The Saturday Picture Show, December 9, 2023

 

My dear departed Dad gave me two pieces of advice that I still tote around and repeat often. One was, "They can't make you do it, but they can make you wish you had!" and the other was, "Never give a woman you love any gift that has an electric cord." These have held me in good stead for all these years.

I notice that yesterday was Jim Morrison's birthday, according to this old license. It was also the birthday of Sammy Davis, Jr, but we don't have his license to prove it.

Doug! What did you do to incur the wrath of your entire neighborhood?

You know the Elf On The Shelf; well this is Elvis on The Shelvis at my old office, sporting the hat I made him for the season. It's still the only item of apparel I have ever made, unless you count cutoffs.

We're looking for someone with the first name of "Leon" to take this letter set from a lady who ordered letters to spell out NOEL on her hearth. Since the shipper made the mistake, she's not out anything, and just wants to share this with someone by the right name.

Fire engines and Santa just go together like milk and cookies.

We have to remember always that not everyone is having a holly jolly Christmas. There is help for them, if it gets to that point, at 988. And for the rest of us, let's all try to put an arm around a friend's shoulder if we sense that they need one.

There are millions of them now in show business, but Zsa Zsa Gabor was the first person to be famous for being famous. She couldn't act, sing, or dance, so naturally she became an actress in cheeseball movies that mainly played as the 'B' feature at Drive-In theatres. Pronounce that first name "ZHA-zha," if you will, please.

That's the way! Record everything! You never know, you might want to see an old Regis show in 8 years.

Well, he had to take the Minnie head off so he could hoove on a Marlboro, you know. I thought Disney had rules against this sort of thing...

1973 - 2023

 

Today, Peggy and I celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary, and I started the day as I always do, marveling at the golden band on my third-finger-left-hand, because marriage has been so wonderful for us. We had no idea what to expect from marriage or love or life itself as we stood in the chapel at Towson Methodist Church, but we figured it out.

I was a country music radio DJ at the time, and Peggy, a legal assistant. I had moved on to more stable lines of work by 1986, when Alabama (the music group, not the entire state) released a song by Dave Loggins, who also wrote "Pieces of April" for Three Dog Night, and "Please Come To Boston" for himself. 

The song is called "She And I," and every time I hear it, it hits me in the feelings because it's like Loggins knew our story when he wrote it. It's just that we have always found our own way as we paraded through the years together. We don't socialize a whole lot, never sail away for Hong Kong, Baluchistan, or Nome, we mainly don't bother hearing anyone else telling us to do it their way, and we expect that others won't ask us to tell them how to live. When people say, "You two are always together!," I wonder why we wouldn't be.

To those who have been with us from the beginning, and to those who hopped in along the way, thanks for loving us. We love you too!

She and I live in our own little world

Don't worry about the world outside

She and I agree

She and I lead a perfectly normal life

Ah but just because we aren't often seen socially

People think we've something to hide.

But all our friends know we're just a little old fashioned

She and I

Oh ain't it great 

Ain't it fine 

To have a love someone that others can't find

Ain't it wonderful to know all we ever need is just the two of us

She and I

She and I share with everybody else

The same wants, needs and desires

She and I save

She and I pay on everything we acquire

Ah but just because we aren't often seen separately

People think we live one life.

Its hard for them to see how anyone could be as close as

She and I

Oh ain't it great 

Ain't it fine 

To have a love someone that others can't find

Ain't it wonderful to know all we ever need is just the two of us

She and I

Ain't it wonderful

She and I live in our own little world, ain't it wonderful

Ain't it fine

December 7: Pearl Harbor Day rerun

 

The Arizona in 1938

Today is Pearl Harbor Day, commemorating the day in 1941 when Japan attacked the US Pacific fleet at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Many ships were damaged badly, but only two of them were total losses, U.S.S. Oklahoma and U.S.S. Arizona. The Navy tried to refloat the Oklahoma, but she was too badly damaged to return to service.

A bomb had crashed through the deck of the Arizona, and it set off fires in the ship's forward magazine, sinking the ship, and turning the mighty vessel into a tomb for 80% of the crew of 1,512.

Just as the sinking of the USS Maine in 1898 became a rallying point as America began fighting Spain over the colonization of Cuba, the sinking of the Arizona became a hortatory cry for American entry and victory in the Second World War.

After that victory, Admiral Arthur Radford ordered a flagstaff to be erected on the wreck, with standing orders to raise the US colors on the site every day. As the years went by, wooden platforms and a plaque served as a visitor site, with more funding set aside as the Korean War took precedence. 

