Tell me about it

Collectors of 911 lore always enjoy hearing my story from just after 9/11/01, when the nation was in the grip of anxiety from people mailing anthrax to others.

And then some joker started sending emails to others, with the message that by opening the email, the addressee had been exposed to anthrax.

And some of those people called 911 to report their exposure.

So you understand the level of concern that unknown powdery substances can bring about in Americans, and justifiably so. Biochemical warfare is a scary thing, and who knows where the next attack might take place?

And that's why the person involved in this story needs to go sit in a corner (of a jail cell) and think about his foolish actions.

A man whose opera mentor recently passed away brought a vial of his cremains to the Metropolitan Opera in New York. And then, during the second intermission to the afternoon performance of Rossini's "Guillaume Tell" ("William Tell"), he sprinkled those ashes into the orchestra pit, forcing Met officials to cancel the rest of the show as well as an evening performance of a second opera.

The New York Police Department said they know who the man is, that he is from out of town, and John Miller, the NYPD deputy commissioner in charge of intelligence and counterterrorism, said the disposal of ashes at an opera house may violate city codes but, "I don't believe at this point that we see any criminal intent here."

One person attending the show requested medical attention, and the general manager of the opera, Peter Gelb, said, "We appreciate opera lovers coming to the Met. We hope that they will not bring their ashes with them."

The investigation meant that the Met had to cancel that evening's performance of another Rossina opera, "L'Italiana in Algeri," ("Algebra is Even Harder in Italian"), another Rossini opera, because of the investigation.

So the well-dressed audience filed in from the intermission, and so did well-equipped NYPD tactical officers.  Shortly thereafter, an announcement was made that there was a delay caused by technical problems, and then, the announcement came that the audience could leave without having to sit there for the fourth act. And people in the seats who were all ready to shout "Bravo!" at the end started hollering that they wanted their money back. 

Just like when a ballgame is rained out, disappointed ticketholders will be allowed to come back another time.

Maybe the Met will hand out William Tell bobbleheads to being the crowd back. 

They had not performed that opera for more than 80 years until this season, which means that while the hit song became known to all as the theme from the "Lone Ranger" tv show.

All cultural references aside, what sort of unthinking goof thinks that spreading the cremated remains of a human being in a public place is a good idea?

In Solidarity

No one should look to me for fashion advice, as my wardrobe never reflects new trends and the latest from the fashion gurus of Paris, Los Angeles, New York, and Asheville.  

Unless cargo shorts, hoodies, t-shirts and ballcaps are suddenly the "new thing."

I didn't think so.

But here's Mr Mark from the House of What's In with a fashion tip:  You're about to see a lot of people wearing a safety pin, and just so you don't have to wonder why, they're wearing them in solidarity with those who may feel put down or left behind all over the world.

It actually began as so many other things did, in merrie olde England, where people for reasons no one seems to understand voted to leave the European Union last summer, and then, once the votes were counted, there was a huge surge in Britons looking up just what "leaving the European Union" meant, in many ways.

And then they all said "Whoops!"

The symbolism is that a safety pin is SAFE, and no threat to other people.  So immigrants, minorities and others who fear reprisals and attack from people favoring xenophobia and small-minded hatred can spot a sheltering soul in someone sporting a pin.

So you will be seeing them in the weeks to come, and my Fearless Fashion Forecast is that people will decorate them in appropriate colors for the upcoming holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and Inauguration Day.)

With hate crimes, schoolkids trooping around shouting intemperate things at New Americans and children of color, and of course good ol' KKK rallies, many feel that standing up as being opposed to these ineffable enormities is the only way to help.  

It's been a while since I read children’s books, but someone named Mo Willems writes them about a character named Knuffle Bunny, and here is KB showing support for the cause. 

Back in my Paleozoic youth, we had childrens' books with characters named Knucklehead and Sluggo and Mike Hammer and Smokey Stover.  Let's hear it for Knuffle Bunny!

Sunday Rerun: By Any Other Name

I think it all started with Bruce Boxleitner.

