O, say can you see, McHenry?

Even when she's not posing next to Pete Rose, ESPN reporter Britt McHenry is, by any account, an attractive person. Posing next to Charlie Hustle just makes anyone look magnificent. But that's not the issue.

By now, you've likely heard the story about what happened to McHenry a couple of weeks ago.  She went to the Hunan restaurant in Arlington VA and left her car in the restaurant lot after dinner while she hit a couple of other local hot spots. Coming back to retrieve her car, she was not the first person out on the town to find her car had been towed away for being parked on a lot with strict parking rules and a deal with a local tow company.  The restaurant provides parking for patrons while they dine, but they don't provide parking for afterhours carousers.

I just decided to form a band called The Afterhours Carousers.

Anyhow, she goes east to the tow lot to pick up her ride and things go south in a hurry.  We see her on video tape speaking harshly to the cashier, who warns her that video is capturing every second of her captiousness. She then yammers on, slamming the woman's appearance, job, weight and right to be on this earth. ESPN, the sportscaster's employer, suspends her for a week after the tape becomes an internet sensation.

Now, of course the video is edited, and we don't see too much of what the other woman says to her.  And that doesn't matter, because two wrongs would still not make a right, and knowing that she is a person in the public eye, Ms McHenry would be wise to lend me an ear and keep her nose clean by keeping her public mouth shut.

We all know many people whose good looks or other innate qualities (musical talent, athletic ability, born rich) make them very attractive, and so often, these people can get along in life just by smiling and looking great or playing a saxophone or throwing a baseball or writing a check.  But it's often the case that there is an ugly side to pretty people, which Ms McH will demonstrate for you if you can stand to watch this tape of her in action.

But, you know what?  I happen to know some highly attractive people, people who would NEVER stoop so low as to abuse another person in this high-handed manner.

And that's just another reason to love my friends all the more.

Sunday Rerun: Advice from a man who lived to be 114

Walter Breuning, the world's oldest man, has died. He was 114 years old. Breuning died Thursday of natural causes in Montana.

114!  That means when he was 57, he was only 1/2 way through his time on earth! 

So, we can learn from a guy with that much experience.  Wanna live to be 114?  Here are the oldest man's secrets to a long life:

• Embrace change, even when the change slaps you in the face. ("Every change is good.")

• Eat two meals a day ("That's all you need.")

• Work as long as you can ("That money's going to come in handy.")

• Help others ("The more you do for others, the better shape you're in.")

•Accept death. "We're going to die. Some people are scared of dying. Never be afraid to die. Because you're born to die."


I don't care for the second one, if you don't mind, but other than that, we salute you, Walter.  Ave Atque Vale! Hail and Farewell!

The Saturday Picture Show, April 18, 2015

If you're keeping up with my Christmas list, I have now removed "drone" from the wish list and wish to add "gyrocopter."  I mean, because being 6' 5" doesn't quite get me high enough to see everything.  And it would be so handy for those quick trips to Washington, D.C.

I would like to decorate my entire hallway with old concert posters like this one for the greatest performer in country music history...even better than Lady Antipasto or whatever.

Speaking of country music, this reminded me of the line in the song "You're From Texas": "You've got a smile like an acre of sunflowers, and your eyes are bluebonnet blue..." It also reminds me, I would like a nice steak.

This could be the Lincoln Memorial, photographed in maybe 1953, or a recreation of it in Havana, photographed last week.  The old American cars still on the road in Cuba fascinate me, and I'm sure with trade being opened with "our neighbors just 90 miles off the coast of Florida", they will soon be able to purchase Chevrolets and Fords.  How nice for the Cubans.

That's the title of the picture - "Tea Time on the Yamal Peninsula." I love tea.  It really is the perfect afternoon pick-me-the-hell-up-before I fall asleep drink, and I was about the same age as these kids when I found that out!

And then, they found a way to take pictures of New York at two different times around the clock.  I think you'll agree, it's as different as night and day.

This young man in Burma gets light to read by when the sun is at the right angle.

Here's the thing to say when you return from your trip to England and your friends ask if you saw the Whitecliffs of Dover.  You go, "See them?  We had dinner with them on Wednesday!"

Hunter? I don't even know her!

Want to spend the rest of the month in a back-and-forth debate about hunting?  Just post this link to the article about a wild game hunter by the name of Rebecca Francis, who found it necessary to go to Africa to kill...a giraffe.

