Where were you on May 9, 1983?

Here I am yesterday, being awarded my 25-year service pin. Although I am noted for longevity in endeavors such as marriage (36 years coming up), devotion to the Orioles through thick and thin (50 years) and regular support of Democrats (begun in utero), I am also very proud of my 26-year employment record. I just began my new position and I am liking it very much; even though I miss a lot about the old job, it's good to change.

Said the man who never changes.

I also tell young people, "wed at haste, repent at leisure," and I knew Peggy for less than 100 hours when I asked her to marry me.

I'm the rule that proves the exception, I guess.

Read My Lips: No Nude Texans!

Please add this to the list of cultural shortcomings I possess: a near-total inability to lipread.

There are three times when lipreading becomes necessary, none of which I can ever do, anyway.

First is when you're in a group setting and someone is speaking, so if someone else wants to tell you something, he or she mouths the words and you get to guess the message. It will happen at conferences and training classrooms, and every time someone does this to me, I am puzzled. Did he say "What time are we breaking for lunch?" or, "There's a fine for taking my Crunch"?

Second is when you're at a concert or family birthday party or some other loud event and the din is such that even a person whose mouth is within 6" of your ears cannot make themselves heard. Out comes the lip mime. I have to ask someone later, did cousin Minnie say, "Brian Williams says they're not gonna make Pontiacs any more" or ,"Nine billion Prozacs under the door"?

Third, of course, is during a televised event such as a baseball game or Rush Limbaugh speech to the throngs, when unpleasant words are likely to be hollered at someone trying in vain to keep things orderly. Dear sweet Peggy excels at watching a baseball manager suggest a novel method of self-gratification to an umpire on tv -no audio of course - and then relaying the anatomically impossible arrangement to me, as I sit there helpless and not the least bit aroused.

Coupled with a propensity for spilling hot soup onto unsuspecting diners, this is another reason why I could not be a service person in a restaurant. People are always mouthing, "I need another iced tea" and I'd be over by the pitchers of drinks and sliced lemons saying "Why is he telling me he needs to pee?"

Shun Gun

I've been thinking about the practice of "shunning," practiced by the Amish in Lancaster County PA, where we recently spent some happy days.

Young Amish males reach a point where they can choose to go on a "rumspringa" (literally, 'running around,' in German) and try out the world beyond their family and faith. If they like it out here with the car payments and the electric bills and the dumb stuff on the radio and dining on Lunchables, then cool, they can stay away, no questions asked.

About 90% of them come back from their rumspringa with plenty of the world and ready to go back to the Old Order. The other 10 per cent, we assume, become commodities traders in Chicago and soon are indistinguishable from Charlie Sheen.

However - (there is always a hitch!) - if you come back and sign up for the faith, and then you decide you don't like it, well, son, you better just pack up your valise and hit the road, because the only thing awaiting you in your town is a big old shunning.

That's right. No one will talk to you, everyone leaves you alone, you're treated like an outcast, an untouchable, a pariah, a castaway. Sort of like being voted off American Idol.

But then I was fondly remembering George Carlin, who had a novel approach to the nation's gun problem. Reasoning that "never'' would be when we could ever get some sort of gun control legislation passed, Carlin said "Ok, let them keep their guns. Just make BULLETS illegal! And when they run out of bullets, they can just throw their guns at each other all day long."

Why don't we try shunning? As in, the sensible people (readers of this blog, NPR listeners, granola consumers), could just all say they were going to ignore the buffoons, the blowhards, the criminals. Let's stop spending money with people who use their ill-gotten gains for foul purposes. Let's make child molesters and sexual predators feel really unwelcome. Let's refuse to be washed away on a wave of evil, and let's build a waterwall of goodness to keep the badness at bay.

Wrapped around her shoulders

Well, for those of you who were wondering, Ms Bristol Palin of Wasilla, Alaska, is now a high school graduate.

There she is above, in her glory, the proud owner of a 3.497 GPA ("point zero-zero-something away from graduating with Honors!")

She gave up on that one too soon. "Point zero-zero-three" would have put her in Honorsville.

In keeping with the august dignity of the occasion of her commencement exercises, Ms Palin accessorized her crimson cap and gown with a homemade necklace comprising Blow Pops wrapped up with gift ribbon.

Also wrapping herself in glory this weekend was Rachel Alexandra, who took home the coveted black-eyed susan stole (this is not really she, but it shows the flower drape on a previous winner) in the 134th Preakness. As the first filly to win the coveted second jewel of racing's triple crown® since 1924, she is now the apple of every horse racing fan's eye.

But that wasn't even the big news from Pimlico. We faithful viewers of the local tv news were deprived of one of our favorite stories ( as predictable as polar bears swooning in a heat wave and people wearing Steelers jerseys being banned from local bars while the Ravens play Pittsburgh), the one where local volunteers sort through the 185 billion tons of beer cans, pizza boxes, broken discarded coolers, makeshift shelters, contraceptives, cell phones and wedding rings left behind by the rowdy infield crowd. In an attempt to make everyone in Baltimore stay home all day, race officials barred erstwhile infield celebrants from bringing in their own alcohol. Tomorrow, the guy who gets all the horses into the starting gate is going to walk around and pick up both of this year's tossed-away cans.

