You're in the picture

Daytime Halloween scene

When a buddy told me about this website that shows real pictures that real

Daytime Armed Robbery
(Short-armed Robbery, to be precise)

people find on Google Street View, I had to stop and tell him that anyone who seeks the Street View of our palatial dwelling, the legendary Lazy 'C' Ranch, will see the house and grounds in all their glory...and our recycling, down at the end of the driveway.

it must have been a Tuesday when the Google Camera Car came by, because that's when we bundle up squashed beer cans, old newspapers, magazines, junk mail, yogurt cups and "tin" cans for the county to haul away.  We have single-stream recycling, and that's handy.

What if I had been checking the mail while
wearing a ratty bathrobe or something?

But I like to use old cardboard beer cartons for packing up the goodies.  And so, when you look at the picture from the front of our place, you see
a couple of packed-up National Bohemian beer boxes and some other beer box, and a paper box full of who-knows-what.  Charming, I know.

But take a second and click on this site and see pictures from all over of people doing amazing things as the Google Camera Car lurched through their neighborhood.  They see everything! Including, as you see here, E.T. wearing a doo-rag and waiting for a parade to come by.

I know that many of you are at work as you read this.  This would be a great time for you to signal to your boss and invite her or him over to your monitor so they can see what's so dad-blamed funny!

It's Just the Sun

You can fault me for many things, but you cannot accuse me of inconsistency.  I like what I like and dislike what I don't, and I don't flipflop on things.

I don't like Brussels sprouts and I really don't like liver, and no one ought to wait for the day when I ankle in and say, "Hey, I been thinkin' on this liver thing..."  It just won't happen.  The last known change of mind that I can recall happened in maybe  5th grade, when I put aside a lot of my boyish toys and decided I liked girls, after all.  And Sandra Dee had already married Bobby Darin by then, so I was too late.

This brings me to the heat.  Good heavens, it's hotter than the hinges on Hades around here these days, and even as I stay inside and avoid the infernal streets and sidewalks, I can take comfort in knowing that in four months, it will be November 8, and it's got to be cooler on November 8.  And for all those who clamored for it to be a bit warmer last winter, are you ready to give up now and say you'd rather be cool?

I found this picture on the excellent Bits And Pieces blog, and it's one of those pictures that are worth 1,000 words.  I don't know where this poor letterbox was, but it demonstrates why I am glad my mailbox post is made of wood.  Plastic just can't fight back when the sun is only ten feet above the surface of the earth, as it is this week, and that's why we ALL feel a little droopy.  It's just the sun.

You're supposed to call your doctor if it stays this way for more than four hours, according to the good people at Cialis.

Sunday rerun: Atom Jones

I believe we all knew a guy like this:

Swedish man caught trying to split atoms at home
The Associated Press

STOCKHOLM -- A Swedish man who was arrested after trying to split atoms in his kitchen said Wednesday he was only doing it as a hobby.

Richard Handl told The Associated Press that he had the radioactive elements radium, americium and uranium in his apartment in southern Sweden when police showed up and arrested him on charges of unauthorized possession of nuclear material.

The 31-year-old Handl said he had tried for months to set up a nuclear reactor at home and kept a blog about his experiments, describing how he created a small meltdown on his stove.

Only later did he realize it might not be legal and sent a question to Sweden's Radiation Authority, which answered by sending the police.

"I have always been interested in physics and chemistry," Handl said, adding he just wanted to "see if it's possible to split atoms at home."

The police raid took place in late July, but police have refused to comment. If convicted, Handl could face fines or up to two years in prison.

Although he says police didn't detect dangerous levels of radiation in his apartment, he now acknowledges the project wasn't such a good idea.

"From now on, I will stick to the theory," he said.

Ya.  Good idea.  You just know that guy who lives down the street from you is up to something, building a love machine down in his basement or something, who knows what?   But here in America, our hobbyists build boats that are too large to get out the basement door, or make models of baseball stadia out of toothpicks, or train animals to become a bell choir, performing Handel at the holidays.

Over in Sweden, fellow blogger Richard Handl is leading the way among Scandinavian nuclear hobbyists, but listen, if your name was his name too, you might have an interesting hobby as well.  He "just wanted to see if it's possible to split atoms at home."

Message to Dick:  see if you can go find yourself a date.  Learn to cook. Volunteer at the library, the hospital, the firehouse. Learn to make ships in bottles. Collect old records.  Take up traveling. Get one of those ham radio rigs and talk to other ham radio operators all around the world on your ham radio.  Become a gardener, coach Little League baseball, start your own puppet theater.

We don't want Sweden becoming a nuclear power.  And we certainly don't want anyone to hold the world hostage with his homemade WMD.

And for the love of IKEA, please clean up that stove!

The Saturday Picture Show, 7/6/13

 Mariano Rivera, the great Yankee closer (final relief pitcher) is retiring after this season at the age of 127.  To send him off to a well-deserved retirement, the Minnesota Twins saved some of the bats broken by their hitters in their attempts to hit his cut fastball, which is a devil of a pitch to hit.  At the last second, it makes a sharp lateral move as it sails over the plate and hapless hitters swing.  The Twins made a nice rocking chair for the elderly Rivera as he heads to well-deserved retirement.

 I saw this picture and I thought, why can't all parking garage owners and operators be this smart?  Here, they have painted the yellow line up the wall a bit, so you can line your car up right as you back in.  So simple, and yet...

 A man posted this picture of his friend's daughter.  She took a line drive right off the melon while seated at a ballpark, and for her trouble, she was given an official ball and bat.  I also understand that her parents' insurance company paid off in a lump sum.

How nice of the Nat'l Security Agency to open a supermarket for us to shop!  And here is the great thing...you don't have to worry about bringing your list with you...they already know what you want....

Just a kind word

Wednesday, I went to the Credit Union.

This is why we have blogs, folks, so we can disseminate important information such as what I did Wednesday.

At the Credit Union, it was just in the middle of lunch time, and there were 6 adult patrons ahead of me...a man with two kids who figured the stanchions were playground equipment...a man and his wife...a county police...a guy with one of those bandanna skull cap things going on...and a woman with two little girls going ring around the rosie with the stanchion back where we were, at the end of the line.

The young mom bailed, rather than wait.  But everyone else was willing to wait.  There were two tellers trying to take care of everyone, and there were cars at the drive-thru window with people in them to take care of, and neither of the tellers was standing around eating cupcakes and talking about who had what for lunch yesterday.  They were working, we were waiting, and the line was moving.