Ms Francis is from Utah and has eight - count 'em, 8! - children and still finds time to traipse around the world slaying wildlife:
“I prefer bowhunting, and the animals I have taken with a bow include: a 10 1/2 ft. brown bear, black bear, shiras moose, alaskan moose, dall sheep, stone sheep, desert bighorn ram, rocky mountain bighorn ram, mule deer, whitetail deer, elk, mountain goat, antelope, arapawa ram, kudu, zebra, black wildebeest, giraffe, springbuck, blesbuck, lynx, badger, and squirrel. I have also taken many of the same species and more with a rifle.”

I would assume that any spider or housefly that ventures into her home does not stand much of a chance.

Ricky Gervais, that saucy British comedian, took to Twitter to call her out:

And the debate was on.  As a confirmed meat eater and leather jacket owner, I cannot take a moral high ground here.  Cows, pigs and chickens are diet staples here at the Lazy 'C' Ranch, and very few of them have been known to report to the butcher and commit suicide, so someone is bumping them off.

But a giraffe?  The only kind of longneck I want to see on my dinner table contains 12 oz of ice cold beer.

Gervais's tweet generated lots of heat, and it quickly progressed, or more properly, regressed into a back-and-forth that included threats from animal lovers to do bodily harm to Ms Francis, who pointed out in her own defense that this was an older giraffe who had been shunned from his pack and would soon have perished naturally anyway, so, “I chose to honor his life by providing others with his uses and I do not regret it for one second,” she insisted. “Once he was down there were people waiting to take his meat. They also took his tail to make jewelry, his bones to make other things, and did not waste a single part of him,” Francis continued. “I am grateful to be a part of something so good.”

I think Ms Francis is overdoing it a bit, but I also think that those of who so energetically defend the rights of animals while tossing a 16-oz T-bone on the grill might have to look a little more inwardly also.

A giraffe.  Really?

They really are the vital link

The other night, I had occasion to call 911.  It was just that a car alarm on a sedan down the street kept honking, and that might have meant that the pesty junior delinquents around here had been up to their nonsense again, trying car doors to find one unlocked.

The calltaker handled the call, probably one of almost 100 she would receive in her 8-hour shift, just perfectly, and she entered the information into a computer, and by the time I sat back down to search the internet for some more home remedies for hay fever (best answer: wait for July to arrive) I heard the police car cruising up our street, having been dispatched by another person at 911.  All well handled, and the officer found out whose car it was, had them check the vehicle and turn off the alarm, and it was back to normal beeswax.

Yes, I used to work there, so I'm a little proud of the place, but 911 Centers - and there's one in each of Maryland's 23 counties, plus the city of Baltimore - don't get enough love to suit me.  This is National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week (April 13 - 19) and if you know a 911 operator, or police or fire/EMS radio dispatcher, this would be a good week to thank them for doing a great job under tough circumstances.  Indeed, any week would be a good day for doing that.

To begin with, the job is 24-7-365, and that means working snow days, birthdays, weekends, nights, holidays, Uncle Norm's crabfeast day...every day and night.  That's all part of the deal going in, and understood.  The job requires a lot of skills and the ability to stay calm, no matter what.  Calltakers live by the knowledge that no one ever calls 911 because things are going great in their lives. There's a fire in the kitchen, an accident out front, an intruder breaking a window..

Just keep an eye on 3 screens at once

The person who answers the 911 line has probably heard it all, although it's still possible to make them shake their head as they type information into the computer that sends the call details to the radio dispatchers for either police, or fire/EMS, or both. Those are the voices you hear on the scanner, people who are typing, talking and thinking about the needs of up to a dozen field units at once....all of whom might need something at once.

The job pays fairly well, not Range Rover money, but decent bucks for the demands it places on people.  Simply put, their job is to connect the people in a county with 826,000 people living, working and playing within 600 square miles with emergency services as needed, while keeping track of, and providing needed information for, about 2,000 police officers and the equipment housed in 58 fire stations.

While missing Uncle Norm's crabfeast.

Thank a 911 telecommunicator today, please!

It Gets Better; It Always Has

Major League Baseball teams have fantasy camps in the wintertime, where people who lacked the talent to be big-leaguers can pay a pretty penny to pretend that they didn't.  And that's fine.  Some 73-year-old insurance exec wants to pay money to get a uniform and take a few swings with others in the Senior Grapefruit League, no one gets hurt.

