Squeeze Me

My wonderful Peggy loves her morning orange juice, while I am a cranberry juice and seltzer breakfaster.

It won't bother Peggy one whit that Minute Maid's parent company is halting sales of frozen juice concentrates both here and in Canada, because fresh juices are selling more.

I know they make a big deal of labeling fresh juice "not from concentrate" as if it makes a big deal. Listen a minute! That "fresh" juice - it's not like someone just schqueezed it out of a dozen ripe Valencias right before you ankled in to the Try'n'Shop. It's been sitting in that waxy cardboard container since Hector was a pup.

When I was an associate of The Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company - hereinafter known as "The A&P" - we sold tons of cans of frozen OJ concentrate, in the regular size and the BA size. For the same money, you could have Donald Duck brand, and we would even put the cans in a freezer bag for you, so you wouldn't have orange soup by the time you got home in August. 

Once home, you dumped the slushy citrus into a glass "juice jug" and reconstituted it with water, and there was your morning guzzle. You threw out the metal can. Now, everyone drinks it out of plastic bottles, which are filling landfills from sea to shining sea.

The juice jug usually had pictures of really old cars on it. 

This is progress?

I suggested this long ago, but no one liked the idea. I said, why not have America's favorite cartoon family advertise for frozen orange juice? Who wouldn't want to start their morning off with a tall glass of "OJ Simpsons"?

Early Edition

 In 2005, cornball chronicler-of-the-times Mitch Albom, along with four editors who were supposed to keep an eye on what Albom foisted off on the public, were suspended from the Detroit Free Press. That paper published a column Albom wrote, all about two college basketball players being in attendance at an NCAA tournament game, and how they reminisced about the good old days yada yada yada.

Problem was, the men were NOT at the game. In the trite style for which he became famous with the publication of "Tuesdays With Morrie," Albom wrote of  two former Michigan State players who had made it to the NBA coming back to cheer for their alma mater. The players told Albom they were going to the game, so he churned out his column on a Friday night for publication on Sunday, but they did not show up for the Saturday game. This stained his reputation and makes me question every single word he has ever written or will ever write.

In tribute to Mitch Albom, here is my breaking news story about last night's Superbowl. I must say in advance, I am uninterested in who won, so I am writing this in advance, and will depend on the copy editors at Blogger to make the necessary adjustments. Thanks everyone!

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Well, sir, wasn't that a helluva game? Congratulations to the (Seahawks) (Patriots) for a magnificent win in Super Bowl LX. Led by the deadly accurate passing of (Sam Darnold)(Drake Maye), the vaunted running attack featuring (Seattle's Kenneth Walker III) (New England's Rhamondre Stevenson) and the stout defense led by (Patriot outside linebacker K'Lavon Chaisson)(Patriot middle linebacker Ernest Jones IV).

The outcome of the game was in serious doubt all the way to the very end, when (Patriot star __________) (Seahawk great ____________) scored in unbelievable fashion, securing his team's hard-fought Super Bowl victory for the first time in  (12) (8) years.

Across the nation, fans put down their drinks and fajitas long enough to cheer the triumphant halftime show starring (Bad Bunny) (Kid Rock).

President (Donald Trump) (was) (was not) in attendance, but was still (gracious) (conscious) enough to extend congratulations to winning coach (Mike Vrabel) (Mike Macdonald).

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Thanks, editors! I had more fun watching (PBS British shows) (King of Queens reruns).

-MC

Super Sunday Rerun from 2020

 I remember so many boring Super Bowls where two dull teams slog it out to an exciting 35-18 finish, and the halftime entertainment was KISS and I'm falling asleep by the middle of the third quarter.

Football has changed a lot in the past few years. The day of the pocket quarterback who stood like a cigar store Indian and either passed or ran for his life are all over, and those immobile guys have been replaced by people like Lamar Jackson of the Ravens and this Patrick Mahomes of the new champion Chiefs, who can run as well as, if not better than they can throw, and we at home don't know what they're going to do.  It's entertainment, and more often than not, the games come down to the final few minutes, or even seconds, and you can't doze off or pick up PARADE magazine and chuckle at the Lockhorns comic.

The halftime show this year featured two magnificent women, Jennifer Lopez and Shakira, singing and dancing their way into my heart and then right on past it, since I couldn't understand the lyrics (and I'm fairly proficient in Spanish.) That style of music is not for me, but I see on social media that a lot of people were thrilled with the show, so good. That's not why I tuned in to begin with!

The commercials were good, the ones where I knew what they were talking about. Faute de mieux, the people who make commercials go for a frame of reference far outside of mine - usually science fiction movies and reality TV. But, the Jeep commercial with Bill Murray was brilliant, and how appropriate that it ran on Groundhog Day, allowing the setup of a parody of Bill's own classic movie. But, on the morning news yesterday morning, as they previewed the ads, the weatherman was talking about the movie to the anchor, who had never seen the movie, so I guess that spot went right over her head.

As did the other really great commercial, a string of references to Rock and rocky things, which wound up with a guy wearing a Rocky Balboa boxing robe at the 72 stone steps before the entrance of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  And then the guy turns around and it turns out to be CHRIS Rock. And then Balboa himself, Sylvester Stallone, lurches into view and "You were expecting...me?" or words to that effect, and I wonder how many people in their 20s know anything about any of the many Rocky movies that entertained us in our day.

It's hard to think of something that EVERYONE knows or cares about. I see the #1 album this week on the Billboard charts is "Music To Be Murdered By" by Eminem. Perhaps it's best I don't know any more than that, but I have to imagine what it'll be like 46 years from now, when young couples look back and remember that as their favorite song from courtship.