In 1958, President Dwight Eisenhower signed a law authorizing the raising of money to build an Arizona memorial. Plans called for a marble bridge to straddle the wreckage, but all that was planned would carry a price tag of half a million dollars. Fundraising efforts yielded spotty results at best...

Until 1960, when Sgt Elvis A. Presley, freshly mustered out of the US Army, agreed to perform a benefit concert at the 4,000 seat Bloch Arena at Pearl Harbor, a venue at which the Arizona band had played at a "Battle of Music" among service bands the night before the Pearl Harbor attack. The entire band had been killed in the devastation. but Elvis, as patriotic a man as he was great as a performer, filled the hall, with tickets ranging in price from $3 to $100. And everyone in attendance had to have a paid admission. Even Elvis paid his way in with the purchase of a $100 ticket.

The King performed with an all-star band, including his regular drummer, DJ Fontana, and guitarist Scotty Moore, who had served his Navy time at Pearl.

The show brought in $60,000 in ticket sales (including a $5,000 gift from Elvis) and served to publicize the Arizona Memorial project, which was completed and dedicated on May 30,1962. Elvis visited the site several more times over the years, but after that concert, he did not appear on stage for eight years.

Today, the memorial is visited by 1.5 million visitors a year.  And just as Elvis did not forget the Arizona, the Navy did not forget him. After the King's death in 1977, they placed a wreath for him at the Memorial.

What's the word, Thunderbird?

You may not know this old joke, but pardon me if you do:

Grandmother to teen girl: There are two words that I wish you would stop using. One is swell and the other is lousy.

Teen girl: OK Granny! What are they?

It's authentically true that Merriam-Webster’s 2023 Word of the Year Is ‘Authentic’!

It's harder and harder these days to tell what's authentic. You look for a suede jacket, and the salesperson tells you, "Well, this is Ultrasuede!"

Which means fake suede.

There was the ad for women's wigs that said, "It's not fake anything; it's real Dynel!"

Everyone says everything is the real thing, no fake nothin', but only real is real. As Frankie Valli sang in the "Grease" theme song, 

Their lips are lyin', only real is real

We stop the fight right now, we got to be what we feel

Grease is the word

Only real is real. 

Peter Sokolowski, editor-at-large of Merriam-Webster's word book, says, “We sometimes don’t believe our own eyes or our own ears. We are now recognizing that authenticity is a performance itself.”

Merriam-Webster has long classified "authentic" among the words that are looked up quite a bit, but this year, more and more of us are confused about just what authentic is, and what it means to be authentic.

Easy to understand, when there is artificial intelligence trying to fake us out and out-and-out liars like that George Santos, the disgraced booted-out congressman who told every lie short of saying he was really Tom Brady (and wouldn't that explain a lot, were it true!?)

This Reggie White Packers jersey seems to lack a certain authenticity.

Elon Musk, owner of what used to be Twitter, is always hollering about being honest and for real, so what does he do but start selling the little blue checkmark that used to mean the person writing was who he or she said they were. Now you can plunk down some money every month and claim to be Mr Peanut.

Help! Send more authenticity!

 

 

 

A REALLY Desperate Housewife

You will remember that actress Felicity Huffman got in trouble and even went to jail for paying a guy $15,000 to raise her daughter's SAT scores.  Now four years removed from her grueling 14 days at the Ironbar Hilton, Huffman is far from contrite: she told an interviewer last week that she knew what she did was wrong, paying an SAT fixer to have her daughter's test paper get a much higher score than it deserved. But she added that she “felt like I would be a bad mother if I didn’t do it.”

Huffman Family! Bad answer!

The “Desperate Housewives” star was only one of several hotshot Hollywoodites involved in that college admissions scandal. But so far she is the only one of them to say anything this stupid: 

“It felt like I had to give my daughter a chance at a future,” she told ABC last week. “So it was sort of like my daughter’s future, which meant I had to break the law.”

And since her daughter did not have the grades or high-enough SAT scores, Felicity and her husband  William H. Macy paraded over to meet with one Rick Singer, who took their money and had his accomplice Mark Riddell handle the grade-fixing, because this is how we accomplish things in this society, through crime.

She said she believed Singer. In 2017, the consultant met with the Hollywood pair and explained how the scheme worked. He said he “controlled” a private school in West Hollywood where Huffman’s daughter would take the exam. Singer’s accomplice, Mark Riddell, would proctor the exam and correct their daughter’s answers after she finished the test.

“So when he slowly started to present the criminal scheme it seemed like... that was the only option to give my daughter a future,” Huffman continued.

And studying harder and learning enough to get a higher grade never seemed like an option?

Incidentally, I remember asking my guidance counselor in high school what I got on my SAT tests. He looked at the paper and said, "It looks like mustard and catsup."