But in Tulsa, Oklahoma, a 73-year-old insurance bigshot can donate police cars and police guns and police equipment to the police department, and take some training, and boom!  He's a police officer ("Advanced Reserve Deputy") with no business running around armed and dangerous, and yet it happened, and now a man is dead because this pretend police doesn't know his pistol from his Taser.

And in Baltimore, a young mother left her child in a parked car at the gambling casino for several hours while she was inside gambling to make money.

And in Philadelphia, a mother to a quadriplegic person with cerebral palsy who lives in a wheelchair dumped her son in a woods with a blanket and a Bible so that she could travel down here to Maryland to enjoy some quality time alone with her boyfriend.

And there is war and pestilence and famine and weeping and wailing and too much gnashing of too many teeth, but pick up any newspaper or magazine from long ago, and you will see there has always been plenty of all of these things.

We tend to look at the children of today and shake our heads at how pampered and misbehaved they are, forgetting that plenty of hinky stuff went on in "our day."  That's always been true.

We see crime as being out of control, drug use as rampant, cynicism as a replacement for faith, and evil everywhere.  But reading history helps us put today's enormities in context.

Remember Hitler? Hirohito? Robespierre? Nero?  Caligula? Genghis Khan?  Attila The Hun? Idi Amin?  Pol Pot? Vlad The Impaler?

Mankind has survived all of them and plenty of others. With faith and good humor, our little boats form a mighty armada against the current of doom and sorrow.

And while we're referencing The Great Gatsby, remember: "Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . ."

California Style

"If Britney Spears could survive 2007, you can get through this." - -                                     American motto of online encouragement


It's hard to believe there was a time when we had no Britney Spears, the pop princess from Louisiana, whose smile enchants us as her 55-hour marriage confuses us and her music puzzles us.

But, from all reports, Britney-biz is a lot better than mine and yours (most of you).  She's big in Las Vegas now, where you pay hundreds of dollars for a seat in a giant theater to watch her perform before you head to the gambling tables. So she's making a handsome dollar, and has enough income to buy a nice car.

Back here in Realtown, we're happy when we go the extra few dollars for a sliding moonroof, backup camera and built-in GPS, bringing the price of a new Isuzu to just a dollar less than grandpa spent for a whole house back in the day. But people in Britney's income neighborhood can shoot $150,000 for a new Mercedes G-Class and not even worry about the free car wash tickets.

By the way, "G-Class" to me will always mean "Geometry Class," and I would pay you $150,000 not to have to sit through that again.

But Britney, rich as she is, is still the girl next door, or at least down the block and around the corner, because over the weekend, she and her mom went down to the local soccer field in Calabasas, California to watch one of her sons play soccer...and parked their calabasses right on the hood of her expensive Mercedes Benz.

It's kind of like when Peggy and I used to ride out on a warm summer eve and sit on the tailgate of my old Toyota Tacoma pick-'em-up, swatting mosquitoes and sipping Egg Custard snowballs. I guess Britney and her mom, having spent all their money on this high-tone ride, had no money left over for snowballs. Or folding chairs.

Yes.  I'm sticking with that.

There are people without much money, and people without much sense

The problem of hunger in this country is a serious matter, and not to be joked about.  On the other hand, people like Gwyneth Paltrow should think twice before resorting to silly stunts like she is up to currently.

Hearing that food stamp recipients have to get by on $29 a week per person, the skinny actress (I guess that's what she puts for "occupation" on her 1040 form, although if you asked me for the name of a movie she's ever been in, all you'd get is a shrug, and another one if you asked if I had ever paid a nickel to see her "act") ran down to the BuySumMor and spent 29 of her 280 million dollars on brown rice, black beans, peas, eggs, tortillas, cilantro, limes and fresh vegetables.

I can just see people all across America, people who are trying so hard to feed their families on very skimpy resources, looking at this and saying,"Cilantro!  That's the answer! Cilantro for dinner, limes and black beans for lunch!"

It's really hard to imagine how people such as she function in everyday life. I remember a certain president, up for reelection, whose handlers took him to WalMart to buy tube socks, and he walked up to the cashier, did not know what the UPC price scanner was, and then, when the cashier wanted money for the socks, he had to admit that he did not carry money or a wallet, and had to mooch the money off a Secret Service agent, who had to take time off from his busy drunken driving and prostitute patronizing schedule to hand the leader of the free world (in 1991) a fiver.