Although, it didn't move quite as fast as it might have, because one patron, a woman roughly my age (and it has been rough on me) started reproaching the branch manager, who had gotten up from her desk to assist the tellers in getting the rush taken care of.  "You should have planned for this!  You know tomorrow is a holiday! You shoulda you coulda you oughta!" she caterwauled, as the manager tried to tell her that one teller was coming back from her break in just a few minutes and that she, as manager, was not allowed to open a window but was back there doing what she could to help out.

"Well!," explained the irate customer, who then turned on her worn heels and aimed her battle wagon my way.  I ran through my checklist of things she might want to stop and berate me over, but she passed by with a curious, "I guess I showed them!  And now my day is made because I shrieked at someone" kind of look on her face.

Of course, her querulous behavior cost the next person in line about a minute of his time; had she just taken her banking stuff with her and moved on, he would have been there all the sooner.  But noooooooooooooo!  She had to be heard, sounding off.

Next stop was the Giant delicatessen for a 1/2 lb. of Pepper Jack cheese, the perfect thing to add little zest to a plain chicken breast sammy.  There, I found myself in line behind one of those people - again, a woman in my general age bracket - who could not be polite.  Does it really take so much more energy to say, "Could I have a half-pound of braunschweiger, please?"  Apparently so, because she cawed, "Gimme a half pound of braunschweiger!" when the young man asked what she would like.

For those unaware, braunschweiger is liverwurst, a sandwich food made from some animal's liver.  If it were the only sandwich filler for sale in this world, I would never eat another sammy.

Have we become a nation in such a hurry that we can't wait for five minutes to be helped at the credit union?  If so, what are we hurrying to get to?  The next thunderstorm?  To go home and watch You Tube videos of people falling off their roof?  To be home in time to see Dr Phil humiliate a neurotic in the name of better mental health for all?

Are we so bereft of the manners we learned in first grade that we can't even say "please" or "thank you"?

There is an old expression in Spanish:  "Cortesía de boca mucho vale y poco cuesta."  It means "a courteous word costs little and is worth a lot."

Today, won't you thank someone for slicing some liverwurst for you?  Or, thank them for NOT slicing any liverwurst for you!

Think about what they did that day!

Mark of Distinction

It's not because we share a nickname that I tend to enjoy movies starring Mark Wahlberg, who was known as "Marky Mark" in his rap days.  People have called me that ever since young Wahlberg quit, in this order a) being a New Kid On The Block   b) beating people unmercifully on the streets of Boston c) going to jail over it  and   d) high school.

A checkered past, he has, but you won't walk away from his movies feeling "board" because they are packed with a) action b) laughs and sometimes c) action and laughs.

Which is why, although I feel that last summer's "Ted" was the best of his movies (and what movie wouldn't be great, with a profane talking teddy bear, Wahlberg, and Mila Kunis?) his 1998 picture "The Big Hit" deserves more attention than it gets.  It's on the Starz channel these days, or on my DVD player.

Talk about a casting bonanza!  "The Big Hit" brings you Marky Mark, China Chow, Lou Diamond Phillips, Christina Applegate, Bokeem Woodbine, Antonio Sabato, Jr., Avery Brooks, Lainie Kazan, and Elliott Gould!  It's the best of all worlds!  Lou Diamond Phillips is particularly great in this movie as Cisco, one of the bungling group of hit men with whom Mark (as Melvin Smiley- greatest hit man name EVER!) is associated.  Long before the Sopranos came along and tried to show mobbed-up Tony as sort of Ozzie Nelson with an Uzi, this picture showed Melvin as a killer for hire who gets no respect at home from either his fiance or his girlfriend, and not even much from one of his victims.

For those who miss the 90s, there is a video tape rental place that figures in the story!

I give "The Big Hit" major applause and I don't go that crazy over many movies.  I will watch this a thousand times before any Star Wars or Indiana Jones or Downton Abbey shows.  They don't have Marky Mark in them...or watching them!

This bites!

It's summertime in Maryland, and the living is easy, except for those of us who are favorites on the mosquito menu.  And Maryland is not the worst place I've ever seen for these little blood-sucking insects.  New Jersey!  Lord, they got 'em up there.  Mosquitoes even have their own airports up there, that's how big they are.

Over the years, I've been bitten by these Satanic bugs plenty of times, and I have tried almost every remedy.  Scratch!  Don't scratch!  Alcohol!  (Wiped on the bite, not guzzled by the bitee.)  SeaBreeze.  Anti-histamine products.  Pro-histamine products. I've tried them all, and now comes this advice from Lifehacker.com.

They say that if you take a hot metal spoon and hold the bowl of the spoon on the bite, the heat will neutralize the proteins that cause the itch.  So the bump will hang around, but not the itch.

I will try this cure the next time one of them gets me, but you can rest assured that the mosquitoes are reading this, and they  have their Research and Development people working on a secret protein to inject into us to defeat the spoon technique.

It's man vs. nature, and my money is on nature every time.  Unless you take the spoon and smersh that critter before he gets a chance to bite you in the first place!

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

     Yesterday, I had one of the nicest birthdays ever, because it was low-key and non-frantic. I kept my continual-day napping streak alive with a quick snooze after breakfast, and that makes eight straight weeks of nodding on the La-Z-Boy, which keeps me atop the 62-and-over division in the Competitive Slumber League.          

     The way I see it, sleep has been helpful in healing my knee after surgery, and now I add a cold to the list of things that need to go away, so a snore session is doubly helpful. I mean, ask any doctor,  "Should I take a nap right now?" and unless you're driving at the moment you ask, the answer will be, "Definitely!"      

     In fact, when you think about it, half the time you go to the doctor, the first thing they do is knock you out, thereby lending credence to my snooze theory.      

     My ideal nap lasts an hour, between, say, 9 and 10 in the yawning, and takes place in my recliner.  I cover myself in a ceremonial blanket, I put the TV on, but way down low, on Music Choice channel 441 (light classical.) I've already read something, and now it's nighty-night time (or morningy-morning time, as it were.) 
   
     In the 37 seconds before I sink deeply into Dozeville, I consider ponderous topics such as    

 *Who works at Music Choice and decides what selections are "light classical" and which are "classical classical"?  
  
  *Why do some people get front row seats along the foul lines at a baseball game and then decide to insert themselves into the game by trying to catch a foul pop, spilling beer and peanuts all over the guy beside them, their own pants, and the left fielder?   

  * Is there anything better to do on July 4th than to go to a cookout and hang around for fireworks after it gets dark?

 
 
 It's July! live it up, summer-style!