Boxleitner, the actor, came along in the 1980s and if he wasn't the first, he was among the first of the people from "fair and frantic Hollywood" who did not change their name to something more...more...show-bizzy, like "Brice Box."

Even before that, performers were breaking their necks to run to the courthouse to change their names, which is why you never heard anyone talk about Arnold George Dorsey, the noted singer. He only became "noted" after he changed his name to Engelbert Humperdinck, ripping off the name of the German composer who tossed "Hänsel und Gretel" into the musical oven.  Humperdinck the singer became popular in the 60s, the decade in which it became fashionable to stop naming movies "Dark Obsession" and start calling them "Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feelin' So Sad."

Listen, I lived through all that and I never did get the point. Anyhow, time was when a guy named Arthur Kelm showed up to try his hand at movie acting, and some guy behind a desk puffing on a Cheroot said, through a veil of smoke, "All right, see?  We'll call you 'Tab Hunter'!" 

Bernard Schwartz

Thus did Roy Fitzgerald become Rock Hudson, Bernard Schwartz became Tony Curtis, and Aaron Chwatt became Red Buttons, although I think there would have been a certain great value in going around being named Aaron Chwatt, Man of A Thousand Gags.

Women?  Same deal. Tula Ellice Finklea = Cyd Charisse. Shirley Schrift = Shelley Winters, and Lucille Fay LeSueur = Joan Crawford.

I think there needs to be a Name Commission to decide these names, because I think that "P.J. Clapp" is a far better name for the man we know and love as Johnny Knoxville.  The Knoxville name should have been saved and given to someone who desperately needed a fake moniker.

So hold on, Benedict Cumberbatch!  We'll think of something!

The Saturday Picture Show, November 12, 2016

Once again, a sad lesson for a devotee of tattoos.  This fellow gambled that the Cleveland Indians, the baseball team, would follow the town's basketball team, the Cavaliers, in winning the world title for 2016. As you know, they came in second, making his tattoo a collector's item, like that stamp with the upside-down plane.

This is the patch to be worn on Oriole sleeves this coming season, celebrating 25 years at the ballpark down by the Camden Yards.

A young friend told me this was her favorite poem, and what a great time of year to read "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost. Gold is truly the hardest hue to hold...as you can tell when a windy day blows the trees clear.

Another great part of fall is special snacks, such as donuts made with apple cider.  Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

When I was young, we always had a compost heap in the back yard, where Dad and I would pile leaves and grass clippings.  After a while, it turned to very useful mulch and peat moss. It you found yourself outside on a cold day, sticking your hand into the heap would warm it right up!  The decay of the organic material produced heat.

And here is what Autumn looks like at a 200-year-old mill in France.

Five million people attended the Cubs' World Series victory parade.  It's not known how many of them were getting tattoos at the very moment this photo was snapped.

We had to sing a song in elementary school about the "Kookaburra" (Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree. Merry, merry king of the bush is he. Laugh, Kookaburra! Laugh, Kookaburra! Gay your life must be.) They are terrestrial tree Kingfishers of the genus Dacelo, and live in Australia and New Guinea, and if you wish to hear what they sound like, click here!

Too much time on our hands

Up in Delaware, there used to be a fall thing called the Punkin Chunkin, in which food that could go to better purpose is fired into the air from an air cannon.  But they stopped having it for a couple of years, because someone whose job it was to scoot around in an ATV to measure how far cannons have shot pumpkins was injured when the ATV flipped over.  

So, no Punkin Chunkin for two years while that dragged through the courts, and now it's back, and they had it this past Sunday, and it had to end early because an air cannon broke apart and a woman was injured very seriously.  She is still in critical condition, as of this writing.

These air cannons shoot pumpkins over 3,000 feet!  And people go to see it happen! 

And a piece of this infernal machine the size of a car door hit the woman in her head and face. 

At first, Delaware State Police reported she had died. A man was also injured, but not as seriously.

It's up to all of us to decide how to pass a leisurely Sunday afternoon, but how can this be fun, and how can such an unsafe practice continue?  Did no one foresee that mighty machinery being operated in a crowd might be a little dangerous?