Ms Paltrow - who came to attention a couple of years ago for breaking up with the husband and calling that "our decision to consciously uncouple" - does deserve credit for bringing to public attention the sad fact that a country that can spend trillions for bombs can't do any better than 29 bucks for a starving child, but then she trivializes the matter by proposing that cilantro is the answer for hunger.

And nutritionally speaking, her chow would give a person less than 1,000 calories a day, and food stamp recipients seldom have a lifestyle that involves sitting around a mansion chomping on brown rice.  Better to spend that money on things like peanut butter, oatmeal, potatoes, and frozen chicken breasts - much better sources of sustenance.

Sunday rerun: My first, my lasts, my everythings (written in August 2010)

I can remember lots of firsts. First day of first grade, I remember seeing Ed Olson walking around the classroom on stilts made of tall juice cans.  We were six years old.  Twelve years later, Ed and I and several dozen others of our grade 1- thru- 12 bunch were graduated from high school and Ed was driving an Olds.

I remember my first day of working in a "real" job - at the A&P Food Store in my town.  I had always liked hanging around the supermarket anyway, so getting a job there was sort of natural.  I used to round up some buddies and say, "It's Saturday! Let's go down to the A&P watch 'em bag orders!"  When I got the job, I proudly donned the red apron and name tag, and went to work unloading endless truckloads of ginger ale, fig newtons and Vienna sausages. Another thing about that job I fondly recall: there I was in high school, making $2.15 an hour to start.  A pittance, today, I know.  But my friends who were slinging burgers at Gino's and McDonald's were being paid 50 cents an hour, and I was making over four times that much and I did not have to slave over a french fryer.  A coffee grinder, yeah, but no hot oil.  But the top scale for my exalted job class - "clerk" - was 3 dollars an hour.  And guys I worked with there, the full-timers, the guys who knew the Land O'Lakes butter package trick and were only too glad to teach an eager young acolyte such as I, were making 3 dollars an hour, times 40 = $120 before taxes! And they were buying houses and cars and raising children on that.  Just 41 years ago.

LOL Butter!

I remember the first time I was on the radio, and how great it felt to achieve a childhood goal of a) playing records  b) talking about records and c) being paid for a) and b).  There I was, 20 years of age, and being paid at the rate of $75,000...for every thousand weeks of work.

I remember the first time I encountered cheese grits, and the first time I shaved with a razor, and the first time I drove a car, and also the first time I drove a car that anyone knew about (two separate events, mind you!) and the first real fire I fought as a young volunteer firefighter and the first cigarette I ever smoked (and the last one!) and the first time I ever saw my Peggy.  The greatest memory of all, that one.

But I have an operation coming up soon and I am glad that my doctor, the eminent neurosurgeon Neal Naff, M.D., has done this kind of thing before.  Can you imagine what it must be like when your surgeon tells you this is the first time he or she has ever done this kind of thing before?

The Saturday Picture Show, April 11, 2015

This is the tree they call The President. The giant sequoia stands 247 feet tall, measures 45,000 cubic feet in volume, and is an estimated 3,200 years old.

Say hi to Joel Burger and Ashley King from Springfield IL - they're getting married in July! And guess which fast-food chain is picking up the tab for the whole shindig! And you have to love his pretzel shirt.
I wouldn't bet against a mama lion when it comes to taking care of her kids!

Ever look at a trail across a big field and wonder who blazed it first, and when?  I do, too.

If you love popcorn like I do, try this - forget those packages of microwave popcorn
(look at all those nasty ingredients) and throw some kernels in a brown paper lunch
sack, like the one they put your six-pack in.  Fold over the top and nuke it.  That's it!
Then add salt, butter, cheese, whatever you fancy.  It tastes better, too!

I have a reproduction of this old radio from the 1930's and I love to listen to the oldtime radio shows on it.  Think of the days before TV when the entire family would gather around a wooden box and be thrilled to hear soap operas, comedy/variety shows and stuff like The Lone Ranger!  When radio was really radio...

I don't know how this was created, or even what's burning, but a heart afire is always good.

Sometimes, when life seems to be an endless vista of buildings and billboards and cars and malls and people pushing and shoving, it's good to remember there are places like this on earth.

Curses Again!

Yesterday we looked back fondly on the Curse Of The Bambino, which kept the Boston Red Sox from winning the World Series from 1919 - 2004...just because the Sox sold Babe Ruth to the stupid New York Yankees.

And I mentioned that my father was born in 1913, lived a long and happy 84 years, and in all the time the Chicago Cubs still haven't won the World Series since 1908. That's a long, long time.