I dunno, I thought it was interesting

I did not take this picture; I found it online someplace and I kinda liked it, and also kinda don't get it. I'm all over the board here.

Seasons must change...separate paths, separate ways

Today was my last on my job as facilities manager; I start Monday in a whole new area of endeavor within the same department. My kind boss decided to spend the last hour of today's annual retreat on a roast / salute to me. It was beyond touching. Normally stolid, I truly became misty-eyed. It was so nice; people had all sorts of nice things to say about me and even the roast was ever so gentle, lightly spoofing the more comic aspects of my personality: daily wearing of red socks, insisting on punctuality and good grammar, and arcane cultural references that not many people are interested in. (Such as the word "arcane.") I appreciate the people I used to work with and it feels odd to even say "used to" work with because I miss them already. I hope they know I will always love them.

But I wanted to mention a couple of harbingers...signs, omens, portending good things for me. First, when I got out of my truck this morning, I spotted a penny on the ground. After making sure that it was face up (I am not above picking up a penny - you do it a hundred times and you've got a dollar - but I won't bother with one upside down) I pocketed it. Not until later did I look at it and see that it was dated 1983 - the year that I first went to work for the County.

Then when I was wheeling the truck into the park where the retreat was held, what song came up on the CD that I selected at random? None other than the beautiful ballad "Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)" by Mötley Crüe.

I'm not going away mad; I have nothing to be mad about. Nothing but happy memories accompany me out of the one job and into the other. I don't really need an augury of happy times found on the street or on my speakers to tell me I'll be happy in the new job, but it's nice to have it going on my side for the new adventure.

Miss California? (How could I? I've never been there)

Dear Miss California,

It's a free country, as you know, so you are certainly entitled to your views on same-sex marriage. You really did not articulate them all that well, but we got your point: your faith is the kind that would seek to prevent others from finding what brings them happiness and bliss, and that prevention brings you yours.

So be it. Free country, takes all kinds, live and let live, who am I to judge, etc etc.

But the other day you mentioned your grandfather, and that he fought in the Battle of the Bulge to protect your freedom....which he did, and a lot of brave people fought in that most horrible battle of World War II, and I think it's akin to damning with faint praise to think that they fought, and died, in some cases, to make sure that beauty contestants could get up and make ridiculously fatuous statements while wearing bikinis and high heels.

I like to think that they fought for all the rights and freedoms of all of us, and if that includes other people who want to be together, it's none of your damned business, young lady.

And if Grandpa had needed medical attention or more ammo or some other buddy backup during that battle, do you think he would have turned it down, had it been offered by a gay person married to another person of the same sex?

And please, could you drop the "I'm a victim!" charade? The real victims are the millions of people who are repressed by backward thinkers such as you.

You make me think of the old country song: Pretty girl, pretty clothes, pretty sad.

Fascinating!

We went to a very swanky restaurant for our 20th anniversary, 15 years ago. It was so swanky...they had no idea what I was talking about when I mentioned Supersizing® or coupons.

But my entree was some sort of seafood commotion, served on a noodly bed of black linguini. The server, a sort of a supersized Gig Young type, asked me if I knew how they made the pasta black. I was going to say "a Sharpie®" but that seemed, I don't know, dumb, so I played along and let him tell me that the linguini was tinted with squid ink.

Now there's a little sea critter who must have awful anxiety attacks during his marine lifetime, however brief. I mean, he might wind up as "bait" in a bait shop, in a Dixie cup 1/2 full of dirt in a refrigerator bought from a scratch 'n' dent outlet. Or he might wind up as "calamari," and be a part of an appetizer in an Italian restaurant.

Interesting, though, that the word "calamari" has its roots in the same ground from where "calligraphy" comes...the former being that deep-fried dish, a favorite in antipasti everywhere you look, and the latter being that ornate pen-and-ink lettering. Here's some more info from Merriam-Webster's popular* Word of the Day feature.

The word "calamari" was borrowed into English from 17th-century Italian, where it functioned as the plural of "calamaro" or "calamaio." The Italian word, in turn, comes from the Medieval Latin noun "calamarium," meaning "ink pot" or "pen case," and can be ultimately traced back to Latin "calamus," meaning "reed pen." The transition from pens and ink to squid is not surprising, given the inky substance that a squid ejects and the long tapered shape of the squid's body. English speakers have also adopted "calamus" itself as a word referring to both a reed pen and to a number of plants.

* at least, with me!

Dash away, all!

Does it make me seem cranky to complain about a sign that I saw the other day, posted alongside the road as I ran an errand?

"YARD SALE 165-OREMS RD"

What's up with the dash between the numericals and the street name? The dash is not called for.

What's the story on signs outside car repair places, signs with slogans such as "ALL TYPE'S REPAIR'S -- MECHANIC-ON-DUTY" ?

And for the sweet love of Pete, who put up the sign on the restaurant down the road, "CONGRATS ARTIE YOUR FORTY!"

Oh, call me cranky. But punctuate and spell it properly, please!

