Act Naturally

Worldly and sophisticated, I am certainly no stranger to the Seven Lively Arts (music, literature, drama, painting, dance, conversation and Fleming) but I remain as a child, in awe of the masters of each.  If I could write or perform music, write great books or plays, act in a movie or play, tap dance like Danny Effing Kaye, conduct colloquies with the likes of world leaders and those who should be, and remember to give my answer in the form of a question, I'd be one well-rounded citizen.  

And yet, given enough time, I could learn to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb" on the harmonica, write some short story that might hold someone's interest for three minutes (Opening line: "Spring comes late to Carney."), smear some paint around in the impressionist manner, or talk with Obama or Castro.  But acting? No. Forget it. Couldn't do it.

We tend to forget that there is such a thing as acting; at least, I forget it.  We see stars such as, oh let's say, John Travolta.  We first saw him as Vinnie Barbarino on "Welcome Back, Kotter" and every role since has been sort of variation on that theme.  We had Greaser Vinnie in "Grease," Disco Vinnie in "Saturday Night Fever" and so on down the line, right up to Goon Vinnie in "Get Shorty" and Firefighter Vinnie in "Ladder 49."  And listen, people still want to see him in movies, so it's all good.

Old timers like Phil Silvers - cocky, strutting, wiseacre burlesque comics - were in movie after movie, always pretty much the same guy, too...a cocky, strutting wiseacre buddy with Victor Mature, or a cocky, strutting wiseacre Army sergeant. 

Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay!

On the other hand, I had always heard that Meryl Streep was a great actress, able to assume different personae in different movies.  Of course, you could have been handing out $100 bills to the audiences of "Sophie's Choice" or "Kramer vs Kramer" and I would still be without a $100 bill.  True, Peggy was able to inveigle me into seeing "The Bridges of Madison County," although I spent the entire movie hoping that Clint would suddenly turn into Dirty Harry and just go really Mad-ison, but no.  

Then, I went to see Garrison Keillor's movie "A Prairie Home Companion," and there she was, a New Jersey girl playing the part of a country singer from Minnesota! And then,  we watched "The Devil Wears Prada," and she was acting like a completely different human being!   I said, "Peggy, this shrewish harridan is nothing like Yolanda Johnson from Mr Keillor's movie!"

And Peggy, with the tenderness that we use to explain to children that Superman is just a made-up character, told me that she was able to appear to be different people by acting!

Phil Silvers! Phil Silvers! Phil Silvers!

Well, cut off my legs and call me Shorty!  Here's to all those who can do this sort of thing!  I can't act like anyone other than myself, which some will be quick to point out is a tragic shortcoming.  Here's to Meryl Streep.  And Phil Silvers, too.

A little about a lot

Still plowing through Keith Richards's autobiography "Life," and it's just a walloping hearty meatloaf of a book.  I read every word as a young seminarian reads the words of a bishop.  And for those who have ever had to work with someone who is annoying, self-centered to the point of ignoring all those he considers "beneath" him, controlling, and imbued with the feeling that he and he alone is the reason for the success of the entire group, I can only say, be glad you don't work with Mick Jagger, as Keith has done for over fifty years.  Now, it is true that Keith chose to be absent, if only mentally, for a dozen or so of those years, so avid was his drug consumption, but still.  To read that Mick Jagger can board an airplane and be greeted by baggage handlers, musicians and other members of the touring party, only to walk past them as if they did not even exist, is hardly surprising, but still.  And to read that Keith once picked up a lurid sex novel and found that it was written by one "Brenda Jagger," leading Keith to refer to Mick as "Brenda" to this day, makes me realize that it doesn't matter where you work.  Cleaning out grease traps in an abattoir, or playing guitar for thousands for millions, when you work with a butthead, you've got to do something about it!