The news story I saw about this stated that The Science Channel had a crew there to record a three-hour program about the Chunkin festival to be shown the Saturday after Thanksgiving, which means there is an audience for people who wish to see gourds flying in the air and splattering on the ground half a mile away.

For the record, before the tragic accident, the leader of the competition was the trebuchet called Colossal Thunder, entered by high school welding teacher Corey Winesburg, from Afton, Oklahoma, who brought six students with him.  Their pumpkin flew 2,625 feet.

"Our detectives are currently working the scene establishing any witnesses and talking to those witnesses looking at the apparatus we also have specialized units from outside the agency that are coming in to inspect the cannon and this is an active ongoing investigation," said Corporal Gary Fournier of the Del. State PD.

A spokesperson from The Science Channel had no comment when asked if they would still have a show about all this.  

As a reminder, public libraries are open six or seven days a week.

In China, as everywhere

The latest news from China: 

A young man reportedly trying to impress two women was wrestled to the ground by a giant panda at a Chinese zoo after he entered the enclosure to wake the animal up.

The incident, which was caught on a surveillance camera, happened as the man toured the attraction in Nanchang, east Jiangxi province, with two female friends. 

Wei-Yin Chen
(uninvolved)

What you will notice is that you only had to read the first four words of the first sentence before it all came clear.  Why would this man, whose name is reported to be Chen (one can only hope it's not Wei-Yin Chen!) climb a 4 1/4 foot-high perimeter fence, and then vault over a 10 foot-deep ditch and wake up the sleeping giant panda Mei Ling?

To impress two women.

The panda weighs 266 pounds. He grabbed Chen by the legs and tossed him down like you or I would discard a 1/2-eaten bag of popcorn.  Then, with both his pants and his plans to look like a bigshot in front of his girl friends (not girlfriends) torn all to heck, he ran like a thief in the night.  

"The young man left the zoo right after he escaped and we could not get in touch with him," said Kuang Huaming, the deputy head of the zoo.

"On the other hand, we also arranged medical checks for the panda and told the breeders to closely observe its condition. So far the panda is fine."

OF COURSE the panda is fine.  The only problem the panda will have after an encounter with a human fool is indigestion.  Oh, and crankiness from being awakened by a human fool. 

Haming also said that Chen was very lucky that the panda was in the mood just to play with him. Had he been a cranky bear that day, Chen's companions would be visiting him in a hospital - or worse.  If they even still cared.

If you are a young woman, please allow me to be the one to tell you that men, for the rest of your life, will do things so stupid as to rule out any reasoning, for the sole purpose of trying to impress you.  These things will range from riding a bicycle with no hands on the handlebar to, later in life, drinking too much, driving 107 mph on the interstate at 3 in the morning, and pretending to enjoy the music of Bon Jovi.

Please be gentle with them.  They cannot help themselves.

I don't see a Buick

I bow to no man in my disdain for auto racing, since I don't think it's a sport to drive a car too fast, any more than sewing, changing light bulbs, or sanding spackled walls are spectator sports.

At least he was wearing his glasses

But on the other hand, I don't call for it to be eliminated from society, either.  You want to drive somewhere to sit for four or five hours and watch other people drive, go have fun.

But I wish that Dale Earnhardt, Jr, was a little more judicious in the way he drives, and replies to people.

You see, Earnhardt, Jr, one of the most popular people out there on the NASCAR circuit, is not currently speeding around the oval tracks of the nation in his #88 Chevrolet because he's been experiencing concussion-like symptoms since July. The concussions have knocked him out of the race, so to speak.

So, on Sunday, Dale was driving his Buick to a race in Texas, and he was pulled over for speeding.

Of course, he got off with a warning, but his fiancee tweeted out a picture of a police officer giving Jr a warning.

Seems to me that most people on the highways and byways are under the impression that they are NASCAR drivers, zooming around, zipping from lane to lane and generally exhibiting poor driving technique.  That's not a good thing in a country where 38,300 people were killed and 4.4 million injured on the roads last year.