Say It Isn't So

Just about a week before the day when Peggy and I are set to celebrate fifty - 5-0! years of wedded bliss - we went to a wedding, and what a wonderful time it was to see two young people set out on the matrimonial path. You couldn't ask for a sweeter couple in love than Sydnie and Ryan. They exchanged personally-written vows that steered clear of the rocky cliché shoreline that wrecks so many attempts people make at being clever and original and slightly Hallmarky.  What these two did was to say in everyday words how they found love in each other and how each has made the other's dreams come true. It was the most touching wedding ceremony we've seen in many a year because it came straight from their hearts. And I've no doubt that on December 2, 2073, they'll look back on half a century with the same joy that Ms Peggy and I experience.

Lovely centerpiece

As Sydnie and Ryan departed the wedding arch, the deejay was playing "You Make My Dreams" by the two and only Hall and Oates, that 1981 Top 5 hit that still says it perfectly for people who have found happiness in each other. Hall & Oates are in their 50th year of a partnership that has seen them sell records and downloads and pack concert halls all over the world, but their next scheduled appearance is likely to be held in a courtroom.     

In happier times

A judge in Nashville's Chancery Court is sorting out the arguments as the Philly soul duo lob charges and legal papers at each other. Daryl Hall is the lead singer and songwriter for most of their songs, and he claims that John Oates broke their contract by trying to sell of his share of one of their business partnership arrangements without Hall’s approval.

You can see where this is going, can't you? What's sad to me is that Hall is 77 and Oates is 75, and while their great songs, such as "Rich Girl," "Maneater," "Kiss On My List," and "Sara Smile" will certainly live forever, these two men certainly will not.

Make me the judge, and I will rule that H&O should knock off the feudin' and fussin'. If they don't want to work together anymore, fine, guys, just sit in your respective mansions and enjoy the considerable fruits of your labors.

Besides, the hallways of our court systems are already clogged with lawyers settling the matter of whether Texas Pete Hot Sauce is deceptive, because it's made in North Carolina instead of Texas.

Sunday Rerun: Old Uncle Mark's Book of Recipes

 My boyish figure is the envy of dozens; well, maybe the envy of two or three.  But there's no secret, I like to eat and I like to cook and I like to share recipes.  

Recently, I stumbled over two new ways to whip up old favorites.  And I thought, as soon as I get over the resultant contusions and abrasions, I'd write them down so that others might share.  One's for breakfast and one is for dinner.  Lunch, you're on your own, although Peggy will make you a wonderful PB & J if you like.

If you like a nice omelet for breakfast, but you can't stand all the flipping and the flapping, here's a nice way to make a French Country Omelet.  Oh, now, like you, I found the name daunting.  French Country?  What's that, Monsieur Porter Wagoner et Les Wagonmasters, eh?  But it's good and easy.

Let's begin by finding that large cast-iron skillet .  Heaven knows where that is.  Did Edna bring it back after she took it to the pancake breakfast that time?  Once you find it, heat it up on the stovetop and throw in some olive oil, and then bacon, mushrooms, potatoes and onions, as you see fit.  Let it all fry up nice and brown.  While it's frying, turn the oven on to 350° and break four or five eggs into a suitable bowl, whisking them just ever so with just a schkosh of milk.  When everything is fried up to a turn, dump in the eggs right over everything, toss on a little grated cheddar if you wish and definitely shake some chives over it all, put it in the oven for 6 - 7 minutes, and, like the old Esskay commercial used to say, "Put it on the table and stand back out of the way!"

It's gooooooooooooooooooood!

Everyone loves pulled pork barbecue, and yet it's hard to find a good pork puller up in these parts.  Is that what's troubling you, friend?  Are you tired of driving all the way to China Grove, NC, to get a mess of barbecue from Gary's place?  'Cause if that's what's been making you toss and turn in fitful bursts of sleep all night, your problems are over.

Grab yourself a pork shoulder roast over at the Try 'N' Save, a bottle of beer and a bottle of cider vinegar.  Toss the pork into your Crock Pot with some garlic and onions, and then fill the crock up over the pork shoulder's shoulder with some water - about a 1/3 of the way - and fill the rest with vinegar.  Turn on the Crock Pot to LOW and go find something to do for the next 7 hours.  Hint: that's what the beer is for...

Ok, so you put it in the crock at 9 in the yawning.  At 4 that afternoon, get a big bowl down from the cupboard - the big yellow one where you used to soak Navy beans all night until the Air Force started to complain.  With tongs, take the roast out of the crockpot.  The bone will tenderly fall right out.  Take two serving forks and go to town on that roast, shreddin' and pullin'.  Once it's all torn to bits, put it back in the crock, cover it with decent barbecue sauce, stir it all, and let it go on LOW for another hour.