Chicken out of water

Wondering how much longer it will take until blowhard Sean Hannity ("waterboarding is a fair and necessary interrogation technique for suspected terrorists") ...will respond to Keith Olbermann's offer to pay $1,000 to charities benefiting the families of American service personnel for every second that the chortling Hannity can stand being waterboarded...

Hannity was talking to Charles Grodin, who lamented the use of this barbaric technique under forces led by "Scary Dick" Cheney, soft-pedalling the horror of it all, leading Grodin to doubt that Hannity could stand it, and hoisting Hannity on his own petard.

"Sure," Hannity said. "I'll do it for charity ... I'll do it for the troops' families."

When Grodin asked, "Are you busy on Sunday?" Hannity laughed.

"I'll let you do it," Hannity said.

"I wouldn't do it," Grodin said. "I'll hand you a towel when you come out of the shower."

Olbermann offered the thousand-per-second, and said he'd double it if Hannity acknowledges he feared for his life and admits that waterboarding is torture.

"I don't think he has the courage to even respond to this — let alone do it," Olbermann said.

It's been a couple of weeks...no answer. What's worse than a bloviating baby who won't back up his billowing boasts?

ABCs of me

I guess it's become apparent that I will fill out any online quiz sent my way. Hence:

A - Age: Bronze

B - Bed size: queen

C - Chore you hate: straightening up my closet etc

D - Dad's name: Robinson Berg Clark

E - Essential start your day item: S, S & S

F - Favorite color: brown

G - Gold or Silver: silver

H - Height: 6' 5"

I - Instruments you play: autoharp, jukebox

J - Job title: Public Information Specialist

K - Kid(s) none

L - Living arrangements: with Peggy in a house full of love

M - Mom's name: Beverly

N - Nicknames: Marky Mark, Mark E. Mark

O - Overnight hospital other than birth? Church Home, Mercy, Good Sam

P - Pet Peeve: people being left out of things

Q - Quote from a movie: Arthur [to Burt Johnson's servant] "Are you sure you want to be a nightclub comic?"

R - Right or left handed: left

S - Siblings: Robin

T - Time you wake up:0455

U- Underwear: yes and you should too

V - Vegetable you dislike: asparagus

W - Ways you run late: it would take a nuclear detonation to make me late

X - X-rays you've had: left knee, over and over and over

Y - Yummy food you make: beer can chicken

Z - Zoo favorite: prairie dogs

Wooly Bully!

Mine is one of those puckish senses of humor that enjoys seeing something become acceptable and highly regarded when there is no reason for that to happen. The inevitable denouement, in which the house of cards tumbles all over the deck does not amuse me as much as the part in which an entire nation is taken in by some outlandish goon.

What better recent example than this Joe the Plumber person, the ridiculous prop used by the Republicans to prop up their meager hopes of electing old McCain last fall. Joe didn't seem to realize that two minutes after the polls closed would have been the appropriate time for him to sidle off, stage right, so he's still hanging around, writing books, apparently reading none, and offering his trenchant views on matters he can't even see from where he stands.

Joe the Plumber, whose name is not Joe and who is not a plumber, is the subject of a quick bite in TIME magazine this week...
Samuel Wurzelbacher, better known as Joe the Plumber, tells TIME he's so outraged by GOP overspending, he's quitting the party -- and he's the bull's-eye of its target audience. But he also said he wouldn't support any cuts in defense, Social Security, Medicare or Medicaid -- which, along with debt payments, would put more than two-thirds of the budget off limits. It's no coincidence that many Republicans who voted against the stimulus have claimed credit for stimulus projects in their district -- or that Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal stopped ridiculing volcano-monitoring programs after a volcano erupted in Alaska.

In these parlous times, isn't it great to know that we still can turn to Sam the Sham for wise wisdom and guiding guidance?

Corn Flake

Today's guest blogger is my wonderful Peggy, who sent this along in her "hi honey I made it to work again" email yesterday...

I have something you might want to blog about. I was on Joppa Road, right around Satyr Hill. Some person was trying to go in and out of lanes and I thought he might run into me. He didn't, but went into the left lane whereupon the person he cut off in that lane blew his horn. Then, I look over and the man blowing the horn was eating a BOWL OF CEREAL!!!! I just laughed and laughed. Bowl, spoon in his hand, etc. It was the funniest thing.
Thank goodness there was no accident, but it kept me amused on my lovely drive to work!!! Good Lord have mercy!!!!

The Good Lord does deploy his tender mercies upon us all, does He not? Here we find placed among us a man who sees no problem with balancing a bowl of cereal on his lap as he drives among us. Who wants to bet me that this bozo doesn't also text while driving, run the occasional red light, and speed when he's in a hurry to get to that Rotary meeting?

But he's the one blasting his trumpet at the guy weaving in and out because he HATES to see unsafe driving practices! My heavens, he might spill Cap'n Crunch all over his lap!

Piece of Cake, Baby

I'm transferring to the main office. I am going to miss the people I work with - they are like family to me and I love them. They gave me a wonderful farewell party yesterday with fantastic gifts and a cake just made for me, baby:

To quote from Lou Grant, "I treasure you people."

