less hung around with characters like Mr Greenjeans, Bunny Rabbit and Mr. Moose. I seem to remember him giving us life guidance advice but I can't say for sure. I got most of my wisdom, what there is of it, from Milton Berle, the man who said, "I’d like to tell you some jokes now, but you’d only laugh" and, "My doctor told me jogging would add years to my life. I think he's right. I just started and already I feel ten years older!"

But an urban legend goes around now and then that claims that Lee Marvin, tough guy actor, told Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show that Keeshan, who played such a mild mannered character on TV, was actually the toughest and bravest Marine fighting the World War II battle at Iwo Jima.  It's a great story and people love to forward it to each other, except for two slight flaws: Marvin did not see combat at Iwo Jima, having been wounded in battle beforehand and relegated to hors de combat status.  And Keeshan was in the Marines later, but had not even enlisted at the time of that epic battle.

Otherwise, it all stands.

Tomorrow, let's talk about not talking about what we don't know about.

The Saturday Picture Show, February 20, 2021

 

If you live in Hawaii or Pago Pago, you don't have these. They are salt boxes and they are located near hilly streets so that motorists can grab some salt or sand to throw down for traction on snowy icy streets. Baltimore has a campaign to allow local artists to repaint the wooden boxes with interesting designs. This one incorporates the city's colors and part of its flag design around the expression voiced by new mayor Brandon M. Scott, who dealt with a community organizer/provocateur named Duane "Shorty" Davis at a Covid-19 press conference by reminding him to wear his mask properly - over the nose and mouth. Perhaps they will change the city's official motto from "Birthplace of the Star-Spangled Banner" to "Shorty, Pull Ya Mask Up!"

The National Weather Service has determined the cause of the recent cold wave gripping the nation to be some fool leaving the freezer door open.

All right. Is this a man running INTO the woods or a dog running OUT?

Whoever lives at this house will probably receive a lot of fan mail once the decoration around their mailbox melts.

Europeans who love old cars have their own Enchanted Forest of Fords.

Of all the countries in the world, suddenly the United Arab Emirates comes up with the money to send a mission to Mars. Here's a vacation photo. Do you see the martians?

Here's an idea for a square lunch for people who work(ed) in cubicles.

I love Mr Peanut and everything about him...the cane...the monocle...the peanuts...

This is the famous scene in "A Christmas Story" where Scott Schwartz, the actor who played Flick, seems to get his tongue frozen to a flagpole on a cold December morning. But now it can be told: the there was a little hole in the pole, inside of which was a little hose connected to a vacuum pump, which grabbed his flapper just as securely without the risk of damage.

A cup of tea, a good book, a cozy chair, a friend: who needs anything more?

Hold On!

I've read enough books about musicians to know that they form intense bonds with their instruments, even to the point of naming them as if they were people!

Keith Richards used a butter-colored Fender Telecaster guitar that he called "Micawber." Wilkins Micawber was a clerk in Charles Dickens's novel "David Copperfield" who was known for his optimism - he said "Something will turn up" when things looked bleak. In the book, Micawber revealed the perfidy of Uriah Heep, who had hired him as a clerk, and later had a whole band named for him.

Willie Nelson bought a guitar sight unseen in 1969. He still plays it today and call it "Trigger."

Jacqueline du Pré, a cellist, bought two tickets when she traveled by air. One for herself, you see, and the other for her cello, she listed on the passenger manifest as “Miss C. Stradivarius.”

B.B. King named his guitar "Lucille" in 1949 because he was performing in a bar where a fire broke out, forcing him to run for safety - but when he realized he left his guitar behind, he ran back in to get it. 

Later, he found that the fire was caused by a melee involving two men fighting over a woman named Lucille. He gave the guitar that name to remind himself never to fight over a woman or run into a burning building.

But Lucille the guitar didn't find a fine time to leave him.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, Donald Rabin lost his flute, a $22,000 instrument. 

Funny thing about flutes: historians think the first ones were made from animal bones 37,000 years ago, while the earliest evidence of anything called a "song" dates back 4,000, which means that for 33,000 years, people were sitting around with flutes and no songs to play on them.

Most of the music of Jethro Tull sounds like that.