Sianis's goat wets his whistle

They came close in 1945, but a curse was placed on them, one still known in The Windy City as The Curse Of The Billy Goat. Here's the deal: The owner of a bar in Chi, Billy Sianis, took his goat to a World Series ballgame with him that year.

I'll say that again, because it's a sentence you don't often read. The owner of a joint called the Billy Goat Tavern took a goat with him to a World Series game at Wrigley Field in 1945. He was invited to leave the park because other fans were complaining about the odor emanating from the goat. Sianis was enraged, as he and the goat made their way out of the ballpark, and said to all who could hear him over the goat's braying, "Them Cubs, they ain't gonna win no more."

And darned if they have! Sianis’s family maintains that he sent a telegram to team owner Philip K. Wrigley which read, “You are going to lose this World Series and you are never going to win another World Series again. You are never going to win a World Series again because you insulted my goat.”

Doublemint manufacturer Wrigley felt that this nonsense gummed up the works, and banned Sianis and friend from the cozy confines of his ballpark. Over the years, Cubs fans, members of the Sianis family, and droves of goats have attempted to do hex-busting procedures, but to no avail.

Bartman ruins everyone's evening

The Cubs did come close once again. In a playoff series between the Cubs and the Florida Marlins in 2003 at Wrigley Field, the Cubs were ahead late in game 6, and had a 3 games to 2 lead in the best of seven series. A Marlin hit a foul popup close to the stands, and Cub fan Steve Bartman reached for the ball, deflecting it away from the grasp of outfielder Moisés Alou. This stopped Alou from making the second out of the inning, leaving the Cubs just four outs away from winning their first National League pennant since 1945. But, with the bad luck gates wide open, the Cubs gave up 8 runs in the inning, and lost the game, 8-3. And they lost the 7th and deciding game the next day, earning Bartman a spot in Fan Hell and round-the-clock security for a while.

So as this year's baseball season begins, Wrigley Field is under reconstruction, and the only cursing so far has been from fans who have had to wait 45 minutes to visit Tinkletown. It's always something.

Curses!

In September 1913, my father's mother and father welcomed Dad into the world with appropriate cheer.

There was no major league baseball here in Baltimore at the time, although Dad's folks lived a couple of blocks away from the eventual site of Memorial Stadium, where the Orioles played for years until moving downtown to a ballpark built by the train station where Dad's folks sent him off to World War II (and he never saw either of them again.)

But, all that aside, Dad's father, if he followed baseball, would have remembered when the Chicago Cubs had won the World Series in 1907 and 1908.

The Babe as a youth

And he would have been thrilled when the minor league Orioles signed a local lad for the 1914 season, a young man once adjudged incorrigible, by the name of Babe Ruth, who was purchased on July 4 by the Boston Red Sox, only to be sold to the stupid New York Yankees by 1920 so that the owner of the Red Sox could invest the money he received in return in the musical "No No, Nanette."

This is all true!

Ruth went on to ascend the heights of fame and legend, while "No No, Nanette" has not been produced outside of smalltown dinner theaters for quite a few years.

It was believed that Ruth cursed the Red Sox for selling him to the stupid Yankees, a curse that kept the Sox from winning the World Series until 2004.  It's said that the finding a piece of a piano that Ruth had thrown into a pond on his farm broke the curse.

That's true too.  The Babe was a man of prodigious strength, able to eat dozens of hot dogs and toss pianos about.  Baltimoreans are that way.

But, back to the original story...my father was born in 1913, dropped out of school during the Depression and went to work for the Baltimore Gas and Electric Co., fought a war, came home, got married and raised two fine children (one of whom is my much-older sister) and retired at 64.  He lived 20 years more, went on trips to England, France and Scotland, and did just about everything he wished until passing away at age 84 in 1997.

And the Cubs haven't won the World Series since!  They came close, winning pennants seven times, but no more winning it all, in all that time.

Tomorrow, we'll talk about their curse.

5 Jacksons make one Benjamin

I'll betcha you don't know what's made of 75% paper and 25% cotton and has been around since 1861.

If you answered, "Regis Philbin," I'm sorry.  The correct answer is "The United States Twenty Dollar Bill," and now you owe me one.

A US twenty bears a flattering portrait of our seventh U.S. President (1829–37), Andrew Jackson, and he's been there since replacing Grover Cleveland on the front side of the bill since 1928. This is why Little Richard and I call a 20 a "Jackson," and why our granddads had to stop calling them "Clevelands," which led to the Stock Market Crash of 1929.  The photo at left shows Mr Little Richard asking for more 20s.