Pardon Me, I speak phonetics

Owing to my employment with the County's Emergency Services, I still speak in phonetics when it becomes necessary to spell something out. Police will talk on the radio this way to avoid confusion. For instance, if the surname of some fleeing felon is, oh let's say, "Cheney,'' there might be all sorts of ways to spell that last name. Accuracy is important, which is why to this day I don't just say "C H E N E Y," opting instead for the clarity of "C Charles H Henry E Edward N Nora E Edward Y Young."

If you'd like to learn this phonetic skill, here is the alphabet for you, police-style:

A Adam
B Boy
C Charles
D David
E Edward
F Frank
G George
H Henry
I Ida
J John
K King
L Lincoln
M Mary
N Nora
O Ocean
P Paul
Q Queen
R Robert
S Sam
T Tom
U Union
V Victor
W William
X Xray
Y Young
Z Zebra

Just ask Peggy - when I start spelling out stuff like this and answering her with "10-4" it's enough to drive her C Charles R Robert A Adam Z Zebra Y Young.

And the code for that is "10-96."

The Chicken Recipe that everyone in Rhode Island Read

I love chicken, and I love free chicken even better than the kind you have to pay for. Oprah, I'm not that wild about, and she never gave me a Pontiac or a set of teakwood ice tongs or a Persian terrycloth lounging robe (not that I lounge anyway, per se. I loiter, more than lounge.)



But - and you chicken lovers already know this - KFC is making another attempt to get away from the "Fried" connotation. They really want to get the "F" out of here, so they are promoting their new grilled chicken.



What better forum to present this gift of poultry than to have Ms Winfrey tell her fans (and me) to go to her website to download a coupon that entitles the bearer to two pieces of grilled chicken, two sides and a biscuit, free for nothing.

OF COURSE people - the millions of Oprahphiles who hang on her every word - are taking this as an eleemosynary act, donated by the queen of TV, as if she had decided that this new chicken was so finger-lickin' good that she felt the urge to purchase some for every man, woman and child. Hence this admiring note on her website, just to the right of where you'll soon be clicking for your cluck:



Thanks so much for being so generous. You are an Angel sent by God to feed the people of your country considering the circumstances of today.



All she did was allow KFC to promote their stuff on her website, which places the act just outside of the realm of generosity, but "considering the circumstances of today," maybe that's angelic enough.



Come and get your chicken! Hot sauce please!

How to turn one of those Facebook quizzes into a blog entry

TEN things I wish I could say to TEN different people right now:

1. Thank you , Peggy, for loving me so perfectly (it can’t be easy)
2. Who taught you to be this kindly - and why don’t they write a book about it?
3. I am so proud of how your life is turning out because you took control of it.
4. Come out from the shell you hide in; we love you and no one will hurt you.
5. It’s ok to have feelings and make mistakes.
6. People would take you more seriously if you didn’t dress like a clown and speak like a fourth-grader
7. There’s someone just right for you somewhere; don’t give up until you find him
8. There’s someone just right for you somewhere; don’t give up until you find her
9. No need to take yourself so seriously all the time.
10. I’d be wary of letting someone else dominate my life like that

NINE things about myself:

1. I tend to give trust before it’s warranted and stop trusting before that’s warranted either
2. I am either way ahead of new trends or really way behind them
3. I love to read
4. People often have no idea what I’m talking about
5. I pride myself on being prepared for emergencies
6. I can’t do mindless tasks (walking, lawn mowing) without an mp3 player or Walkman
7. I need to continue losing weight and getting back in shape
8. I am finicky about grammar, spelling, and punctuality
9. I am among the most blessed people on earth

EIGHT ways to win my heart:

1. Tell me you love me
2. Be honest
3. Tell me everything you feel about me
4. Be consistent about it
5. Be faithful
6. Show kindness to others even when no one is looking
7. Back me up when I’m up against it
8. Tell me you love me again

SEVEN things that cross my mind a lot:

1. Making sure Peggy is happy
2. What time is it?
3. Should I eat that - what’s the carb/sodium/fat gram count?
4. What’s the weather forecast?
5. What’s in the news?
6. Is everyone in the family/friends group ok or do they need anything?
7. Is this fair for all concerned?

SIX things I do before I go to bed:

1. Guzzle iced tea
2. Brush teeth
3. Take one Tylenol PM
4. Obsessively check everything in the house
5. Kiss sleeping Peggy goodnight
6. Pray with thanks for another day of love and happiness


FIVE people who mean a lot (non-family, non-friends, so as not to leave anyone out):
1. Garrison Keillor
2. Jimmy Carter
3. Cal Ripken, Jr.
4. Barack Obama
5. Elvis Presley

FOUR things I'm wearing right now:

1. Red t-shirt
2. Grey gym shorts
3. Brown moccasins
4. Proper support undergarment

THREE songs that fit my life right now:

1. The Wonder of You - Elvis
2. True Love - Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly
3. Bongo Rock - The Incredible Bongo Band

TWO things I want to do before I die:

1. Go hunting with Dick Cheney
2. See #1

ONE confession:

1. I don’t deserve any of the happiness and love I’ve been given, so I just try to share it.

Bachmann: Turn Her Overdrive off!