Then at 5, get your cole slaw and your Miller High Life and gather the family around, 'cause you're fixing to love your dinner!

The Saturday Picture Show, December 2, 2023

 

I'm showing this calendar to remind us all that the last month of the year has arrived, with the holidays that so many look forward to all year. Or, for some, it's a chance to make good on the goals we set in January past. Either way, these days can seem magical if we remember to pause and enjoy them along the way!

A lot of people cranked up their fireplace earlier this week when it got so cold. It's a nice way to toast the tootsies, and also your feet.

If I'm not mistaken, this picture was in a Grand Funk Railroad album liner note sheet a long time ago. Appropriate, because a lot of their songs sounded just like this.

You step out to pick up the newspaper one morning and see these. Is it that crazy kid next door, fooling around with his little shovel, or is it Gentle Ben? Hmm.

Product testers at Amazon are nothing if not thorough! If you order a giant magnet, they will make sure it's got a lot of attraction when they drop it off.

Hey Diddle Diddle, The Cat And The Fiddle, The Cow Jumped Over The Moon, The Little Dog Laughed To See Such Fun, The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon.

The news has been silent on this topic. It took Kelly Ripa to tell me about the giant tumbling tumbleweeds out west. It must be the nuclear radiation in the air that makes them so huge.

Good morning, Starfish! The earth says hello! 𝄠𝄡

Horticulturists in Sprite, California, have finally come up with the perfect hybrid Lemon-Lime plant. Next up: the diet version.

How many movies were shot in this very terminal? You've heard the expression "It's like Grand Central in here!" when a house or office gets full of frenzied people. This picture shows the real Grand Central Station, very early in the morning before all the commuter trains get in. Just think of the memories here! Almost everyone in the world will pass through here at some point in their lives.

Taylor Made

I'm confused. This DeSantis, governor of Florida, made a big deal about cutting back $120 million on state college and university funding, including courses that were designed to aid in workforce development for that state, because he knows that his supporters don't like none of that higher educabacation and whatnot.

But at the same time, the University of Florida's Honors Program will be offering a new course in the spring semester: "Musical Storytelling with Taylor Swift and Other Iconic Female Artists." For 13 weeks, students who have no idea of the difference between the terms "every day" and "everyday," and lack the foggiest notion of the circumstances and outcome of most any American war, will delve into Taylor's music, "especially her songwriting, " according to the university's website. 

And there's more! The course description claims that students will "draw parallels between Swift’s enchanting lyrics and works by other famous female masterminds such as Aretha Franklin, Billie Holiday, and Dolly Parton."

The UF promises that the class will cover themes such as "old flames, infidelity, aging, and double standards" which are, of course, the chief topics mentioned in all 134,382 of her songs.

The U of Florida, which numbers among its graduates weepy Tim Tebow, is only the latest institution of higher learning (pause for laughter) to offer courses in Swiftology. Stanford has a 10-week course to teach students to analyze Taylor's song "All Too Well (10 Minute Version) (Taylor's Version)."

None of her song titles is simple.

Arizona State University, UC Berkeley and the University of Houston are also adding TS courses instead of T.S. Eliot courses.

You know him. He wrote "Cats," right?

 

"If silence be good for the wise, how much better for fools!"

Can there be a bigger fool than a billionaire who gets caught driving under the affluence and blames it on being white and wealthy?

Of course, I am talking about Jim Irsay, owner of the Indianapolis NFL Team formerly known as the Baltimore Colts. He got popped in March of 2014 for DUI and now, almost ten years later, claims that the police have it in for him because he's a rich Caucasian.

Jimbo comes by his asininity quite honestly. He inherited the team from his father, Bob, a drunken lout whose own mother called him "the devil on earth" for stealing money from his parents. Bob himself denied his Jewish heritage and called himself "a good Catholic boy." 

I remember seeing young Jimmy at the Colts practices long ago. People felt sorry for him. The coaches used him as a gopher, bringing water and footballs to the field. 

But now he goes on television and claims that the nasty policeman stopped him just because he was driving at a slooooooooooooooow rate of speed, stopped his car in the middle of a road, and failed to signal a turn. Subsequently, he failed field sobriety tests (one of which should be saying "failed field sobriety tests" five times really fast) and the police found narcotics in his car.

Oh, poor me. 

“I am prejudiced against because I’m a rich, white billionaire,” Irsay told HBO’s Andrea Kremer. “If I’m just the average guy down the block, they’re not pulling me in, of course not.”

Jimbo, do you think people will buy this claim that the police picked on you for being rich and chalky?

 “I don’t care what it sounds like,” Irsay said. “It’s the truth ... I could give a damn what people think how anything sounds or sounds like. The truth is the truth, and I know the truth.”