Sunday rerun: Read all about it

Ms Curry

In publishing news, there's a story going around that some unnamed book-publishing firm is ready to offer Ann Curry eight million semolians to write a "tell-all" book about how the Today Show tied a can to her, and also to tell about how Matt Lauer ALLEGEDLY likes an occasional piece of chicken on the side and how Savannah Guthrie ALLEGEDLY took some Englishman away from his wife and later married and divorced him.

Mr Lauer (r)

Have we reached the information saturation point in this country?  Do we all have enough knowledge about the history of this nation, do we all speak at least two languages, is everyone up to date on everything we all ought to know?  OK then.  If that's the case, then I guess it's time to take our feet off the gas pedal and coast for a while.  Nothing says "putting my mind on hold" like "reading a book about Matt Lauer getting some strange nookie."

I guess this book will be ghostwritten and I guess it will come out on the bookstands and on the Kindles and the E-readers and the Whooz-Its and people will read about all this fooling around involving people who have to get up in the middle of the night to go to work.  I used to have to do the same (get up for work in the middle of the night), and yet there seems but scant interest in my memoirs.  Which is good, because I retired of my own free will and I never knew the taint of scandal and I don't know anything about people horsing around on the job.  I just don't.  Other peoples' sex lives should be of interest to them and them alone.

I always ran away faster than Paul Ryan at a marathon when people (always males) would begin telling me about how they "did it" to someone the night before. They always made it sound so, so...one sided.  Which it might have been.

The Saturday Picture Show, June 29, 2013

 This young lady suffers from the heartbreak of heterochromia iridium, the condition that leaves her with one brown eye and one blue one.  My first thought, of course, is what it says on her driver's license under "color eyes."  It's an inherited dominant trait, much like voting for people like Rick Perry, but much more interesting.

 The Fourth of July is right around the corner.  The question asked above is worth considering.  We happen to have one of the finest hand clinics in the world right here in Bmore at Union Memorial Hospital, where they will be very busy on the 4th, dealing with people who lit their 3rd M-80 after downing a 5th. Keep your hands to yourself.

 This young lady's night of golden prom memories will remain unbesmirched, as long as someone in the family can crop pervy Uncle Ace out.

All of these buttons would come in handy every day.

Happy 4th and for Pete's sake, be careful!

Shirting the issue

I've heard it said that the definition of grace is the ability to eat soup with the fingers and not need a napkin.

Graceful, I ain't.  And no steak, no crab fluff, no hunk o' broiled salmon stands much of a chance when I show up with my knife and fork.

The hapless victim in all this often turns out to be my shirt.  Therefore, over the years, I have tried to keep a few shirts just for when we go out and no food is involved, and some shirts that have seen the glory of bleu cheese dressing and Holland Daze (yes! I saw it that way on a menu) sauce bouncing off its buttons.  Often, I would come home and attempt emergency treatment with Spray 'N' Wash, but many times, after anxious moments by the laundry machines, the verdict would come back...stained for life.

The other day, the proverbial straw must have broken the camel's back in my closet, and shirts and pants went a-tumblin' down because of a broken shelf.  I fixed it, all right, but I decided to get rid of a few excess items. Oddly enough,  I came to this decision shortly after Peggy strongly suggested that I do so.

Three bags - the B.A. drum-liner size - went to the Goodwill yesterday morning, filled with shirts and pants and many many ties.  I think I need maybe 3 ties for the rest of my life.

There are now three categories into which my shirts may be sorted:

a - not for wearing when eating spaghetti
b - already been worn while eating spaghetti (and you can tell if you look really closely)
c - shirts that I will wear out to dinner, and if something gets on them, out they go.

It's not all that hard to say goodbye.  It's only a shirt!

A good show to watch

I don't like the sort of blog where the blogulator says "You have to watch this show or else!"   But I do recommend the special on HBO called "Love, Marilyn."

She was an interesting woman, Marilyn Monroe.  Compared to the ectomorphic women who play the sexy parts these days, she would be called pudgy.  But she was THE hot woman of the 50s and early 60s, and she is still revered today by many of us who have no interest and certainly no attraction to the Gwyneths and the Nicoles and the Umas.

Marilyn had a troubled childhood and things did not get better with fame and fortune.  She had a face and voice that movie cameras loved, and she wanted to learn to act.  As the documentary showed, she produced the movie "The Prince and the Showgirl" and hired Laurence Olivier to play the prince.  Seeking acting advice from the stuffy British thespian, Marilyn asked what her motivation should be in a certain scene, and he said, "Just be sexy; that's what you do, isn't it?" She was crushed.

Olivier is also the guy who said to Dustin Hoffman, who insists on "getting into character" and staying that way throughout the filming of a movie, "Wouldn't it be simpler to just act?"

So, on the plus side, Marilyn was beautiful and attractive.  Men loved her.  After a first wartime marriage, she married Joe DiMaggio, who had retired from playing for the damn Yankees, and he thought she would sit home with him and make lasagna all day.

After her divorce from Mr Coffee, she thought she could find happiness with moody playwright Arthur Miller, who gave us "Death of a Salesman."  He also treated her shabbily.

This would be a good time for me to editorialize and say that it's not fair to marry someone because you fell in love with the person they are, and then immediately set about changing them into the person you want.  Both of these men sought to do just that.

So marriage didn't work out, and she turned to the bottle and pills for help, and her sad end came in August, 1962, when she ODed.  There are millions of words written about Marilyn Monroe, and in the HBO special you see a lot of today's actors reading the words of Norman Mailer and other authors about her...but, because some boxes were recently found that contain some of MM's thought journals, there are actors reading her own words as a backdrop to film of her.

I recommend the show for those who love the memory and image that Marilyn left us.  Just last week, Turner Classic showed a couple of Mamie Van Doren's awful movies.  Mamie, born Joan Olander, was a bosomy blonde whom other film studios tried to trot out as a substitute for the real thing - Miss Monroe.  One quick look served to show why no one is compiling any biographies of Mamie.

There was only one Marilyn, only one Elvis, only one Shakespeare.  He said, "What's done can't be undone," and what was done to Marilyn should never have been done.

I hope you enjoy the show!

Little Jimmy undergoing treatments

There are plenty of worse ways to spend one's time than to listen to records by James Cecil Dickens, known and loved by country music fans as "Little Jimmy" Dickens.