So.  Someone tweets DE Jr and asks how fast he was going when pulled over.

And, seeing the opportunity to send a message about safe and sane driving habits, Dale Earnhardt, Jr, Buick driver, said, "Not fast enough."

Thanks, Dale.  I hope I'm never on any road with you.

Vote - or don't complain

I remember reading about a mayor of some town who was too busy to vote on election day, and lost by one vote.

If he, whoever he is or was, is still around, he could tell you how important it is that you vote tomorrow (if you have not done so already, as 800,000+ citizens in the great state of Maryland have in early voting).

To me, it's unthinkable that someone wouldn't vote. I know, I've heard people saying, "It doesn't make a difference if I vote or not," but I figure if every grain of sand decided not to show up one day, there would be no beach.

Americans are proud to celebrate Memorial Day, honoring those who laid down their lives in battle to keep our amazing way of life intact, and Veterans' Day and the Fourth of July and all patriotic celebrations.  In fact, when arguments break out, we often hear people cry, "I have the right to say this!"  And you do, because our American freedoms exist, and the right to vote is one of the most dear.

Go back to, say, 1860...certain segments of the population could not vote. It wasn't until 1870 that the 15th Amendment to the Constitution gave African-American former slaves the right to vote, and even then, the vote was suppressed by local laws and intimidation until the Voting Rights Act of 1965.  I mean, they forced people to take "voter literacy tests" to keep voting down. I daresay most Americans today of any background could not pass this test.

Women were not allowed to vote until ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920.  There are people alive today who can remember a day when only men could decide the future of the nation.  That's stunning.

But, even these insane indignities aside, everyone should vote. How can someone complain about anything, from the role of America in the world today, to how the local rec & parks dep't. maintains the soccer fields, if they did not take part in the selection process to choose the women and men who decide how to attack ISIS or the rocky soccer field?

Tomorrow, we vote, and Wednesday (barring recounts, hanging chads and legal challenges) half of us will be happy and half will be mad.  Both of those feelings will pass, but the obligation to take part in the proceedings never fades.

Please don't fail to vote.

I guess that's why they call it the blues

I have one thing to say about this trend of young people today dying their hair blue:

I don't care.

I see kids all the time, going around with multicolored melons, sometimes variegated like a parrot, sometimes all one color. There are as many shades of blue as there are teenagers.  With colors like Air Force blue, Azure, Baby blue, Blue-gray,  Carolina blue, Cerulean, Indigo, Iris, Navy blue, Periwinkle, Royal blue, Sapphire Sky blue and all the way on down to Viridian, there are plenty of choices for the modern person who wants their hair to be some color other than what genetics put there.

When I was a barefoot boy with cheek of tan, my hair was so blonde, it almost looked white. So I didn't have to resort to the custom of dark-haired guys of my day: they would empty the contents of a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on the front of their hair to have their bangs all blond. Why they didn't just tint ALL their hair was never quite clear to me, although it did save a lot of guys from walking around looking like Guy Fieri, which would not have been a good thing even then.

But a little peroxide for guys and some frosting for girls and the occasional all-the-way to Clairol Light Golden Blonde or Pure Diamond for some girls, and that was the extent of hair chemistry in my day, and meanwhile I saw my own hair turn from that blonde to a ratty brown, and now nature has seen fit to continue using my head as a kaleidoscope, and it's gray.  Not that Mike Pence White, and not the George Clooney cool kind of gray. And not that salt-and-pepper look from the Grecian Formula ads, the ones that promise aging hipsters a chance to come back to work after vacation leaving coworkers stunned...STUNNED!...that anyone would think they wouldn't know the secret.

One of the immutable laws of nature is that no man can ever tell when a woman has dyed her hair, and no man can dye his hair at all without everyone from five-hour-old babies to soundly sleeping nonagenarians spotting it at fifty paces.  I mean, really.  Guys who dye their hair might as well wear a tiara with diamonds spelling out "DYE JOB", because it's that obvious.