This is a sawbuck

Some of us still call a twenty-dollar bill a "double sawbuck" because a ten-dollar bill is often nicknamed a "sawbuck" because the Roman numeral for ten (X) looks like a sawbuck.  This usage was out of style at about the same time everyone realized no one knew what a sawbuck was. 

What's funny about Andrew Jackson being on the $20 is that when he was president, he was vehemently opposed to both the National Bank (the Revolutionary Era Bank of North America) and to paper money.  The main goal of his administration was to dismantle the National Bank. And he decried the use of paper money in his farewell address. (As a nation, we began using paper money during the Civil War, when metals used for coins were in short supply.)

So naturally, we put this man, who hated paper money, on paper money. 

Now we are engaged in a debate about taking his image off the double sawbucks, and surely Old Hickory would approve.  There's a push to replace him with a great woman in our history, and if there is a shortage of twenty dollar bills in many pockets, we have no shortage of worthy women.  Click on the link and make your choice! 

There's a name for everything

I have decided that if we live long enough, every malady and every affliction that ever strikes any of us will get a name and a scientific/medical diagnosis.

I mean, if you try to get out of going to dinner with your mother-in-law because you have a headache, forget it.  Put on your pants. You're going.  But tell them that you are suffering with Trigeminal autonomic cephalalgia, and head for the recliner with an ice bag and some Tylenol.  Make it Tylenol PM if you want; you're in for the night!

Sprained ankle?  You're still expected to go to work.  Tell the boss your problem is that common musculoskeletal injury: the ligaments of your ankle are partially or completely torn due to sudden stretching, and that you'll be home til Wednesday, the earliest, elevating and icing.  No phone calls, please.

Seborrheic dermatitis sounds a lot better than itchy scalp, and remember, nothing stops dandruff better than a dark flannel jacket...

But.  If you've ever flown out of bed, running down the hall with the belt from your robe trailing you like a tow truck dragging chains around the auto auction yard, because just as you dozed off, you thought you heard a an earschplittinloudenboomer (an old German term for loud noise), then you're not really flipping your lid! There's a name for that, and that name is Exploding Head Syndrome, a rarely-fatal disorder characterized by "the perception of loud noises during sleep-wake or wake-sleep transitions." That's the word from the European Sleep Research Society, and who knows more than they do?

Boom boom!  Just when you thought the top of your head was coming off because of that new hot sauce you tried...

I was goated into writing this

Add caption

We were talking about goats the other day and I decided to spend some time learning more about the domestic goat (Capra aegagrus hircus), which is a subspecies of goat descended from the wild goat of southwest Asia and Eastern Europe.

When you retire, you'll have time to do this stuff, I promise you.

Fred (left) and Doris Ziffel

Even if all you know about goats is that we call the style of beard worn by Fred Ziffel on Green Acres is a goatee, that's a good start!  But also, consider these:

I got to thinking about why we call children "kids," and it's because it's what we call the offspring of adult goats: Female goats are referred to as "does" or "nannies", males as "bucks", "billies", or "rams."

If your indoor pool or hot tub smells kind of rank, it might be because bromine is being used to kill algae that might grow there. Bromine, the only liquid nonmetallic element (I'm sure we all knew that, so why even mention it?) is used in compound form for water treatments and to control algae and bacterial growth. The very word bromine is from the Greek: βρῶμος, brómos, meaning "strong-smelling" or "stench of goats."

Naval Academy goat

The current worldwide goat population is thought to be around 924 million.  America has almost three million of them.  Those who do not find work as college football team mascots wind up making milk or cheese or some other food that requires even more involvement, such as goat-b-que.

According to country music legend, Tex-Mex singer Johnny Rodriguez was heard singing while he was in jail for stealing and barbecuing a goat, and a kindly Texas Ranger got word of his talent to Tom T. Hall and Bobby Bare, although this story is now cast in the shadows of doubt, as there are no Texas Rangers known to be kindly.

Just kidding.

The cornucopia, from which all good Thanksgiving chow pours forth, is based on goat horns, which are considered a symbol of plenty and wellbeing.

In Norse mythology, Thor, the god of thunder, rides around in a chariot pulled by two goats (unless they're too Thor.)

Guitars that don't have steel strings have nylon, or what they used to call "catgut," which was actually goat intestine, which is also used to make surgical stitches.