All 4'11" of Jimmy will turn 93 years of age this December, and one listen to his traditional way of singing country will show you why they call him "Our Treasure" down at the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, TN.  Country singers today like to team up with hop hop performers and jazz moaners and whatever it is that Julio Iglesias does, but as an Opry member since 1948 - the year my much-older sister was born - LJD has always kept it country.  And I always thought that if he did team up with someone from outside the country genre, he could work with Little Richard, although it would be a very close contest as to whose stage attire was more, shall we say. gaudy.

As proof of his country bona fides, I offer these:

 - - This is a recent Opry performance of "May the Bird of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose."  You'll see fellow West Virginian Brad Paisley on the song, and Brad is one of the few country stars of today to pay any homage to the greats who created the path he now drives.

 - - As good as Jimmy is with the nutty novelty songs like MTBOPFUYN, he is equally adept with a ballad such as "Another Bridge to Burn."

 - - And another reason why Jimmy is beloved of the country fans is this kind of affectionate homage to the good and bad parts of rural living,  Many a person who bought the 1949 record of "Sleepin' at the Foot of the Bed" did that many times as a kid.

I bring all this up because Jimmy is going in the hospital in Tennessee next week for radiation treatment of a pre-cancerous condition on his vocal chords.  He is expected to make a full recovery.  Jimmy issued a statement via the Grand Ole Opry website:

“I can’t begin to express my sincere gratitude for the thoughts and prayers that are being sent my way. My family and I appreciate the support, and I can’t wait to return home to the stage of the Grand Ole Opry in one of my favorite rhinestone suits someday soon.”

If you have a mind to send get-well greetings to a man who has been entertaining people since Hector was a pup, here is the address:


Jimmy Dickens
c/o Grand Ole Opry House
2804 Opryland Drive
Nashville, TN 37214

Safety First

Mr Shaw

George Bernard Shaw said, "Youth is wasted on the young."  I can tell you about one youth who almost wasted the rest of his summer, if not his life, just yesterday afternoon.

I was on the way to an appointment and was driving in front of Parkville Middle School.  I saw a kid on a skateboard zipping across the parking lot and into the entrance way of the school off Avondale Rd, but I said two things to myself in that 1/10 of a second that life allows you to have these conversations:

a) this kid can't be stupid enough to roll right onto Avondale Road without checking to see if anything is coming

b) better hit the brakes!

 This kid is clearly that stupid.


If you sent out for a skater boy, this is what Amazon would send you.  Skinny as a 2x4, lacrosse hair hanging out of a backward baseball cap, headphones stuck in his ear, Ravens T-shirt, some sort of baggy shorts.

Suddenly he saw me!  And he jumped off the board and responded to my horn and my opprobrious look.  I lowered my window down and gave him The Look.  He said, "I'm sorry, mister; I wasn't paying attention."

I went for the best Lee Marvin or Jack Webb I could give him.  I said, "Son, pay attention out here.  This is life and death out here, with traffic all around."

I think he was totally shaken up as he yanked out the earphones and picked up his board.

I know I was.

And as I drove off, I got to thinking that we have created the greatest system of technology in human history.  This young man was carrying a smart phone on which he has downloaded, maybe, a thousand songs or so, and was listening to some of these digital bits as he careered across the parking lot.

Maybe Apple could include some free life lessons with every download.  "Don't ride your skateboard into oncoming traffic" would be pretty good advice.

This teenager learned it today. And he even called me "Mister"!

Wrong-Way Corrigan

When we think of civil protest, we think of people marching to end discrimination in housing, education and anywhere else that segregation was still practiced in our nation.

Or we think of those who protested the Viet Nam war, or those who marched to give women the vote, and to right other wrongs.

It's perfectly legal to protest, to state your opinions down at the Town Square.  The other day, there was a man in front of our local post office passing out leaflets urging people to impeach the president, and although I wasn't about to take the time to find out his reasons, I'd never quibble over his right to speak his mind.  That is what this country is all about.

There's a difference, though, between civil protest and stealing the property of others.  Case in point is a legal action proceeding through the courts in Anne Arundel County.  A couple of years ago we talked about this fellow down there, one David S. Corrigan. Corrigan is against gambling, which is his right.  But Maryland took it to the voters in 2010, whether or not to expand gambling in the state to include casino-style slot machines and "table games" (not talking about Clue or Monopoly here!)  During the election campaign, Corrigan was driving around the county, removing pro-gambling campaign signs.  Why, when he was caught by the police, he had 70 signs in his pickup, and let's just say the chances are, that wasn't his first time out there harvesting signs.

I'd bet you on that, but it would upset Corrigan too much. He copped out to taking "100 or so" signs.

His attorney, a man who went to law school in order to become involved with this inane behavior, is Ronald H. Jarashow.  Jarashow said, in court, "This is a case about civil protest. This is a case about someone having strong beliefs and acting on them."

The mouthpiece also said that Corrigan volunteers with Habitat for Humanity and feels that a lot of the people he seeks to help through that agency are harmed by gambling.  And he thought that the signs he was ripping off were on public property.

I did not attend law school, although I avidly watched "Perry Mason" and "L.A. Law."  Raymond Burr would want Jarashow to know that just because something is on public property, that doesn't mean it's up for grabs.  To prove the point, try sauntering down to your local police precinct and driving off in one of their patrol cars.

And Vinny Gambini, from "My Cousin Vinny," taught us that acting on your beliefs might not always be legal.  For instance, I believe that right now, the proprietors of Crabby's Crab House owe me a dozen XXL males and a case of National Boh, but I might have trouble walking out of there without paying for them.

I checked with the ACLU website, because who knows what crazy laws might have been passed, but they still say that the First Amendment protects many forms of expression, including the right to free speech, participating in demonstrations like protests and marches, leafleting, chanting, drumming and dancing. It also protects "symbolic speech," e.g., wearing T-shirts with messages, carrying signs, sculptures or puppets, etc.  But they add that  Violence or criminal activity does not become constitutional simply because you do it while expressing a political message.

The people who ran the pro-gambling campaign are suing Corrigan for damages.  Where he got the idea that he can steal other people's property just because he doesn't like the message printed on it will probably not come up in the trial.

But I wish it would!

Sunday rerun: Murder, She'd Note

It was just about this time of year, seventeen years ago, when OJ Simpson changed in the public eye from star running back, commercial spokesperson and "Nordberg" in the Police Squad! movies to murder suspect and object of a slow police chase through Los Angeles.

All evidence would seem to point to OJ in the murder of his ex-wife Nicole and her new dude, Ron Goldman, but all that counts is that a jury found him not guilty, and even though a civil trial several years later found him civilly responsible, he is still innocent of the murder charges.  He is currently a resident of the Lovelock Correctional Center in Lovelock, Nevada, as a result of his 2008 conviction on  armed robbery and kidnapping charges.  Many people regard this as karma in the purest form, as it appears to some that Simpson skated on the murder rap, but is doing a minimum of nine years for slugging and threatening some guys whom he accused of ripping off his football memorabilia.  