There's a woman from Minnesota, name of Michele Bachmann, who occupies a seat in the US House of Representatives - home to great statesmen of our land such as Salvatore "Sonny" Bono, the guy who played "Sonny" on "Sonny and Cher," Ben Davis, the guy who played Cooter on The Dukes of Hazzard, and Fred Grandy, the guy who played Gopher on tv's "The Love Boat."

Michele, Sonny (no Cher), Cooter and Gopher.

The latter three served without great distinction in the House, but Rep. Bachmann (R., MN) is quickly developing a reputation for saying outlandish things. This past Monday, she hit the bell twice.

First, in a discussion of the Swine Flu, she said, "I find it interesting that it was back in the 1970s that the swine flu broke out then under another Democrat president Jimmy Carter. And I'm not blaming this on President Obama, I just think it's an interesting coincidence."

Well, thanks, Honorable Representative of the Land of 1000 Lakes! Because when the swine flu scare occurred in 1976, Gerald R (as in Republican) Ford was president. Mr Carter was elected in November 1976, and sworn in in 1977.

And then that night, Ms Bachmann spoke from the House floor again, and talked about how great the Republican economic policies of the 1920s were, under Calvin Coolidge. These wonderful policies, as any semi-educated person knows, led to the Great Depression of the 1930s. But Ms Bachmann hit the jackpot again, blaming the Democrats (and pinpointing President Franklin Roosevelt) of the 1930s for turning a "recession into a depression" by use of such means as the "Hoot-Smalley Tariffs."

One only needs to watch "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" to see Ben Stein droning on about the Smoot-Hawley Act, but Ms Bachmann must have cut class the day they were teaching that in Econ 101.

You have to like her attempt to link the Democratic party to an outbreak of a flu strain. I would love to meet someone who actually voted for her.

Where Are They Now Dept. - - Special "Wheelman" Edition

The consequences of our actions

a. woman climbs over barriers and gates
b. woman gets into polar bear area at Berlin zoo
c. woman almost dies
d. people blame the bears

Pancake Lady gets served all wrong

It's been a couple of weeks since I got to the physical therapy office to work out in the wellness program. First, I had a cold that Peggy and I passed back and forth, and then we were away, so I hadn't been there for far too long. When I got there and saw my favorite tech, herein referred to by the code name Pancake Lady, she said, "Where have you been? You missed all the drama!"

Oh, my, we can't have that! As both a lover and an amateur chronicler of human events, I was all ears, and as soon as she finished with a group of women doing aquatic exercises, she came over and related the story, which, again, tells a lot about young men of the day and how they treat young women despicably.

Having just got out of a relationship that really wasn't even supposed to happen, she was in a bit of a spin, I suppose, and rebounded back to someone she had gone with before. That hadn't worked out the first time, because the guy - let's call him Harry's Son - had gone back to his old flame Paula (not Abdul, one can only hope.) But! just as Pancake Lady became free of the relationship with a guy who had been a friend-friend and insisted on becoming a boy-friend, with the result of suffocating Pancake, who shows up but dirty Harry's Son, and guess what!? He is free and clear of Paula, who is so far in his past that even with the magnifying rear-view mirror, she is smaller than a speck of dust, and even less important.

Unemcumbered, young and free, the two fell into a giddy whirlwind of courtship. It was all happening for them - dinner on the run, fun things to do, school, work, ball games as spectators and as participants - right on through this past Sunday, which she describes as " the perfect date on the perfect day." Almost as an aside, as they sat reliving the happiest Sunday they had ever known, he mentioned that he had to run up to Paula's and pick up some stuff he had left behind there.

Attention daters of all ages: take this advice. Unless you are absolutely sure of the permanence of your hot thing with someone, don't leave behind anything that you couldn't easily replace with a trip to Ollie's Bargain Outlet. Your CorningWare, your E-Z-Ice'R cooler that holds 2 sixes and a liter of Asti Spumante, all this stuff can be gotten again and it's less painful than going around to his or her house with a big empty cardboard paper towel box in your trunk. Do NOT leave irreplaceable CDs, family photos, or stock certificates, because you never can tell. Ask Ms Pancake!

So on Monday, Harry Jr drives up I-95 to where all the Paulas live, and starts texting back to his One True Love that he is successfully retrieving his Tupperware and will be on the toll road of love just as soon as traffic allows. After work, she stops over at his place, and he does the one thing that males do that tips off the opposite sex that they have something very important to discuss.

He turns OFF the TV.

And tells her that he was only using her to get Paula jealous, and it must have worked, because looky here, he and Paula are just as close and cuddly as a couple of sparrows in the cornfield. Pancake felt her foot go into an involuntary twitch, and the color drained from her face, and the smile went away faster than a Good Humor bar on the 4th of July. She was cast as The Other Woman by this cad, this rogue, this scoundrel, this rake, this bounder, this heel, this knave, this churl.

He used her, and right now he thinks he is right where he wants to be - Paula is dancing to his tune, because she sees that he can step right out and get grooving with other women, and he has no more need for Pancake. But Harrison, my man, the day is gonna come when the wheel of karma comes spinning around and knocks you right down. It happens. I've seen it happen. And, buddy boy, it's a-gonna happen to you. And our Miss Pancake is far too nice a lady to extract any joy from the pain that will catch up with you at some disputed barricade down life's road. I wish for the same level of magnanimity, but you hurt my friend, pal. Someone has to pony up for that. You see, it doesn't matter who you are or how great you look or what you do or how rich you are - there is always someone who will come along and have just enough of you, and dump you. Then you'll know why my friend cried.