...Did you ever stay home from school in 4th grade and then come back the next day to find that everyone else had learned to do fractions, and realize that you now have one arm tied behind your back, figuratively, forever?  I just have to say that a lot of people skipped the lesson in Driver Ed about how to merge onto a highway.  You don't just sail onto the interstate without slowing down or yielding the right of way!  And yet, every time that misfortune finds me on the dreaded Baltimore Beltway, immortalized in "Die Hard 4: How Long Can This Go On, Already?" as "The 6-9-5," I see minivan Moms and pick-'em-up Pops blowing off the ramps and right on into the lanes, often at the expense of jittery Joes who are just trying to get OFF the doggone superslab.  Same thing with traffic circles, those vortices of doom that dot our area:  if you're on the road, you have the right of way.  Those wishing to get on the traffic circles, which are really just teeny little Beltways, after all, need to wait til the current occupants depart, often in one piece.

...I had a friend of ten years who decided not to be a friend any more at all.  It was odd.  And the friendship ended in a way that was not even imaginable ten years ago. I found out that this person chose to end our friendship by un-friending me on Facebook, and then I got a text msg from her mother, informing me in 160 characters or less that her daughter no longer needed my friendship, support or help.  Well, look. In these days when such news is delivered electronically, or back in the cave-dweller era when rudimentary grunts were the only mode of speech, now as then, if someone doesn't want to be your friend any longer, there's no use in asking them to still be one.  

But I like metaphors and pictorial representations of feelings and moods, and it wasn't until I saw part of The Shawshank Redemption that I saw something that captured the shock and stupefaction that one feels upon receiving the news that the same person who made you laugh and feel good can do just the opposite in 160 characters or less. 

And this is how it feels to look into the abyss left behind when a friendship leaves town.  

What the hell.  We all shine on!

Do I dare to eat a peach?

Legendary bandleader and guitarist Duane Allman, founder of the Allman Brothers Band and the guy who supplied those wailing slide guitar notes on Eric Clapton's "Layla," was tragically killed in a motorcycle wreck in October, 1971, so there's no telling how great he might have been in the years since, or how many other tremendous performances he had left to give.

But you know what else is interesting? He would not pose for a photograph!  After he reached a certain point of being recognized in public, he just figured, if people want to take a picture of me, they may, but he sure as shootin' wasn't gonna stand there grinning like a fool while shutterbugs snapped away.

Duane could play guitar like nobody's business, and he had quite a business playing for others, Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, Boz Scaggs and B.B. King among them.  He was a simple, humble Southern guy who liked to play his guitars, fish, ride his motorcycle and be left alone.  And even though he was around at the time of the tumultuous social upheaval in this country, he was not out there on anyone's front line of revolution.  Asked about his philosophy, Duane, whose father was a career Army sergeant killed by a hitchhiker, said, "There ain't no revolution, only evolution, but every time I'm in Georgia, I eat a peach for peace."   

And the surviving members of the band went on to call the album released shortly after his death "Eat A Peach."

But I bring this all up because I would not like to be in show business and have to stand around posing for photographs every time I showed up for the Oscars® or one of Kelsey Grammer's frequent weddings or a supermarket opening.  Yet, it's all you can see in the papers and on line: the stars in their finery, flashing the piano-keyboard grin and posing like nuts.  And the cameras and the flashes go crazy.  And people are calling their names like mad.

And the other night, Peggy wanted to see the red-carpet arrivals at the Grammys, where these days, one is rewarded for selling lots of music by being subjected to an interview with Ryan Seacrest.  It was sad because as he relentlessly grilled luminaries such as P. Diddly, or whatever he calls himself this week, and Justin Bieber, we saw Cyndi Lauper walk by, without a soul paying her any attention.  In her heyday, they would have pursued her for two blocks to find out which colors she used in her hair, and now her heyday is over, and no one even says "hey." 

Seacrest always asks, "Who are you wearing?" and I would have to answer this way: "That should be 'whom' are you wearing, and it's Eddie Bauer."  And then he would turn and greet the arrival of Steve Lawrence.