I learned a long long time ago that things aren't always what they seemed, and so I can't say who really killed Nicole and Ron that night.  And being a nation of laws, we have to go by the jury verdict.  And, to be honest with you, as hot a topic as all this was in the mid-to-late 90's, it has almost acquired a patina of age in the years since, and seems to be similar to one of those fabled oldtime stories, such as when Harry K. Thaw shot an architect because that architect had despoiled Thaw's young wife (Evelyn Nesbit, pictured at left) during a previous relationship. Read that story and see how these people back in the early 1900s were the original swingers...White was into a weird fetish for young girls riding on the red velvet swing in his house.

Uh huh.


Or, take the big scandal from the 1920s when Ruth Snyder went to the chair for having her husband killed.  She and her boyfriend, Judd Gray, garroted the poor man because she preferred necking with Gray. All across America, people took time out from dancing the Charleston, drinking bathtub gin and wearing raccoon coats while dancing the Charleston and drinking bathtub gin to read the papers and their accounts of the trial, which ended badly for Ruth.  She became front-page news, all right (>>>>).  But now you rarely hear her name mentioned.

So, now I see that onetime talk show host Oprah G. Winfrey wants to drag OJ onto her new OWN cable channel and get him to confess to murder.  Before our very eyes, she'd have him confessing to crimes that had baffled cops nationwide for years.  I'm no lawyer, but my advice for The Juice here would be: "Don't answer your cell phone!  It might be Oprah! And you've got enough trouble as it is!"

Saturday rerun: I take a teenage quiz

 1. Who introduced you to the person you like?
Sam and Maura on a blind date

2. Where were you at four today?
gently dozing someplace, I'm sure

3. Would you rather sleep at a friend's or have them over?
It all depends.  Most of the time, when a friend sleeps over, it's because they fell asleep watching tv after dinner, and we don't wake them up because we were asleep too

4. Last thing you spent money on?
Some sort of painkiller, I'm certain

5. What is on your wrists right now?
Right arm: wristwatch.  Left arm: I don't know. What do you think that is?

6. What's your favorite season of the year?
My favorite seasoning is always Old Bay

7. Do you hate when people call you when you're sleeping?
Yes so please don't call after 6 pm

8. Do you cry a lot over the opposite sex?
Haven't cried in so long, it would be hard to imagine the cause of it being a female

9. Have your ever wasted your time on someone?
Sure

10. Where did you get the pants you are wearing from?
These shorts are from the Clearance rack at WalMart

11. When is your birthday?
6/30

12. Are you one of those people who obsess over hollister?
Rafe Hollister was that mountain man moonshiner on The Andy Griffith Show who had a naturally great tenor singing voice.  I enjoyed hearing him sing, but my interest stopped short of being an obsession.

13. What are you wearing on your feet?
Those little quarter sox and slippers

14. Do you think a lot of people think bad things about you?
All the Republicans do, or should

15. Is it easy to annoy you?
much, much harder now

16. Can you commit to one person?
Have since 1973.  Nixon was still president.

17. Have you ever met someone who turned out to be amazing?
See #16

18. Currently liking anyone?
I like almost everyone!

19. How many times have you dyed your hair?
I was born a blond with white teeth, now I have white hair and blond teeth

20. Name of the last person to text you?
it was either Richard E. Normus or Hugh Jass

21. Does someone like you right now?
I certainly hope so

22. What does the 15th message in your inbox say?
"Greetings to you kind friend, I am Barrister Algonquin J. Wilberforce. I represent the estate of a late Nigerian prince who decided to leave 1.2 $ US to you because he chose your name on the World Wide Web..."

23. Have you ever gone up to a car thinking it was yours and almost got in?
Yes and it was a police car

24. When was the last time you were in a car with someone besides family?
See #23

25. What would your name be without the first three letters?
k

26. Do you want to see somebody right now?
Sure, why not

27. Where was the last place you fell asleep other than your bed?
my recliner, my sofa, my kitchen chair, my dining room chair, the chair in the hallway, the driver's seat in my truck

28. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
The young lady who takes reservations at Bonefish

29. The person you have the strongest feelings for dies, do you care?
Uh yes

30. Have your ever slept in the same bed as your friends?
Oh not for years!

31. What are you listening to?
"The Great Gildersleeve" on Old Time Radio

32. Have you kissed the last person you texted?
If I did that, he would not let me buy beer at his liquor store anymore

33. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 3 months?
38 years is a lot of months

34. Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?
Yes and I want Sarah Palin to stop that!

35. Name one person you wish you could fix with, and why haven't you?
Rush Limbaugh. He still owes me for some oxycontin.

36. How have you felt today?
Marvelous

37. Was this summer a good one?
Hot

38. Would it be hard seeing someone else kiss the person you like?
Only if I were awake

39. You receive 500 dollars without any reason, what do you spend it on?
What 500 dollars?

40.Would you be someone's girlfriends/boyfriends right now if they asked?
What an enchanting notion.  Must say no.

41. Do you believe your first love can be the only love in your life?
My first love was Sandra Dee.

42. Do you like your school?
It seems like a nice place for the kids in this neighborhood to hang around all day

43. Do you love coffee?
Decaf after dinner

44. After taking a shower, do you change in the bathroom or in your bedroom
I strut around the house in my naked glory until Peggy reminds me we have company

45. How many people could comfortably sleep in the room you're in?
If I'm there, no one else would be comfortable

46. Whats the last thing you searched for on Google?
pictures of chipmunks

47. How would you react if your mom got a lip piercing?
I would be mad at the people who run the senior high-rise where she dwells

48. Do you start the water before you get in the shower or when you get in?
Long before .

49. Are you happy with your life?
yes !

50. You have 1 hour left to live, describe what you are doing.
Leaving for a one-hour drive with Lindsay Lohan

51. What kind of earphones do you have for your iPod?
The ones that came with it.  Is this a trick question?

52. What is your current favorite song?
A tie between "Tik-Tok" (Ke$ha) and "The Clock on the Wall" (Tommy Collins).  No matter the genre, I am time-conscious.