Every day, another page in the Facebook

It was just about a year ago that our dear friend Solange in Hawaii said to me - in a cell-to-cell conversation from Baltimore to Maui - that I ought to get on Facebook to see the photos of all she was up to out there in the 50th state. Back here in the 7th state, I stuck my big toe into Lake Facebook, and within a few months, I was finding people from all sorts of corners of my life, and now, here I sit, with 265 "friends."

Now, then. Among them, you'll find relatives, coworkers, past schoolmates, really close friends, and people who wouldn't know me from Mayor Adam West but who "friended" me nonetheless - e.g. my Sunday "Today" show favorite, the fabulous Jenna Wolfe. Being her FB friend does not mean that if she were in town to do a story, she would ring up Peggy and me and get together with us for a latte or something. But I get to see interesting pictures that she wishes to share from her life, and if, (as if!) she would like a tiny glimpse of mine, it's all there, one click away from seeing pictures of me and the giant Amish figurine we saw this week. I remain reasonably certain that Jenna Wolfe has far more interesting things to go and do and see, but she's so cool!

More likely, friends who actually know us would be interested in seeing these pictures. And I love to see what friends are up to as well, so it's a great thing, this Facebook.

But - I saw this photo online the other day - and I said whoa Nellie, here comes the backlash! All of a sudden, people are knocking Facebook as some sort of insidious infection of the superego. I take it that this is a photo of the front window of some coffeehouse whose proprietor, while providing free internet access, wishes to brook no babble in his bubblehouse about social networking. The most common complaint I hear is, people don't like other people changing their status to something seemingly superficial, such as:

"Esther is wringing her hands at the thought of Danny Gokey getting sent home"

or

"Vladimir is heading for Home Depot, the dry cleaners, Wendy's, and a well-deserved nap."

I think that if you really care about Esther, you want to know how she feels about the thrilling, yet seemingly pre-ordained outcome, of this year's American Idol competition. Your concern for Vladimir and his Saturday errand-and-snooze schedule may ebb and flow depending upon your own ability to pick up spackle, your seersucker suit, and a Spicy Chicken combo before sacking out on the settee.

I wouldn't take Facebook as seriously as some do. I have enough to fret about with the Orioles.

Slumdog Questionnaire

I like to amuse people who ask me my religion, political affiliation or sign of the Zodiac by saying, "I'm a Philistine." One wonders why all the residents of Philistia were branded as disdainful of the seven lively arts (acting, dancing, painting, singing, instrumental music, storytelling, and making prank phone calls on morning radio shows.) I mean, didn't there have to be one Philistine who would have liked "Waiting for Godot"?

I bring all this up to point out that we rented "Slumdog Millionaire" the other night, and a clearcut majority of 50% of us around this house liked it. The other one lost interest shortly after a kid plunged into a privy pit, and turned instead to reading an article in The New Yorker about the wildlife released in Florida following Hurricane Andrew. I looked up from the magazine, and my concerns about how hard it would be for a python to hop on a Greyhound (bus, that is) and ride up here to establish residence in Baltimore County, often enough to follow the story. You might be the one person in a thousand who has not seen this movie, but I have these thoughts to share, without tipping the thrilling conclusion:

a) if you ever have any notion that life might be better on the Indian subcontinent, rent this movie and be so glad to live in America that you want to run out an bake an apple pie and wave a flag. I'm sure there are tranquil, pleasant parts of India, but this movie doesn't show any, and what you do see just looks horrible. Hot. Crowded. Noisy.

b) I had to wonder if, out in Los Angeles, which is also hot, crowded and noisy, they brutalize people who are just a little too good at knowing the prices of Tappan® Gas Ranges and folding camping trailers on The Price Is Right. Tappan, the leader in kitchen appliances since 1889.

c) How come it's artistic to show poop pits in this movie, and just let one guy drop a deuce in a hardware store in "Jackass," and everybody's up in arms (or something)?

d) where the hell was Regis???

Steak Out

I was sorry when the Steak and Ale restaurant chain went under. Primarily, I was sorry for the people who worked there and lost their jobs. Second, they did have a fine salad bar and nice cold beer. Third, because my work group will no longer be able to have their annual holiday luncheon there. You talk about "wishing I had my camera handy" or even "remembering that there's a camera on my cell phone..." We were chowing down in there once and a large chunk of ceiling tile plummeted earthward (is there really any other direction in which to plummet?), landing on the plate of the guy next to me (and splashing me so that all that afternoon, people were asking if my after-shave was Worcestershire sauce.)

But the funniest thing was that we were unable to distinguish the soggy brown ceiling tile from the soggy brown steak.

Anyway, without a camera, we had to commission an oil painting to commemorate all those holiday luncheons:

I just want my pension and Social Security

found this online:

Michael Jordan, having “retired” with $40 million in endorsements, makes $178,100 a day, working or not.