A baseball player who strikes out with the game on the line, a football kicker who blows a potential game-winning field goal and anyone else whose bad play causes a loss is said to be getting fitted for goat horns...the same horns that are supposed to signify plenty and well-being.   Mixed metaphors!

The Washington POST ran this chart, showing the USA's goat population.  Helluva lotta goats in Texas, pardner.

The goat is an animal in the twelve-year cycle which appears in the Chinese zodiac calendar. Certain personality traits are linked to every one of the animals; those born in a year of the goat (1919, 1931, 1943, 1955, 1967, 1979, 1991, 2003, 2015, 2027) are predicted to be shy, introverted, creative, and perfectionist.

Final fun fact: those born in 2027 have not been born yet at all, or even dreamed of, in most cases.

Sunday rerun: Rolling numbers, rock 'n' rolling, got my Trick records out

I can't think of a faster way to get pepped up than to slide a Cheap Trick CD into the machine and let the four-man band from Rockford, IL have at it.  To think that these guys have been together for more than thirty years - only one brief departure took place, and that was when bassist Tom Petersson left for a while, to take the H & R Block tax course, I think it was - and that has meant a legacy of some really fine music.

When you watch "Fast Times At Ridgemont High," you see Damone trying to sell concert tickets, and he's singing their "Surrender" to a would-be buyer.  "Mommy's all right, Daddy's all right, they just seem a little weird...The Dream Police, da da da daaaa da da daaaaaaaaaaaah," he warbles, turning two tunes into one. 

When you hear the theme song to "That 70's Show," you're hearing a recycled Trick song called "In The Street." 

When you know a guy who once vowed to hear CT do "Surrender" or "California Man" every single day of his life, and has pretty much kept to that promise, that would be your friend here on the left.  I am that guy. 

I was thrilled when their first big album "At Budokan" came out in '79 and have been listening ever since.  "Surrender." "I Want You to Want Me." "Ain't That a Shame." "Dream Police."  "California Man."  "Voices." "Everything Works if You Let It." "Way Of The World." "Tonight It's You."  The list goes on and on, and so does the music.

John Lennon liked them, and they did a lot of the instrumental tracks for Lennon's final album "Double Fantasy."

Not only did Trick pioneer a half-Beatles, half-punk kind of music - and just listen! to the way lead guitarist Rick Neilsen weaves snatches of Beatles tunes into the songs, such as a bit of "Please Please Me" in the intro to "Ain't That A Shame" - but they had a half-and-half look as well.  Their earlier albums featured singer Robin Zander posing handsomely with Petersson, and then a separate goofy picture of Neilsen and drummer Bun E. Carlos, looking like Bowery Boys.  Or contrasting group shots such as the one above!

Since most guys aren't classically good-looking either, we related to them more.  And we even bought the story that Carlos's real name was Carlos E. Bunezuela and that he was from South America, a legend which the band floated for years before it turned out that he was born Brad Carlson, and if there's a more midwestern American name than than, I can't think of it.  So avid a cigarette smoker was Carlos that he was often seen flailing away at his drums with a Marlboro pasted on his mug. 

This was years ago, you understand. Meanwhile, Cheap Trick music from the 70s sounds just as fresh today as it did back then, and I hope you'll enjoy some soon.

Here's the band in Baltimore in 2007  -- that's Robin singing, and Rick Neilsen with his guitar of many heads, and I can just hear the music, can't you? 

The Saturday Picture Show, April 4, 2015

Someone had a great idea for a pair of mittens!  Now I want french fries very much.

I don't know if this cigar is lighted, so I can't pick on former Governor Schwarzenegger for smoking in a non-smoking area.  It's enough to shake my head and wonder how he got to be governor of anything in the first place.

This Photoshop thing really has possibilities, am I wrong?

Grab the crayons and fill this in! Baseball time is here at last.

I love flowers that will bear fruit, like this apple blossom that will lead to applesauce by November!

I always wonder about that expression, "He really got your goat." What does that mean?  While we figure that out, here's a goat that really got a ride.

There is beauty in everything.  At one time, a tree grew and provided shade, only to be cut down to provide a place to sit down.  Thanks!

My tenth-grade Spanish teacher, Panamanian by birth, scoffed at us for eating yellow bananas.  He said that people down where the bananas come from only eat 'em green, which is how they see them as they are shipped up here to the Try'N'Save.  