53. What nationality are you?
WASP but interesting

54. What is your desktop wallpaper on your computer?
It's a picture of Britney Spears.  Do they make other wallpapers?

55. You have to be an animal for a day, which would it be?
A Raven or an Oriole

56. Its 7:30pm on a Sunday evening. What are you doing?
I'm halfway through "60 Minutes"

57. What are your plans for the rest of the week?
I don't make long-range plans at my age.

58. You found a wallet on the side of the street. What do you do?
I return it.

59. Pick a lyric from the song you're listening to.

If you got a Cadillac, boy,
And a forty room shack, boy
A bucket full of money
And a tree full of honey
But if you're gettin' no huggin'
No smoochin' or muggin'
Well, if you ain't lovin'
Then you ain't livin'!  (by Faron Young)

Faron Young

60. Where is the person you like/ love?
Downstairs on the phone

61. For you next birthday, what would you like your parents to get you?
I have all I need!

62. What was the last movie you watched with your mom?
Jackass 3-D.  She did not enjoy it.

63. You're in a food court, what do you feel like eating?
Just something to tide me over til I get to the diner

64. What are you excited for to happen within the next few months?
Seeing Sarah Palin being asked serious questions and giving her usual stupid answers

Smile for the picture! Wave at Uncle Leon!

Say, whatcha got planned for the late afternoon of Friday, July 19th?  Laundry, ironing, mowing the lawn, going down to the Giant supermarket, waxing the Biscayne...all these can wait, because that's the day we are supposed to Wave At Saturn!

Starting at 5:27 PM (Eastern) time, from a billion miles away, a NASA operation will take pictures of Planet Earth, and they are encouraging you to wave at the sky on that day, if you want to be in the picture.

Since I know about as much about astronomy as I do about seasoning a crêpe pan, I'll just send you over to this article about it from the BBC.

I do know that Saturn is a giant ball of gas (and so it could just as easily have been called "Limbaugh") that, as of today, it is the only planet wise enough to have taken Beyonce's advice and put a ring on it.

I can't say this for sure, but the name of this project, "Wave at Saturn," is pretty much a direct ripoff of an idea hatched by me and several other purposeless teenagers during an afternoon of fishing and emptying beer cans at Loch Raven Reservoir some years ago.  We thought that dropping trou on a a moonlit night would really give the man in the moon something to look at.

Of course, we called the project "Moon The Moon" and we hoped to be invited to be on the news, but we were just a bunch of cheeky kids.

June Brides

I never thought about getting married much before I met Peggy, but I started thinking a lot about it within 10 seconds of meeting her, a meeting which occurred 40 years ago tomorrow.

It's not that a lot of women weren't asking me to get married.  My mother, my sister, my grandmother, a great aunt or two and several family friends suggested repeatedly that I run off and elope as fast as possible, taking my stuff with me.  Harrumph.

But I have always enjoyed weddings and all that goes with them, especially the conception reception immediately afterward.  We talked before about my buddy who made a Saturday habit of putting on his one sports coat, white shirt, tie and decent khakis, and crashing wedding receptions at the fabulous Martin's Eudowood.  When he showed up with the rest of us dateless ne'er-do-wells and rakehells on a Saturday night, he was already full of free beer, Lobster Newburg, roast beef, green beans almondine and twice-baked potatoes, all the items that were as certainly a part of the Martin's Wedding Experience as Al Martino's record of "Daddy's Little Girl."

Used to be, a couple got married in a local church and then their friends and family showed up in a banquet hall and toasted the newlyweds, who were in a big hurry to get the honeymoon started, so they changed to their "going away" clothes as soon as the people catering the shindig wheeled out the Make Your Own Sundae fixin's.

There doesn't seem to be the same hurry to get to the bridal suite down at the Airport Motel 6, so today's couples have dual bachelor and bachelorette parties in Las Vegas, Reno or Miami Beach, with a destination wedding to follow.  That means that Uncle Paul and Aunt Pearl have to pony up for a trip to Jackal's Island in the Grand Bahamas, because the groom's parents will be damned if they are paying Paul and Pearl's fare, after they way they acted about selling them that Bonneville with the cracked block and defective radiator when Paul, Jr, left for the Coast Guard.

Point is, weddings are not as simple as they a) used to be or b) ought to be.  But do hire a good photographer.  I can recommend a great one for you!  Our friend Angie will record the day with taste and dignity, and will make sure that the relatives never have to see anything like this >>>>

Where is the dignity?  Who thought this would be a good idea?  Uncle Paul?

Roomy

Well, I was all set to write about the idiot DJs down in Atlanta who thought it would be funny to do a bit poking fun at a former player for the Saints  - a fellow who has ALS.

But thinking about that sort of person, or three such persons, makes me sick to my stomach.

Wondering about what else was on my mind, I started playing with a photo app called Snapfeed.  Snapfeed allows you to take a picture and do all sorts of filters and color changes.  I wanted to take a new picture on the tablet to test it out, and I thought, for once, let's get up off the recliner.  I don't need another picture of my feet, taken as I lie supine watching Frasier reruns.

So I got up, left the family room and wandered into the formal living room.  I took this picture of the one corner...and aged it so it would look like something passed down from Aunt Maude from the time they brought electric to town.

Right in front of that window, in a planter that sits on the porch, a family of wrens has built a nest and are in the process of moving in.  The male wren is trying to get his brother in law to help move stuff, but you know how that goes.

And then I almost got lost leaving the living room, which we call the formal living room because the "good" sofa and "good" love seat are in there, along with the grandfather clock my father made for us and some other niceties.  I don't go in that room, except if someone comes over to discuss something of earth-shattering importance and Peggy doesn't want me to a) turn the television on (there is no tv in this room) or b) fall asleep while talking.  No one can fall asleep on the sofa in there; the upholstery is still tight and firm, so the sink-in factor is nil.

And with no tv or other form of entertainment, the room might as well be sealed off.  Stop over some time and I'll show it to you, but we won't be there long!

And the beat goes on

If my father were still alive, he'd be about to turn 100 y.o.a. this September.  Long lives are not a long suit of my family, owing to the risky undertakings of some departed distant relatives such as "Wrong Way" Clark, who kept driving his Studebaker the wrong way into tunnels and over bridges, "Shocky" Clark, who demonstrated that inserting the tines of a fork into an electric outlet was bad for the fork (and its holder), and "Sinker" Clark, who was the first to prove that you really shouldn't go in swimming for half an hour after eating.

But Dad wasn't from that side of the family.  A prudent, cautious gentleman, he lived to be 84, and to zoom past the three-score-and-ten mark, outlined in the Bible, by 14 years is a pretty good life.