* If he sleeps 7 hours a night, he makes $52,000 every night while visions of sugarplums dance in his head.
* If he goes to see a movie, it’ll cost him $7.00, but he’ll make $18,550 while he’s there.
* If he decides to have a 5-minute egg, he’ll make $618 while boiling it.
* He makes $7,415/hour more than minimum wage.
* If he wanted to save up for a new Acura NSX ($90,000) it would take him a whole 12 hours.
* If someone were to hand him his salary and endorsement money, they would have to do it at the rate of $200 every second.
* He’ll probably pay around $200 for a nice round of golf, but will be reimbursed $33,390 for that round.
* He’ll make about $19.60 while watching the 100-meter dash in the Olympics, and about $15,600 during the Boston Marathon.
* This year, he’ll make more than twice as much as all U.S. past presidents for all of their terms combined.

Amazing isn’t it?

However…

If Jordan saves 100% of his income for the next 500 years, he’ll still have less than Bill Gates has at this very moment.

Our National Image

This fellow plays baseball for the Washington Nationals, the major league baseball team in our nation's capital. His jersey says a lot about the people who make our jerseys, and serves to remind us all to proofread all our clothing.

Nothing ain't worth nothing but it's free

with all due apologies to all little girls everywhere:

I can't! I'm Sandra Dee!

One of my favorite bloggers is Anne:Straight from the Hip, out in Los Angeles. I got to know her work when she was based here in Baltimore, but she competely switched coasts a couple of years ago and wound up out in the land of "palm trees, swimming pools and movie stars." Our loss is Los Angeles's gain, and I wish her all the best out there.



I was thinking of writing about the weather today, because Anne writes that the three-day heat wave out there is ending, and we are just getting ready for one here! Whereas last week we had shivering high temperatures in the 50s, by this Sunday we will be sweltering in the upper 80s. And from the 80s, it's just a short hop to the 90s, and then you have chaos in the streets and vital services break down. It's all part of the great mystery of life: all winter long, I hear the keening and the chafing, the yearning for warmth. So then as as soon as Nature sends heat, people break their necks to turn on the air conditioning. It's like when you go to the diner, because all day you've been hankering for spaghetti 'n' meatballs, and then you sit down and order the breakfast special (two eggs, two pancakes, bacon and sausage.)



Hungry now?



My first big boyhood crush was on Sandra Dee, who married Bobby Darin just to make me feel bad I mean because she loved him so much. They were the "it" couple of the early 60s, until Darin's ego became so overgrown that it was given its own zip code, leaving no room for the model/actress/goddess born Alexandra Cymboliak Zuck in Bayonne. New Jersey in 1942. Of course, these boyhood crushes don't last forever, but it was still sad about a dozen years ago when a friend moved to LA and reported that the broken-down, messed-up woman who lived in the next apartment "used to be an actress or something" and her name was "like Sandra Dee or something."



Or something. She was something, for sure! Such a vision, a symbol of beauty and purity that the Broadway show and movie teased her image with "Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee," the song about the plastic "lousy-with-virgini-teeeeeeeeeeeee" ethos to which so many subscribed in the early 60s, only to have their subscriptions lapse by the end of the decade. But our friend said Sandra borrowed her blender to make mai-tais, returned the blender - broken, backed her battered Rolls-Royce into the dumpster, and looked a fright.



Which is why I stay here in B'more, where my memories reside. The truth of what happened to all of our crushes is way too sad to see bouncing off dumpsters and slugging down poorly-mixed mai-tais.

Mark's Thoughts

...I see the big posters for Hannah Montana eyewear for kids at WalMart. Just one thing. Hannah is NOT WEARING glasses. So they're saying, buy these glasses and you can look like this young woman who...isn't wearing any?...I know I'm not musically sophisticated, but it seems to me that jazz - hot, cold, smooth or Dixieland - is lots of people playing more or less the same melody and ending more or less at the same time...but what happens between the start and the end is a lot of different voyages down different avenues by a lot of musicians...It's sad to see newspapers heading down the road to that Irish town called O'Blivion. I can't get used to reading the paper online, and what is Baltimore to use for lining the table at crab feasts all summer?...Prom and graduation season is coming right up. Make friends with someone who works at a tuxedo rental place, and get ready to hear stories about what gets returned in formal wear that will last you through Homecoming Dance time!...I see that good sense is coming back! People have started a drive to eliminate the use of the COMIC SANS font. Now if every advertiser who wants to look "hip" in every coupon clipper magazine could just stop using PAPYRUS...I look forward every week to Friday, when TheSmoking Gun.com treats us all to another batch of Mug Shots of the Week...I once said I didn't want a computer...then I said I didn't want to Facebook...so should I even bother to say I'm not going to Twitter, nor shall I Tweet?

Prying priorities

There's an awful lot of awful talk going around today about the possibility of the state of Maryland using speed cameras to a) deter speeding on the state's roads and b) collect revenue from those who insist upon speeding.

This brings out the predictable statements from predictable speakers who always turn things back around to "the overwhelming amount of time the government spends intruding on our lives." On and on they declaim about losing our freedom and "big brother is watching," and I don't know what-all else.