Back to Rabin, who is a grad student at Berklee College of Music who was visiting Chicago...he left his flute on a Chicago Transit train not long ago. So, as people will do, he took to Facebook.

“FLUTE EMERGENCY,” Rabin, 23, wrote. “My flute was left on the train. … I’m desperate to find it because it is my joy, career, and sole passion in this world. … I just hope that a kind soul is out there with my instrument.”

Well, a kind soul had his tooter for a while, but he pawned it. The guy is experiencing homelessness, so he hocked that pipe for $550, and so off to the pawn shop went Rabin, and the man, Lukas Mcentee.

Long story short: the pawn shop owner's wife saw a story in the newspaper about the flute. He in turn called the police, who hooked Rabin, Mcentee, and the pawn man, Gabe Coconate, who waived the fees and returned the instrument to its rightful owner.

Rabin met with the police (picture) and favored them with a flute rendition of "Over The Rainbow," a song that has long been a favorite among law enforcement personnel.

And he is trying to help Mcentee and his wife (who sleep nights on that same subway line where Rabin left his flute) back on their feet with contributions to their GoFundMe.

Question: if you had a $22,000 anything, would you let it out of your grip for a moment?

Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

It's colder today in Austin, Texas than in Oslo, Norway, so of course, that means Here Comes Spring!  And to celebrate...The Shamrock Shake is back "at participating McDonald’s."

In other fast-food news, the Golden Arches people want you to know that there is a website so you can find out where to head out to get yourself a Hi-C Orange Lavaburst. Hi-C was on the McDonald's menu from the 1950s until 2017 when it was replaced by the equally repugnant Sprite TropicBerry. 

A word to the wise: if you want an orange-flavored drink, drink orange juice. Hi-C contains "orange juice concentrate, peel oil and orange essences, sugar, water, citric acid and ascorbic acid (vitamin C)" so why not just squeeze an orange and skip the added acids?

Anyway, the Shamrock Shake is back "to mark the first green of spring." And it's bringing a date to the party this year...the Oreo Shamrock McFlurry, which "first debuted" last February to salute the Shamrock Shake's 50th anniversary.

Note to McDonald's: "first debuted" is redundant. One only gets one debut, so please make sure you don't have an artificially colored green milkshake in your hand when you make yours!

"For more than 50 years, fans have eagerly awaited the annual return of the Shamrock Shake, counting on the arrival of Shamrock Shake Season to mark the unofficial start to spring," McDonald's Senior Director of Culinary Chad Schafer said in a news release.

None for me, thanks.

Every McD-ophile knows that the Shamrock Shake was whipped up in 1967 by Hal Rosen, a Connecticut McDonald's owner and operator, who created it for St. Patrick's Day. It went achieved wide distribution in 1970 and has been a seasonal nationwide favorite since 2012.  

It's made with vanilla soft-serve ice cream, artificially flavored Shamrock Shake syrup and fake whipped cream. The Shamrock McFlurry is a shake with Oreo pieces whipped in. 

Green beverages and drinks do not appeal to me. I see people with green tea and drinks from Panera that looks like swampwater.  But then again, I like parsnips and grits and anchovies, so don't go by me!

His Name Is...

Gerald Austin, former NFL official, now works with college football, hiring and training referees. He heard about a ref who was really doing well from a friend, and said, "Ok, what's his name?"

The answer came back: "His name is Sarah."

You know about Sarah Thomas if you pay any attention to the NFL. As the league's first female referee, she has achieved nationwide acclaim. But the important thing is: she didn't just ride into the league on a head of cabbage and get the job. 

Pro sports rewards officials with playoff game assignments if they have done a great job all year, and that's how Sarah Thomas, 47, wound up as a down judge at the Super Bowl. 

“She was emotional when she was telling me (about the assignment),”  Austin told the New York Post. “And the first thing I told her was: ‘Look, you’ve worked hard. You’ve had obstacles to overcome, and you’ve earned it. Don’t let anybody tell you differently.’ ”

“I say that all the time people think that Sarah Thomas just arrived on April 8 of 2015, but there’s so much more to my story, and that’s like with anyone,” Thomas told a podcast two years ago. “Every one of us have a story, and yes, I’m sitting here talking about all the good stuff. I mean, there’s been many valleys that I’ve gone through.”