I stumbled across this link on Stumble Upon.  I find it interesting and I hope you do.  Dad surely would.  If I could talk to him about the world he was born into and the world of a little fellow born today, he would be fascinated.  Just the other day, Peggy and I discussed whether Dad would have a smart phone, and I don't know that he would have.  He might have gone with a plain cell phone.  It would not have been his way to be driving to Home Depot while texting someone about meeting him later that morning and seeing how many board feet of lumber he would need to repair the back steps.  He would be appalled to see the way most people today drive and act and write.

We talked earlier this year about a little baby born to a splendid couple of Baltimore journalists.  His mom pointed out that he could very well live to see the year 2100 rung in.  I was thinking that my Dad's family, at his birth in 1913, would scarcely have dared to wonder if he would still be around in 2000.

He didn't miss by much, but he did live long enough to see Sonny Bono get elected to the US Congress.  And maybe that was more than his family could have ever dreamed.

All over the field

I remember reading a short casual by Woody Allen about pantomime and his inability to enjoy it.

I enjoy pantomime, if only because the practitioners thereof take the art SO seriously!  As they pretend to be stuck inside a glass box or spreading out a picnic basket or calling 911 to report a fire, they really get INTO it...so much so that you almost feel you need to call 911 for them!

I'm going to type this next part very slowly, so please understand that a lot of thought and deliberation preceded it.  I watched "60 Minutes" last night and I saw the story about the Barca "football" club in Spain and how they have a development academy to take young men and turn them into soccer professionals and how the entire Catalan population supports this team as not just a team, more a way of life, and they sing the team anthem before the game starts with 102,000 people watching and

And...I'm not being a smart aleck for once...

But could someone, in 25 words or less, explain the appeal of soccer to me?  Not the game.  I get the game.  The word soccer itself derives from the old expression "SO who Cares?", which was the question the Native Americans had when 11 Englishmen got off the boat at Plymouth Rock and began playing a game without scoring.  The soccer field, or "pitch," is the approximate size of the approach runway at the airport, and 11 people per side run up and down that field for an hour and a half and you're doggone lucky if anyone scores a goal, because that means you don't have to hang around for more soccer.  I just don't see the appeal.  I've watched it played by people from 6 to 60 and at least with the little kids, it looks like two amoebae eddying up and down the field and now and then a soccer ball squirts out.  With the pros, one goalie grabs the ball, being the only person allowed to touch it with hands, and then he or she hurls it to someone who will boot it upfield for a mile and a half, only to be tripped up while approaching the goal, or "pitch."  The action then reverses and goes back and forth several thousand times until later, when the grounds crew all has to go home, so they turn out the lights.

American football, based partly on soccer and partly on the street fighting scenes from "West Side Story," is vastly preferable to me.  Skilled defensive play on both sides keeps the scoring down to an average of 42-49 points per team per game, and skilled offenses display their ability to run up and down the field while holding on the ball (most of the time) and that's the difference.

Pastor Tilton awaits your donation

I know, I have many good friends who love soccer and some who have dish antennas mounted on their roofs just to be able to pull in Peruvian Summer League play, which comes on tv at 4:30 in the morning, right after Pastor Tilton.  I love my soccer lovin' friends and just humbly ask them one last time to tell me what there is to like about a game played by a person in shorts with advertising , or "pitch," all over their jerseys.

Please?

Sunday rerun: Your call is impotent to us

Yesterday, the computer doohickey attached to the pfisteris that makes pictures and words come up on the screen went down, or "went down," in technical parlance.  WiFi became NoFi! Or maybe WiNo!   And I couldn't see email or any videos in which wide-eyed kids and skateboarding dogs and cats amuse an entire nation, so I called the good folks at Comcast, or "Xfinity," in technical parlance.

It's always a good idea for a large company to go by two names.  Is it still Comcast, or is it Xfinity, or what, huh?  It's so confusing that one friend of mine, who uses them for phone, cable and internet service, says he has "Verizon Fios," which sounds like a great Greek dessert.  But I assume my friend's check gets to the right place every month, or I wouldn't be getting emails from him.

I wasn't getting emails from anyone, the reason I called Comcast.  By means of answering 27 questions, I got to the lightning round, where I got to sit and listen to Muzak for seven minutes.  It was almost a relief when the problem-solver picked up my call, uttered a sigh heard round the world, and promptly disconnected me.  Within seconds, I was being entertained by that "If you'd like to make a call..." lady, who sounds for all the world like a grade school librarian hollering at the kids for picking up books and not shelving them properly, or at all.

Second call, waiting time was much faster, and as a free bonus, I got to talk to someone and also help him learn a new language: English.  I had to repeat and define something in just about every sentence, but I considered it my "hands across the sea" gesture.  Reading from his script, he told me not to worry, and that he was sure we could get me back on line.  Then he said something that sounded like tech talk when he told me what he was going to do and suddenly, we were like Abbott and Costello:

Him: Fine, sir, at this time I am going to flapper the noddistrand, so please look at your obfuscator and tell me what you see.

Me: What does that mean?

Him: What does that mean, "what does that mean?"

Me: I don't understand what you are going to do.

Him: (Silence)

Me: (two minutes later)  Are you still there?

Him: Yes, do you see the lights going off?

Me:  On the modem, you mean?  Yes they're off, and now here they come, one at a time...

Him:  How can that be happening?

Me:  I dunno, but here comes my email!

Him:  What does that mean, "here comes my email"?

Me: It means my email inbox is filling up with important emails.  I must go at once and reply to the widow of a Nigerian prince.

And then, just like when you go to look at a video, I got a commercial.  The guy asked me  - and I am not making this up - if I planned to put an addition on my house.  I thought at first he wanted to move in and be my tech team, but he said he was asking in case I wanted to add more cable outlets or anything.

Some people just live to torment me.

The Saturday Picture Show returns! 6/14/13

 My gift to you is this free wallpaper for your pc, tablet or phone! Those of us in the Baltimore area saw some vivid sunsets this past week with storms in the air, but we made out pretty well - no derecho!

I'll wait right here if you think you can find a cuter picture of a little baby critter than this.  If you show me a little kitten or puppy, I will have to point out that Stampy, Jr, here is actually smiling, which makes this the cutest picture of any baby animal ever!

 It's either that I have seen this picture before - or someone else did this with their fence somewhere!  A little work with a spokeshave on top of fence pickets, and rainbow of colors from a paint store, and a plain fence becomes a plain joy!

How did it come that chocolate/vanilla/strawberry ice cream or frozen "yogurt" is called "Neapolitan"?  Do we have evidence that the legendary ice cream makers of Naples found a way to combine the three leading ice cream flavors at some point in history?  Whoever invented it, the chocolate dispenser on this production line was clearly sloughing off the day this tub came down the chute.