The truth includes the fact that he has been to rehab 15 times.

I don't want him driving down my street.  And can't he just shut his piehole a minute?

No Place Like...

There is no place like SOMEONE'S home for the holidays, and this year once again, there was a happy holiday for Jamal Hinton and Wanda Dench, who spent their eighth year celebrating Thanksgiving together.

You might recall, it was a misdirected text back in 2016 that erroneously invited Hinton to Dench's table for Gobble Day. This year, because this is America, there was a commercial angle to it.

Airbnb got involved, sponsoring the dinner, and adding more guests.

Their listing on the Airbnb site said, "Some may recognize us from our viral text mishap that led to our first Thanksgiving together back in 2016. And eight years later, we’re practically family."

"To commemorate our lasting friendship, we’re excited to become Airbnb hosts and welcome new guests into our holiday tradition, creating meaningful connections in the process," the offer continued.

In fondly-recalled pre-pandemic 2016, Ms Dench sent a text invitation message for T-Day dinner, intended for her grandson, to Hinton, who was a high school senior at the time.

Not recognizing the sender, Hinton asked for a picture, and, upon receiving a photo of Ms Dench. replied, "You not my grandma" and "Can I still get a plate tho?"

Ms Dench said, "Come on over and get yourself a nice supper," and a tradition was born which now spans eight years. Ms Dench lost her husband, Lonnie, to the coronavirus in 2020, but the annual meetings go on, and soon, Netflix subscribers will see a movie about their lucky incidental friendship, to be entitled "The Thanksgiving Text."

I'm for Meryl Streep playing that nice lady and hiring DJ Jazzy Jeff to play Mr Hinton.

 

Enjoy yourself!

At 5 feet, 10 inches. and 172 pounds, 23-year-old Zay Flowers towers over no man.

And yet, he towers over them all.

The rookie wide receiver out of Boston College has been the welcome addition to the Baltimore Ravens that he was touted to be. He catches the ball and runs like the dickens with it, and those are highly important requirements for his job.

He's scored two touchdowns so far, both in Sunday night's win over the Chargers, and he put a little pizzaz on the field with his celebrations in the end zone, the first of which is being talked about all over.

You can see it here:  https://twitter.com/i/status/1728958729415221741

All Flowers does is recreate that moment in wedding receptions when the bride tosses her bouquet to the crowd of people hoping to be next to traipse down the aisle, except he used the football as flowers.

Get it? Flowers!

Team insiders are saying that querulous quarterback Lamar Jackson did not like the performance. I mean, he liked the one where Zay caught the pass for a score, but not the bridesmaid scene. 

Lamar has never seemed like a man with much of a sense of humor. He could try enjoying the moment like Zay did the other night. Life is too short not to laugh.

 

 

 

Animal Cruelty

Sure, you've heard of snakes on a plane. Now how about a runaway horse?

There was a  Boeing 747 heading for Liege, Belgium from JFK in NYC when things got AFU because a horse got loose in the cargo hold.

 It was important for this horse to be transported to Europe, and he refused to swim, so the plane was the option his owner chose. But the pony got partway out of its stall at 31,000 feet up. The crew contacted Air Traffic Control with might be the first-ever request to cancel a flight because Mr Ed was loose.

YouTube channel "You Can See ATC" reconstructed a video of the event, in which we can hear the pilot say “We don’t have a problem (…) flying-wise, but we cannot get the horse back secured.”

The airline said the plane hit turbulence - the exact reason I avoid air travel and horseback riding - and that spooked the steed. It got caught up the stall and, in spite of the best efforts of veterinarians and ground staff, needed to be euthanized.

Sad story, but John Cuticelli, the head of the corporation that handles animal quarantine and export at John F. Kennedy International Airport, says, "The horse jumped and managed to get its two front legs over the (front) barrier and then got jammed. It’s only the second time in all the years I’ve been doing this that I’ve ever seen that happen. And we do thousands of horses a year. A very unfortunate event — but that horse was spooked.”

There was an episode of "Modern Family" in which Javier Delgado ("Manny's father, and Gloria's ex-husband...and lover" as he puts it) claims to be able to read the mood of racehorses by looking at their faces. 

Well, I am no one's ex-husband, but I don't even have to look at a horse in the face to tell it does not want to get on a plane and fly to Belgium. They want to stay home and canter around in the meadow. 

Please stop this nonsense!

Sunday Rerun: If you're not at Burger King, you can't always have it your way

 A friend of mine has a relative who took her children to one of those farm stand places where they have Apple Festivals in Autumn, and cider and doughnuts and hay mazes and hayrides. They arrived too late; the hayride tractor was being put away and the employees were closing up everything, but this person, an attorney, loudly and publicly clamored for her children to be able to have a hayride.