She's from Mississippi, played basketball in college, and got into officiating football through her older brother, working her way up from youth leagues to middle school to high school to college ball. Her brother told her that being female might cause her to be under undue attention. Her reply?  “I was like, ‘It’s all right; I can handle it.’ ”

She worked while pregnant. She worked while holding down another job in pharmaceutical sales. She came to a crossroads, decided to stay with officiating, and she and her husband Brian worked out the schedule.  “I wasn’t going to stand in her way,” he says of juggling two jobs and three children. “We’ve figured out a way to make our schedule work for the kids. I’m hustling in the fall, and she is in the spring and summer.”

Here's one reason you noticed Sarah more this year, a very simple wardrobe matter. The NFL chose to allow officials to wear snapback caps this past season, instead of the fitted caps. With no need to tuck that hair up under her hat, she let that ponytail fly!

Those who expected the world to fall off its axis because they gave a woman a whistle and a penalty flag were shocked to find a woman who prepared for her chance, worked for the chance, and was ready when it came!

Good for her!

Eat Fresh or Don't

I was stunned the other day when I heard on a radio newscast that Subway has 2,266 locations in California. I waited for the usual followup, a story about a guy from San José who has made it his life's quest to have a sub from each and every one of them.

But, no. The story was about the sandwich chain's response to claims from two Californians that its tuna subs have absolutely no tuna in them. Subway, based in Milford, Connecticut, says "nuh-uh!" to that.  They have beefed up their tuna commercials with a tout that their wraps and subs contain "100% real wild caught tuna."  So there.  And they offer 15% off on a footlong if you use the promo code "ITSREAL."  "Keep fishing folks, we'll keep serving 100% wild-caught tuna," the chain says.

The attorney for the people who filed the suit says they had their tuna subs tested and no tuna was found. All of my friends who studied chemistry and whatnot, please tell me what the "tuna test" would be. Leaving some out in front of a hungry cat?

 The lawyers say:  "What Subway bills as tuna is a mixture of various concoctions that do not constitute tuna, yet have been blended together by defendants to imitate the appearance of tuna."  

Subway says: "There is simply no truth to the allegations in the complaint that was filed in California. Subway delivers 100% cooked tuna to its restaurants, which is mixed with mayonnaise and used in freshly made sandwiches, wraps and salads that are served to and enjoyed by our guests."

And if you go to the Subway website, they define their tuna as "the tuna salad made with flaked tuna in brine, mayonnaise and a flavor-protecting additive."

It has been a rough couple of years for Subway. Remember in September, when Ireland's Supreme Court ruled that the rolls they use in their sandwiches could not legally be called bread in that country because of its high sugar content? And then there was the class-action settlement in 2017 over the fact that Subway's "footlong" subs fell short of that mark by an inch.   

I can state with certainty that I have not had a tuna sandwich prepared by any other than my own two hamfisted hands since 1966, when I was forcibly graduated from the now-defunct Towsontown Junior High School. The cafeteria ladies there made yellow cake, snowflake rolls, peanut butter fudge, and tuna sandwiches so exquisite as to move many of us to flights of ecstasy. And so what happened? They tore the place down.

Happy Presidents' Day!

 

Sunday Rerun (adapted from last year): George Straight

Tomorrow is Presidents' Day, formerly Washington's Birthday.  But old George got shunted off in 1971, when the government reorganized every holiday they could get their hands on and made every famous day a Monday.

Technically, the holiday is still designated as Washington's Birthday, but now we forget how we used to celebrate the natal day of the man who was "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen: February 22. Now we just make the holiday the third Monday in February.

Now, the day is set aside to allow people to have a day off in honor of the presidents of the United States.  There have now been 45 great men to hold the office.

When it was just still plain old Washington's Birthday, stores would hold big sales on 2/22 and sell shirts for 22 cents and entire living room furniture sets for $222.22.  The deluxe set would always include an ottoman, that little tiny low-sitting chair that sat in front of the easy chair.  You could put your feet up on it while the whole family clustered around to watch "Dobie Gillis," or if it was a holiday and kith and kin came from all over to get some ham and green bean casserole, your cousin Bernard would be sitting on the ottoman, telling you that it took its name from the Ottoman Empire, rulers of Southeast Europe, Western Asia and North Africa between the 14th and early 20th centuries.  Apparently, the Ottomans (Ottomen?) enjoyed putting their feets up after a hard day of conquering and whatnot.