Patent Pending

The other day, I went to the Giant Food supermarket around the corner.  It's my favorite grocery store, not only because of the good prices and the high quality of the chow they sell, but also because of the exceptional customer service they offer.  They will filet a salmon and steam some shrimp and grind some beef and special-order a grocery item and decorate a cake just special for the birthday guy or gal.  And they'll do these things with a smile, and offer to carry the whole order out to your car if you want.

I recently had knee replacement/revision surgery, and while I have nothing to complain about in terms of health, compared to others who are dealing with real serious issues, I cannot walk so well just yet.  'Sway it goes!  So, since there was a cart right by where I parked that I could use as a rolling walker sort of thing, I went in without my trusty cane.  I only needed some chicken and some corn.  I went in, got what I needed, but by the time I got to the register area, I was draggin' my wagon, if you will.  Limpin' like a madman, walkin' like a bad man.

It must have been a sight.  Because there were a couple of registers open, with lines mobbing around, and a young lady whose job it is to keep an eye on the lines and also assist people using the self-checkout machines spotted me and so very kindly called me over and opened a register so I could pay and go.  I told her how much I appreciated her kindness.  She could just as easily have looked the other way, or right through me like they do at WalMart.

Smile, Clarence!  It's gonna be all right!

And then today, I read that the US Supreme Court, in a unanimous decision, said that human genes cannot be patented.  I think that this young lady's kindness gene should be patented and shared worldwide, although I see an uphill battle if I call Clarence Thomas to discuss the matter.

Hooray for Captain Spaulding!

Being a man without kids, I am often in the position of amused observer at how people raise their own broods, with varying levels of success.  I am prepared to state that the most successful parents are the ones who work at it.  Children rarely go to the library to check out books on etiquette, responsibility, manners, and how best to handle life's day-to-day activities.  They need to be taught, they want to be taught, and they look to good ol' Mom and Dad for the teaching.

I am thinking of two families I have recently observed. (Suddenly I feel like this is taking the turn of the journal of an African explorer, who takes to the wild to observe a family of jaguars in their rituals and child-rearing techniques.)  But here is my non-clinical report:

Family one was a mom and dad in their early 30s with two kids, a male about 8 and a girl about 10.  I saw them on the sidewalks of Hampden as they left the 7-11 and proceeded down The Avenue Which Is A Street (36th, in fact.)  The parents were embroiled in a discussion over the mores of a friend of theirs, a female who was currently enjoying the attentions and affections of two males, and was unable to choose between the two gentlemen.  In graphic detail, in front of the children, the mother laid it out for the dad: their friend enjoyed doing the horizontal hoo-hah with both of her swains, but only one of them had a "@!%$ing job" at the present time. while the other was a layabout, a neer-do-well, quite possibly a rakehell.  (My translation).  At some point, the mother turned to the children trailing behind and bellowed, "Eat your dinner!" and the kids, chastened, renewed their foraging through their bags of Cheese Puffs and guzzling their grape sodas.

The other family, I saw the other night at the hospital.  Peggy and I went to get some dinner in the cafeteria while Mom had an MRI.  A young (30s) female doctor, in scrubs, was dining with her husband and their three youngsters, girls about 7 and 5 and a boy about 3.  I got the impression (and I rarely do impressions anymore) that the dad brought the kids over for some mommy time while she worked the night shift.  The parents made sure to get decent food for the kids...pizza, with some veggies on the side and water to drink.  Of course, the kids wanted soda and ice cream and made these preferences known, setting off a round of a game that's been played between parents and children since the first caveman dragged home a wooly mammoth and grilled it up for the brood:  "Come on...eat just this much and then you can have dessert."

Times three.

And while negotiations raged on with the girls, the boy gave up on eating altogether in favor of darting around with a toy helicopter.  And the girls would not touch their corn.  And the father went off to round up the little helicopter pilot and the mother nibbled at her food while cajoling the girls to "just try the corn!"

And then her dinner hour was about over and she hurriedly finished her chicken sandwich while the dad shepherded the kids into one eddying mass for a minute.

And I pictured both families, times 365.

So where did they get "Whitey" for a nickname?

They say that environment and parental raising are not the only factors that determine our suitability for later life, pointing out that the Bulger family of Massachusetts had a son who became a college president and another who became a mobster, currently on trial to explain nineteen murders.

I guess we'll have to see.  I remarked to the weary doctor that the time would come in a few years that she and her husband would be sitting home on a Saturday night while all three kids were on dates, wondering why it was so quiet!

And she said she would miss what's going on right now.  That's the difference, right there, as I see it!

Big difference!

I saw that guy Rick Santorum, the former senator from the state of Pennsylvania, on TV the other morning.  I was flipping around and, I don't know, maybe the batteries need replacing in the remote, but it got stuck on one of those crazy channels and as I feverishly pressed "Channel UP" I saw Santorum, with that self-righteous smirk on his face, saying, "Barack Obama doesn't believe in freedom of religion.  He believes in freedom of worship!  And he doesn't seem to know that there's a difference."

According to my Merriam Webster dictionary, religion means     " the service and worship of God or the supernatural (2) : commitment or devotion to religious faith or observance"

and worship means "reverence offered a divine being or supernatural power; also : an act of expressing such reverence"

So I don't see a difference.  This is not the 700 Club, I don't go on about your religion, or mine.  But I have to wonder just what point is Santorum, the man who once said,"Many of the Christian faith have said, well, that's okay, contraception is okay. It's not okay. It's a license to do things in a sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be" trying to make when he says religion and worship are different things.

By the way, my contraception license is due to expire in 2081. I got a special extension, so to speak.

And speaking of comedy performers, how about this "it's a whole different thing" from NBC?

NBC’s legendary series “The Tonight Show” is paying tribute to the past, and will change its name when Jimmy Fallon comes aboard in February.

The show, now officially known as “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” is getting a tweak and will become known as “The Tonight Show starring Jimmy Fallon,” according to Deadline.

The change from “with” to “starring” echoes of the early days of the show, when it was known as “The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson.”

So there is a huge diffy-diff between The Tonight Show WITH Jimmy Fallon and the The Tonight Show STARRING Jimmy Fallon?  How many people will say, "You know, honey, I wasn't about to watch that show, what with his forced humor and obsequious efforts to appeal to everyone from cradle to grave,  but now that they say the show STARS Jimmy Fallon, how can we not?"

How can we?  There's a real difference, ain't there?