The employees said they were sorry, but the sign posted said that hayrides were over at 5 PM, and they should have come earlier, and they tried to be as kind as possible, but this person, an attorney, would not hear of it.

"I DEMAND a hayride for my children!" she shouted.

And don't you know, they got that tractor back out and loaded up the kids and took them on what must have been a helluva happy hayride.

Lion Park is a wildlife center in South Africa's Gauteng province, where one can drive along the roads and see all sorts of animals, including lions, zebras, giraffes and wild dogs. Upon entering, visitors are given a piece of paper with the rules, the main one being that the car windows have to be rolled UP at all times, which only makes sense.  But the other day, a 29-year-old woman, Katherine Chappell of Rye, New York was killed at the safari outside Johannesburg. She was taking pictures of a lioness, with her car window down to get a better picture, and the lioness, who was with her cubs, reached in through the window that should not have been open, and killed her.

We see this all the time...people jumping into the cages of large cats and other dangerous animals at zoos and parks.  Sometimes, they are sadly deranged individuals bent on suicide, sometimes, they are under the delusion that getting closer to our animal kin is good for the soul, and sometimes, they just want to take photographs.

This is not a housecat

And of course, there is this curious human tendency to demand that things be done the way we want them - or else!

Unlike the people who operate hayrides and apple festivals, animals don't operate with the same sort of logic that a rational human employs in making decisions.  A mother lion sees her offspring being encroached upon, and responds the only way she knows.

And that's the way it's going to be, until animals evolve to the point at which they have attorneys to resolve these matters.  So until then, I urge each and every one of us to follow the rules of animal engagement.  They're in place for a reason.

The Saturday Picture Show, November 25, 2023

The time's not long until they will be together again, forever at their rest.

This year's was the 98th Macy's Thanksgiving Parade; the tradition began in 1924 but naturally the festivities were shelved from 1942-1944. I hope you enjoyed it!

In a California neighborhood, residents were fed up with RVs parking on their street at night, and have blocked off their parking spots with these galvanized stock tanks. They should take a tip from Baltimore, hon. Spots here are legally set aside with the placement of a chaise longue.

Is it a coincidence, or a jocular baker that caused this day-old pie to be reduced to the price of pi 𝞹? 

This 1972 Taco Bell menu takes us back to the days when we Americanos had to be taught what Mexican food was, and how to pronounce it. ¡Ay, caramba!

You know, when you ask an Iranian to pass the salt, this might be what you get...

You know, I don't eat potato chips all that often, and it's because I can never choose between "original wavy" and "original ripple" chips.

By themselves, they just look like little piles of salt and spice. But you mix them up and you get taco seasoning!

 

Thankful Friday!

 

It's Thanksgiving Weekend, and what better time to watch "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," the 1987 movie starring John Candy and Steve Martin that shows how much fun it is to travel this week.

"Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go, the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifted snow..." was the opening line in a song we always sang in elementary school as Turkey Day approached.  Maybe a horse and sleigh would have been an easier way to get around; certainly it would be a preferable mode of transport to the methods Candy (as Del Griffith) and Martin (as Neil Page) tried.

Dolphins and Jets today and Mizzou at Arkansas! Leftovers will have to wait.

I hope you got to where you were going in fine fashion and will get back home the same way! 

Thanksgiving 2023

Peggy and I will be blessed today to have a nice dinner and a slice of pie and lots of candlelit memories and thoughts of those we love, far and near. May each of you be blessed as well, and may the coming of December bring something close to peace in the world. All this fighting and war and unpleasantness is no way to live, so let's change that right away.

A view of a funeral

I like to read and share this column every year on this day. You'll forgive me for being nostalgic for a time when our leaders were, let's say, different from what they are now.

And so were our journalists. This is the column that Jimmy Breslin wrote in the New York Herald-Tribune after he was sent to Washington to cover the funeral for President Kennedy. He realized that every other reporter would be talking about the people in suits and fine clothes at the funeral. Breslin's genius was that he went in another direction, and gave us a slice of life we might otherwise not have seen.