You want to know a great way to end of those rants? Just say,"You have really made some good points. You know, you ought to contact your (county councilperson) (state delegate) (state senator) (US congressperson) (US Senator) (state governor) (president of the United States)" - whichever is applicable. "You know who that is, right?"

Oh, the answers you'll get.

But the opposition to speed cameras must be a little bit about people wanting to break the law! There are speed limits posted everywhere one drives, and yet some people just want to exceed those limits because they are a) in a hurry b) more important than any law or c) homicidal maniacs. Sometimes all three!

Then on the other hand, the same people who will tell you that the state has no business enforcing such laws will get all in a lather and tell you that it ought to be a federal offense to burn a flag. It's a dumb thing to do, but the same people who want to career around the highways as if the highways were a Nascar® track want the FBI to redeploy their people to the many, many flag burnings which take place across the length and breadth of the nation daily.

It's a crazy world. Somebody ought to sell tickets.

Swimming in Tainted Water

For all we know, Charles Manson, deep down, is a really nice guy who used to volunteer at day camps, help the infirm carry their groceries home, and wax the vehicles of the downtrodden. Not likely, but possible.

Similarly, Sirhan B. Sirhan may well be operating a free lending library out of his jail cell, the Khmer Rouge might have sponsored Little League teams every summer, and the Tonton Macoutes could have really been a beneficent organization with just a few bad apples in the barrel.

It would take the greatest optimist in the world to find redeeming value in the people mentioned above. Therefore, most of us avoid swimming in the waters they inhabit, for fear of being consumed by them or of being regarded by others as being like them.

Which is why, before jumping into the water with all the teabaggers (!) out there, one should consider the intelligent, well-stated views reproduced below:
(from Salon)
Another seemingly sedate protester, Brian Smith, a marketer from Greenville, S.C., who was in Washington on business and came by the rally, wandered equally off message. "I love my country and I don't like what's going on," Smith said. "Government -- to be honest with you, and this will probably be misquoted, but on 9/11, I think they hit the wrong building. They should have gone into the Capitol building, hit out, knocked out both sides of the aisle, we'd start from scratch, we'd be better off today." I pointed out that "they" did try to hit the Capitol. "Yeah, I know, they missed," he said. "The wrong sequence. If someone had to go, it should have been the Capitol building. On that day I felt differently, but today that's the way I feel."

So there you go; if you were out there masking your unbridled hatred for Barack H. Obama by pretending to protest taxes, which have gone down for you unless you earn over 250 Gs a year, Rockefeller, you're in league with this yokel from the home town of "Shoeless Joe" Jackson, and he wanted every member of the U.S. Congress to be killed by foreign terrorists. And tell me how Rush O'Reilly would react if Tim Robbins even dreamed of thinking of mentioning wanting that to happen.

We liberals want the best for everyone without hurting anyone. Brian Smith, hick town marketer (chewing tobacco? flyswatters? Iron Boy® overalls? Goo-Goo Clusters? Confederate flags?) wants 435 congresspersons and 100 dead senators, not to mention their staffs and whoever else might have been in that location on 9/11/01.

Maybe he'll be a top draft pick next month when the Macoute chooses next year's rookie candidates.

Cataract Convertible

Big shout-out today to my eye surgeon, Dr Parris (not to be confused with Dr Connolly, widely known as the greatest optometrist in the nation, if not the entire world.) Dr Connolly spots my cataracts, explains them to me in the most comforting calming manner (even drawing charts, graphs and thumbail sketches of eyeballs as needed), and then I report to Dr Parris to have the cataracts removed and replaced with lenses that don't make everything all cloudy and rainy-night-windshield-y, if such a term exists. I've conferred with my medical people, my scheduling staff and TV Guide, and June 8 will be the day. It's right in my horoscope: "This is a good day to have someone slice the bottom of your cornea."

The cataract in the right eye came out two years ago this spring, and we've been waiting for the one in the left to "ripen" for all that time, a period in which with my left eye closed I've been able to read the Surgeon General's warning on a can of beer being guzzled by a guy riding in a truck coming my way as I drive home. But with the right eye closed and no glasses on, I couldn't tell Rush Limbaugh from a large pile of straw, and there IS a difference. (The straw would never come out in favor of the sea pirates as the radio comedian did this week in his apparently interminable quest to diminish everything that our popular president does. El Limbo even refers to the pirates as "teenage Somali Merchant Marine Organizers," and yet people continue to tune him in.)

Semanticists, please note how deftly we changed topics here from a discussion of an unpleasant growth to a few words about Rush Limbaugh. Now that's no change we can believe in!

Teabagging Around the Bush

I stumbled across this interesting quote th' other day...

"The really right people know how to dodge taxes anyway"

President George W. Bush, on Sen. John Kerry's (D., MA) proposal to rescind tax cuts for the wealthy.

So it's the Democrats who've wanted to take away tax cuts for the rich, and of course GWB would be all for his rich friends keeping every nickel they "earn."

But it's the Republicans who are clamoring for tax cuts all of a sudden.
This must mean that these are people who don't know how to dodge taxes.

That must mean that George Bush thinks that all you tax protesters are not the "right people," or else you'd just dodge those nasty old taxes and roll on down the highway!

I wouldn't stand for it, if I were one of you! I'd go Democratic!