But here's the point I was hoping to make.  A woman I know has a daughter in high school, a young lady of considerable accomplishment, with good grades, plenty of participation in the right activities, just one of those good kids that you know is headed for academic and personal success.  You know the kind of person I mean.  Not the sort that I, a total stranger to the honor roll review committee, was, but anyway...

Someone - some "adult" stranger - chose to cluck-cluck and shake her head and mumble some pejorative words when this sterling young woman took a notion to dye her hair blue before the start of the school year.

She did not get a swastika tattoo across her forehead. She did not get a pistol and rob a 7-11, or commit massive cheating on college boards, or steal a car and get all shahfahzed and run over a passel of orphans waiting for a ride to a fresh-air camp.  

She dyed her hair, which will grow out and flourish.

I hope we can say the same for the crabby, grumpy woman with enough time to criticize the free spirit of a fine young lady.




 

Sunday Rerun: Daffy Moon

No decent blog, written by a person with any taste of sense of elegance, would devote a day to such an unsavory topic as mooning.

And so, I would like to turn to the topic of mooning.  Our friend April caught this great picture of the supermoon the other morning. As we all know from reading Wikipedia, "a supermoon is the coincidence of a full moon or a new moon with the closest approach the Moon makes to the Earth on its elliptical orbit, resulting in the largest apparent size of the lunar disk as seen from Earth. The technical name is the perigee-syzygy of the Earth-Moon-Sun system." 

 Daphne Moon of "Frasier"

Like we didn't all know that. Even as I write, I'm gettin' syzygy wit it, and I welcome you to join me.

Mooning is described as "the recreational act of baring one's ass in public with the intention of it being seen by people who don't want, or expect, to see it."  It was practiced by many young men of my generation, who would wait for the light to turn red at Dulaney Valley Rd & Pot Spring Rd and then stick their buttocular region out of the window of Bob P's English Ford, leaving people driving Buicks aghast, I tell you.

Bart

Angus does this at
every show

I can't mention any names; I wasn't there anyway.  I was home studying.




Modern followers of hangin' a moon include Bart Simpson and AC/DC madcap Angus Young, who hedges his bet with self-promoting underwear.  As I mentioned to our April the other day, Peggy and I were married for a few years before she announced that she had never once mooned anyone and certainly had no intention of starting now.

I understand that the habit of pressing ham against a car window began when our parents, using the old-school definition of the term, told us, "You can't sit here mooning over that girl, you know" and so we went elsewhere to do our mooning.  I mean, they went elsewhere.  I stayed home studying my hypotenuse.

The Saturday Picture Show: Presidential Special! - November 5, 2016

The capital of Liberia, Monrovia, was named for James Monroe, who was a major advocate for that country's freedom.

 
When Andrew Jackson died, they had to remove his parrot from the funeral, because he had taught the parrot to curse like... a crazy cursing parrot.



We can thank Martin Van Buren for the widespread popularity of the term "OK."  He came from Kinderhook, NY, a town also called “Old Kinderhook”. His supporters formed groups that were known as “O.K. Clubs” and from that, "OK" came to mean "all right."



Anticipating the current fervor for term limits, James Polk << ran for his first term with a plank in his platform being that he wouldn't seek another.





Not only was James Garfield >> the first president to be ambidextrous, he could also write in two languages at once - Latin in his right hand, Greek in the left. 

Chester A. Arthur owned 80 pairs of pants. It is reported that he only wore one pair at a time. I worked with a guy once whose first name was Chester and middle name was Arthur.  I asked him if he had been named for the president and he said, "Which one?"








Warren G. Harding >> was such an inept gambler that he lost the entire White House china collection on one hand of poker.

900 Wilson Point Rd Middle River MD 21220

On the other hand, Richard Nixon funded his first congressional campaign with $6,000 that he won playing poker as a Navy lieutenant. BONUS NIXONIA: in 1945, he lived at 900 Wilson Point Rd in Middle River, Baltimore County, as he finished his Navy service working as a lawyer settling terminated warplane contracts with the Glenn L. Martin Co across the street.

President Nixon (left) with The King