‘It’s An Honor’

New York Herald Tribune, November 1963

By Jimmy Breslin

WASHINGTON — Clifton Pollard was pretty sure he was going to be working on Sunday, so when he woke up at 9 a.m., in his three-room apartment on Corcoran Street, he put on khaki overalls before going into the kitchen for breakfast. His wife, Hettie, made bacon and eggs for him. Pollard was in the middle of eating them when he received the phone call he had been expecting. It was from Mazo Kawalchik, who is the foreman of the gravediggers at Arlington National Cemetery, which is where Pollard works for a living. “Polly, could you please be here by 11 o’clock this morning?” Kawalchik asked. “I guess you know what it’s for.” Pollard did. He hung up the phone, finished breakfast, and left his apartment so he could spend Sunday digging a grave for John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

When Pollard got to the row of yellow wooden garages where the cemetery equipment is stored, Kawalchik and John Metzler, the cemetery superintendent, were waiting for him. “Sorry to pull you out like this on a Sunday,” Metzler said. “Oh, don’t say that,” Pollard said. “Why, it’s an honor for me to be here.” Pollard got behind the wheel of a machine called a reverse hoe. Gravedigging is not done with men and shovels at Arlington. The reverse hoe is a green machine with a yellow bucket that scoops the earth toward the operator, not away from it as a crane does. At the bottom of the hill in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Pollard started the digging (Editor Note: At the bottom of the hill in front of the Custis-Lee Mansion).

Leaves covered the grass. When the yellow teeth of the reverse hoe first bit into the ground, the leaves made a threshing sound which could be heard above the motor of the machine. When the bucket came up with its first scoop of dirt, Metzler, the cemetery superintendent, walked over and looked at it. “That’s nice soil,” Metzler said. “I’d like to save a little of it,” Pollard said. “The machine made some tracks in the grass over here and I’d like to sort of fill them in and get some good grass growing there, I’d like to have everything, you know, nice.”

James Winners, another gravedigger, nodded. He said he would fill a couple of carts with this extra-good soil and take it back to the garage and grow good turf on it. “He was a good man,” Pollard said. “Yes, he was,” Metzler said. “Now they’re going to come and put him right here in this grave I’m making up,” Pollard said. “You know, it’s an honor just for me to do this.”

Pollard is 42. He is a slim man with a mustache who was born in Pittsburgh and served as a private in the 352nd Engineers battalion in Burma in World War II. He is an equipment operator, grade 10, which means he gets $3.01 an hour. One of the last to serve John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who was the 35th president of this country, was a working man who earns $3.01 an hour and said it was an honor to dig the grave.

Yesterday morning, at 11:15, Jacqueline Kennedy started toward the grave. She came out from under the north portico of the White House and slowly followed the body of her husband, which was in a flag-covered coffin that was strapped with two black leather belts to a black caisson that had polished brass axles. She walked straight and her head was high. She walked down the bluestone and blacktop driveway and through shadows thrown by the branches of seven leafless oak trees. She walked slowly past the sailors who held up flags of the states of this country. She walked past silent people who strained to see her and then, seeing her, dropped their heads and put their hands over their eyes. She walked out the northwest gate and into the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. She walked with tight steps and her head was high and she followed the body of her murdered husband through the streets of Washington.

Everybody watched her while she walked. She is the mother of two fatherless children and she was walking into the history of this country because she was showing everybody who felt old and helpless and without hope that she had this terrible strength that everybody needed so badly. Even though they had killed her husband and his blood ran onto her lap while he died, she could walk through the streets and to his grave and help us all while she walked.

There was Mass, and then the procession to Arlington. When she came up to the grave at the cemetery, the casket already was in place. It was set between brass railings and it was ready to be lowered into the ground. This must be the worst time of all, when a woman sees the coffin with her husband inside and it is in place to be buried under the earth. Now she knows that it is forever. Now there is nothing. There is no casket to kiss or hold with your hands. Nothing material to cling to. But she walked up to the burial area and stood in front of a row of six green-covered chairs and she started to sit down, but then she got up quickly and stood straight because she was not going to sit down until the man directing the funeral told her what seat he wanted her to take.

The ceremonies began, with jet planes roaring overhead and leaves falling from the sky. On this hill behind the coffin, people prayed aloud. They were cameramen and writers and soldiers and Secret Service men and they were saying prayers out loud and choking. In front of the grave, Lyndon Johnson kept his head turned to his right. He is president and he had to remain composed. It was better that he did not look at the casket and grave of John Fitzgerald Kennedy too often. Then it was over and black limousines rushed under the cemetery trees and out onto the boulevard toward the White House. “What time is it?” a man standing on the hill was asked. He looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes past three,” he said.

Clifton Pollard wasn’t at the funeral. He was over behind the hill, digging graves for $3.01 an hour in another section of the cemetery. He didn’t know who the graves were for. He was just digging them and then covering them with boards. “They’ll be used,” he said. “We just don’t know when. I tried to go over to see the grave,” he said. “But it was so crowded a soldier told me I couldn’t get through. So I just stayed here and worked, sir. But I’ll get over there later a little bit. Just sort of look around and see how it is, you know. Like I told you, it’s an honor.”