Whereas, Peggy and I had for "our song" the tender ballad "Bongo Rock" by the Incredible Bongo Band from the album "The Thing With Two Heads."

See the difference? No one ever got murdered by a bongo drum.

The Saturday Picture Show, February 7, 2026

Elvis Costello made a fine career writing songs with trenchant, meaningful lyrics and catchy melodies. He's admitted to trying for the "ABBA sound" on Oliver's Army, and I think he did just fine.

Time to check the movie clock! A very clever idea, here!

I have read everything I could in my days, from books to pamphlets to cereal boxes, but some of the finest writing anywhere can be found on plastic bags. Who was the first to write "THIS BAG IS NOT A TOY!" on one of them?

Oh, this one will upset the people who believe that classrooms in public schools have litter boxes for people who identify as wombats.

The first robin of springtime is waiting to make her appearance on a lawn near you!

Here is an owl getting a front-row perch to the fireworks show.

Someone's poor kittycat was forced to participate in a feline and stuffy show. 

Wound up getting a lot of animal pictures this week, eh? Here's a frog minding the poop bag supply at a park!

Someone was fast enough and cold enough to catch an intact snowflake on their mitten!

Today's free wallpaper: a classic popcorn cloud. Have a great weekend!
 

Body Hacks

I found this list...and wanted you to see it.

 You know what they used to say; you can fool some of the people all of the time, but this is a list of ways to fool your body. Having lots of time on my hands, I roadtested them for you last week when we were stuck in the house with the weather outside being all frightful.

Here are the results of that trial. I pretended to be nervous, so I pinched my nose (1). It doesn't say for how long, and soon enough, I ran out of breath, so I got nervous for real, about the heartbreak of asphyxiation. But my nose said "no" when I went for another pinch.

I thought of something that would make me anxious, and that was the tendency of so many people to confuse "eager" and "anxious" ("I'm anxious to see what's in that Amazon box") - when you know very well it's the set of canvas shoebags you've had your heart set on, so you're eager, not anxious.  So I put my hand on my heart and took slow, deep breaths (2). Peggy thought I was reciting the Pledge of Allegiance and changed the Music Choice to the John Philip Sousa Channel.

My energy levels range from somnambulant to near-hysterical, so I splashed cold water on my face while taking a brisk walk (3) to bring up the recycling tub. It being 13° at the time, little flecks of ice were forming on my chin and cheeks by the time I got back, so I energetically grabbed a warm towel.

My nose is stuffy at all times. I think my adenoidectomy needs to be redone. But I tried putting an ice cube on the roof of my mouth (4) but unfortunately it came too close to the Vicks Vapoinhaler in my nose and suddenly everything tasted like peppermint patties.

I don't know what it means, not to be able to sleep (5). I did try blinking rapidly, but I wound up straining an eyelid muscle, and it's the darndest thing, getting an Ace bandage on that!

Maybe the people who put out that list need to try a different test pilot.

And then again...

The great Lenny Bruce was often called down for being too honest, too real. But as he said, there is no "what ought to be; there is only what is." 

That's why my flabber was gasted when a reporter for NBC, in Tucson covering the disappearance of Savannah Guthrie's mom Nancy, asked the sheriff if he really believed the 84-year-old was alive.

I guess he's gotten used to inane questions over the years, but I try to imagine someone asking Charles Lindbergh if he thought the searchers would find his baby, or a reporter asking the Apollo 11 crew if they thought they would make it to the moon. Reporting involves facts, not conjecture, guesses, or hopes. Of course, everyone wants the woman to be found unharmed, but just ask what the sheriff does (and does not) know for real. Journalism is the recording of daily events - the first draft of history, as it has been called. Someone's ideas as to whether a woman is safe or not are not based in fact.

BUT I have to say that something good has already emerged from that sad apparent kidnapping. Craig Melvin, Savannah Guthrie's co-anchor on "Today," announced that he will forgo the chance to serve as anchor of the Olympic broadcasts from Italy to stay stateside as his broadcast partner remains in Arizona waiting for news. This is an assignment that would have increased his visibility on a global scale, but he's thinking more of the woman who shares the anchor desk in happier times than of his own career advancement, and I think this is the sort of selflessness that we rarely see, but should see more often.

It's always in the darker moments that we see the real people. Good for him!

Sorry to see him go

I heard this on more than one newscast yesterday, broadcasters calling the late Chuck Negron "the lead singer of 70's pop band Three Dog Night." To say so reveals that the speaker did not understand the concept of that band, and it was unique.

Three Dog Night had three singers who took turns singing the lead parts and alternating in background harmonies. The name of the group came from the habit of Australian outbackers to call a cold night a "one dog night," a really cold night a "two dog night," and an all-out brass monkey freezer a "three dog night." You take three great singers, any of whom could have sung solo lead in any band, and add a drummer, a keyboard man, a guitarist and a bass guitarist, and you've got something really fine, and a long string of hits...

Chuck (center above) sang lead on "Joy to the World," "One," "An Old Fashioned Love Song," "Easy to Be Hard," and "The Show Must Go On". 

Danny Hutton (left) took the lead on "Black and White," "The Loner," "Your Song," "The Family of Man."

Cory Wells (right) was featured on "Mama Told Me (Not to Come)," "Eli's Coming," "Shambala," "Never Been to Spain," "Sure as I'm Sittin' Here".

Chuck Negron died in California on Monday, leaving Danny Hutton as the One Dog left. It's pretty good to live to 84 when 36 trips to rehab as a young man couldn't get him off the dope, but that 37th try did the trick, and he lived drug-free since 1991.

What a voice! What a life!