Baltimore County schools are open online these days.  One supposes that the day will be spent on educational pursuits in keeping with the spirit of the day.

Perhaps they will discuss the Ottoman Empire!

The Saturday Picture Show, February 13, 2021

 

In September, 1928, editor Hugo Gernsback of "Radio News" magazine helped foresee a future in which we could all sit around in velvet smoking jackets watching television while smoking a pipe and wearing spats.

The 1988 Baltimore Orioles were the worst team in our memory, but there was one midseason Sunday when Tom Selleck, in town to shoot the movie "Her Alibi" with costar Paulina Porizkova, showed up at Memorial Stadium to take batting practice. If he had stayed around to play in the actual game against the Twins, he might have done as well or better than '88 mainstays Jeff Stone and Tito Landrum.

At last! A clothes dryer that will tell you that your clothes are not just dry, but really dry AF!

Forest Stump.

Our County used to have a room down in the basement of the courthouse where a mainframe computer ran all the traffic signals. They replaced it with a PC (it used about 1/5 of the computer's memory) and hauled the old contraption for scrap metal.

I did not know this, but there is an active contingent of greasers in Japan who worship our 50s culture and pompadours and leather jackets and all that. Hey, why not?

This is a section of the ancient Roman aqueduct system that brought water to Italians of long ago. It looks a lot like our current system of pipes and mains.

Four Seasons in Maine.

You have to admire a museum that goes out of its way to present a realistic experience.

Just a year after her noble stand about where to sit on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama, Rosa Parks delivered her message here in Baltimore. The very beginnings of the civil rights struggle came through our town.

Born Not To Run

Bruce Springsteen, who appeared in a Super Bowl commercial for Jeep, was charged with drunk driving at Sandy Hook, New Jersey, in November, according to the Park Service.

Springsteen told a park police officer he had had "two shots of Tequila" in the last 20 minutes before being approached by the cop, but he refused to take a breath test. That's what led to his arrest on suspicion of drunken driving, according to a document filed yesterday in federal court. This all took place at Gateway National Recreation area - federal property, federal offense - where the reporting officer says he saw the aging rock star take a swig of tequila and hop on his motorcycle. In his report, the officer says Bruce  “smelt strongly of alcohol” and “had glassy eyes" and had a "completely empty" Patron tequila.

In the report, Springsteen is described as “visibly swaying back and forth” during a field sobriety test, declining to provide a sample on an initial breath test.

In that field sobriety test, he was instructed to take 18 steps on the "walk and turn." He took 45 steps.

They count these things, Bruce.

Springsteen has had no comment on this whole matter; he is scheduled to have a remote hearing to answer citations for driving while under the influence, reckless driving and consuming alcohol in a closed area.

Often hailed as the King of New Jersey, Springsteen was in a Jeep commercial on the Super Bowl telecast, enigmatically wearing a cowboy hat and driving an open Jeep in Kansas while urging people to find common ground. Jeep is "pausing" the commercial “until the actual facts can be established.”

“It would be inappropriate for us to comment on the details of a matter we have only read about and we cannot substantiate,” a Jeep spokesperson told the website Pitchfork. “But it’s also right that we pause our Big Game commercial until the actual facts can be established. Its message of community and unity is as relevant as ever.  As is the message that drinking and driving can never be condoned.”

I was once a big fan of Springsteen, until his "I'm just a hard-rockin' sensitive poet of the people, kind of a Woody Guthrie, but with a band" act started to wear a bit thin. I checked, and losing me has not had any impact on his life. In his autobiography "Born to Run," Springsteen said he did not use drugs and never touched alcohol until he was 22 because of his father's drinking. Well, this September, he will turn 72, and by that stage in a man's life, he should know better than to swill hooch in a federal park while operating a motor vehicle.

He'll have his trial, maybe even write a song about how sorry he is, but "man, the ghosts are gonna have their way so I took to the street to let my soul run away..." Below, see a picture of his tiny house in Colts Neck, NJ.

The man has a horse stable the size of a salt dome. Maybe he could find some space there if he needs it.