Turkey Day Ice Cream!

Have you tried this, the "Thanksgiving ice cream" at Baskin-Robbins? It's not what you might think, the reason I ask.

Instead of having notes of pumpkin spice or apple pie, their Thanksgiving ice cream - which has been the Flavor Of The Month for November - is chock full o' Turkey Day fixin's, giving you a side dish flavor fest. The ice cream has sweet potato  and autumn spice in it, as well as chunks of honey cornbread, and little ridges of cranberry sauce. 

So you don't actually get slices of turkey or the lumpy mashed potatoes your peculiar aunt always showed up with, but you'll walk away feeling like you just pushed yourself away from the Big People Table.

I'm hoping for Mistletoe Ice Cream for Christmas.

"As told to me..."

Charissa Thompson was in Baltimore the other night serving as the sideline reporter for Amazon Prime’s “Thursday Night Football” for what should be the last time she ever does any reporting for any outlet. I say that because she  admitted, on a show called "Pardon My Take," that she made up quotes and answers from coaches in her job as a sideline reporter.

The people at "PMT," which is apparently a podcast I'll never hear, quickly took down the episode.

At least a dozen other people who work as sideline reporters for football games rallied against Thompson, saying, in various ways, that she has destroyed her credibility.

“I’ve said this before, so I haven’t been fired for saying it, but I’ll say it again. I would make up the report sometimes” is what she said in a recent interview on “Pardon My Take. ” For reasons, she said, “because, A, the coach wouldn’t come out at halftime, or it was too late and … I didn’t want to screw up the report, so I was like, ‘I’m just going to make this up.’”

Place #1, no one who is still saying "I was like" when they are past the age of getting their permission slip signed to go on a field trip to the zoo should be working in journalism.

Place #2, did you ever have a friend or co-worker or acquaintance whom you caught making up a story they told you? And if so, did you ever trust anything they ever said again?

I know, these reports tend to be carbon copies of "Coach O'Hoolahan said the team just has to concentrate more in the second half and clean up some of the mental mistakes. Also, some tackling and blocking would be nice." Football coaches are not known to be great speakers or raconteurs as they race into or out of the locker rooms.

All this means is that Ms Thompson forfeits her right to tell me anything and have me believe it.  

And all THAT means is that she should no longer work as a reporter, if making stuff up is the best she can do.

 

Sunday Rerun: Always be honest. No one likes a cheddar!

 I see on the wonderful website Gastro Obscura  that there is cheese even stankier than Limburger or Beerkaese.  Beerkaese is described as "robust and pungent" in the way that you might describe Freddie Mercury as "flamboyant" and Terry Bradshaw as "goofy." The word beerkaese literally means beer cheese, and there is no beer in the cheese at all, but it got the name because it goes so well with beer, and the only problem is, when you go to schmear some on a cracker, you are made to think about the time you spent changing the foundation garmentry of a particularly incontinent toddler.

But the name Beerkaese doesn't tell you about how its aroma would send a buzzard running for cover. How about this stuff? Stinking Bishop cheese!

They say that it's an award-winning cheese, and they say it's the “smelliest cheese in Britain.” The article says it has a "subtle, nutty flavor," and also says it smells like a "rugby team's locker room," and that doesn't sound subtle at all, but a little bit nutty.

Cheese is funny stuff, no matter how you slice it. You wouldn't call a men's cologne "Rotten Feet," nor would you call a canned cherry pie filling "Putrid Pie Stuff," but the cheese manufacturers of the world seem to delight in slapping repulsive names on their goods. 

So it is with this Stinkin' cheese. The odor comes from soaking the ripening cheese in pear cider.  The cider was named for the pear that gets squeezed in its making.

The pear in question is called a Stinking Bishop pear because it was grown in Gloucestershire, England by a man who eschewed such niceties as taking a bath every now and then and not getting drunk every once in a while. The rank old man was Frederick Bishop (1847 - 1919) and his name was hung on the pears he raised.

Meanwhile, long after Freddy shuffled off to that meadow in the sky, a dairy farmer by the name of Charles Martell had some cows making milk to make cheese from, and he decided to do it the way monks made cheese in the 17th Century, and wash the cheese rinds in pear cider.

I know you think I'm making this up, but this happened in 1972.

And then it was years and years until 2005, when a movie called "Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" was made, in which someone named Gromit waves Stinking Bishop cheese around to revive a friend.

This ain't exactly Kraft Cheddar or Land O' Lakes American we're talking about here. This is the malodorous product of the coagulated, compressed, and  ripened milk curd that has been separated from the whey.

It's the perfect sandwich cheese for those who are tired of having that new guy in the office ripping off your lunch every day. He'll never pilfer from you twice.