Theater of the absurd

We don't go to the movie theater very much, and that's for several reasons.  For one thing, most of us, if we want to hug and kiss, we have a whole house in which to get all silly.  For another, most of the movies today are not of interest to both of us; I wouldn't be happy sitting there at a Twilight picture or an all-singin'-all dancin' extravaganza version of the life of Ronald W. Reagan, and Peggy is not about to be seen emerging from any screening room where Johnny Knoxville's image had recently cavorted across the screen.

But the biggest thing that keeps us walking right on by the Googolplex 28 is the behavior of others in the place. People regard movie theaters the same way they regard their own living rooms, which is to say they sprawl out all over the seat and the one next to it, shoving chicken wings down their necks, chomping on Goobers and yakking away on their phones. It ruins the evening for others, not that they care.

But here's someone who does! Kyesha Smith Wood is an Alabama woman who dropped off her teenaged daughter, step daughter and son at the movies to see "Cinderella." Her son later told her that the girls were rude and disrespectful to a woman who asked them to knock off the noise while she and her family were trying to enjoy the picture.

So, Ms Wood took to Facebook and asked, admittedly as a longshot, that the woman come forward to identify herself.  She mentioned that the offended lady had told the kids her husband had just been laid off, and so they would not be able to afford a night at the movies for the foreseeable future.

But, they will, because that lady, one Rebecca Boyd, came forward as the other party.  And Ms Wood says that she and her husband want to treat the Boyds to another night at the cinema, snacks and all, and that the money will be coming out of her girls' allowances.

My first reaction is that Ms Wood's kids are going to grow up with a clear idea of what is right and what is wrong.  Hurray for her!

My second is that, this summer, the Hank Williams bio movie is coming out, and so is "Ted 2," and no one better act up while I am there.  I guess I should drive to Alabama to see them, down there where these things are taken seriously.

Springing for the prom

It's that time of the year as Spring rubs pollen into our eyes and noses, and the cost of high school activities is nothing to sneeze at, I'll tell you.

The prom, for juniors and especially seniors, is a very important part of high school life.  But whereas most guys can hustle around a little and scrape up enough loot to rent a tux and buy some flowers, a gown for a young lady can be an expense into the hundreds of dollars.  And since there are so many other things that families need to purchase, it's good to see that people of good will and community spirit are willing to do something to help.

Up in Aberdeen, Harford County (birthplace of our sports idol Cal Ripken, Jr.) the Lionesses of the local Lions Club collects donated gowns all through the year so that in March, they can open "Cinderella's Closet," a gown giveaway where a young lady can be united with a gently used garment and "Turn Dresses Into Dreams."

All the girls will look like this at the prom.
All the boys will look (and act) like Pee Wee Herman.

"I know prom is an important time for these girls and there are so many girls who can't go to prom because they can't afford a gown," Lion Leslie Zeigler told the Aegis newspaper. "Collecting these gowns and seeing the smiles on the moms' faces and the girls' faces when we give these gowns out for free…it's just a wonderful feeling."

Here's a link to the article that will tell you how to donate, or receive, a prom gown. I don't think there's a way to say enough good things about women who are generous enough to donate their dresses for this event, or about the kind women who work all year to make prom night special for all young ladies.

Reading articles like this just makes me a happy man.  Best wishes, ladies!

The stars at night are big and bright!

As Ernest Tubb said, "The thing about Texas isn't
that we have everything; it's that we have
so much of it!" 

Ah, it's the packing! Packing is what I hate. Really though,  pack we must, because our house has been sold to a really nice family from up in Carroll County, and as soon as the moving men are here to pack our clothes, furniture, old books, records and cookware, we'll be headed for our new home in Houston.

I am really looking forward to one thing down in the Lone Star State: the chance to enjoy hot, humid weather all year long.  Lord knows, here in Baltimore, we only had oppressive, sticky heat in June, July and August!  Fortunately for us, the people who hired us to move to Houston and serve as houseparents at a local university dormitory (can't mention the name; I'm sure you understand why) have assured us of a steady flow of Gulf moisture, accompanied by the heat that comes from a latitude closer to the equator (and Mexico!) and a sun that feels like it's about three feet above your sombrero from January through December.

Oh, right...we can leave all those winter hats, scarves, gloves and snowshovels right where they are!  Only thing is, the new owners of the house they have promised to take over to the GoodWill store whatever they can't use.

Long about June, we'll be all settled in, Deep In The Heart Of!

(We'd love to have you come visit!  For our new address and contact info, just look at the first letter of each sentence above!)