Ring finger, left hand: Coricidin bottle

And one last thing about Duane Allman, in case you think that having a cold is always the worst thing that could happen.  In 1968, Duane had a cold, and his brother Gregg brought him a bottle of Coricidin pills.  You remember those, those red pills that did nothing for your cold but everyone took them anyway?  Duane found the best use for Coricidin in the glass bottle of yesteryear.  He emptied out the pills, stuck the bottle on his finger, and used it to make those beautiful slide guitar sounds.  Listen to him play here.  Those notes that sound like teardrops falling?  That's the best picture of Duane there is!

President company excluded

The President of the United States of America, Barack Obama, came to a local middle school near us on Monday to check out the students' progress and their use of today's burgeoning technology.  It was a proud moment for our town, and the kids in the classroom enjoyed seeing him and interacting, from all accounts.

Parkville PATCH
photo

But on the Parkville-Overlea PATCH - which is an online news source that AOL recently began, and which, if your town does not have one, you should hope they do soon! - the reporter tells us that some people gathered to protest the president, which is of course their right.  I mean, you can walk around with a sign and crab about the fact that the man eats oatmeal for breakfast, if you wish, and that is your right as an American citizen, or it's your sworn task if you are a commentator on FOX news.  

But notice that one woman from 30 miles up the road in Edgewood was down here to complain about BHO's policies, because she is out of work.  She said,"I'm here because I'm unemployed.  It's unbelievable. It's his policies that I object to."

I have been unemployed in my lifetime and it was a few of the worst weeks I've ever known.  I spent that time finding another job.  Onetime movie actor Ronald Reagan was in the White House at that time, but rather than spend my time carrying signs about him, I carried my resume around and found another job.

To the lady from Edgewood: I am sorry that you are out of work.  It's not unbelievable, sad to say.  There are always people out of work, and I think that those who have jobs today should be grateful not to be in their number.  What's more, hiring in this country is done between 9 and 5, M-F, so I don't think you are working as hard as you might be toward finding more work if you're passing your Monday mornings complaining about the president. 

But...when I was teaching, years ago, a student was telling me that getting a job was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time, it's all in who knows who, and he didn't have a chance...etc etc etc.  I asked him how he spent his free time after school, and he said he mainly stayed home and watched TV.

Since you rarely, if ever, hear of people going door-to-door offering work to people otherwise engaged in watching television, sitting home on the sofa watching sitcom reruns, or marching around picketing the president, are not examples of being in the right place at the right time.  Priorities!  If you need a job, you need to be out there looking for one.  You should spend more time per week trying to find a job than you will actually be on the job once you find one! Decide what you want to be, train and get prepared for it, and knock on doors until people hire you.

After all, that's how Obama got his job!

Slurring his words

From the New York DAILY NEWS, another for your collection of apologies that are only to be taken as apologies if, heaven forbid, you are actually offended by the offensive thing someone said or did:

Mayor Bloomberg sure got their Irish up.

Hizzoner drew jeers when he tried to joke about the Irish's fondness for booze in an impromptu speech to the American Irish Historical Society.

He noted he lived near the Irish society's Fifth Ave. home, and, on St. Patrick's Day, was used to seeing "a bunch of people that are totally inebriated hanging out the window waving," a transcript of the event shows.

Irish "I's" are smiling!

His latest foot-in-mouth gaffe came while speaking at the society's St. Patrick's Day Parade book launch.

Dozens of society members - and the parade grand marshal, author Mary Higgins Clark - gathered to celebrate the debut of a book called "Celebrating 250 Years of the New York City St. Patrick's Day Parade."

Bloomberg was not on the program but was invited to make a few remarks, said society Executive Director Christopher Cahill.

After making his "inebriated" comment, Hizzoner seemed to realize he overstepped the bounds of decency.

"I know, that's a stereotype of the Irish," Bloomberg said to jeers. "Nevertheless, we Jews from around the corner think this."

The remark triggered a handful of boos from the crowd, and several Irish society members' eyes were not smiling that Bloomberg was trading in cultural stereotypes.

"It was ill-advised to make a statement like that," said John Dunleavy, chairman of the St. Patrick's Day Parade committee. "The remarks are highly, highly offensive to any Irish person.

"I don't think he would say a joke like that to any other ethnic group. It was totally uncalled for and unbecoming of the mayor," Dunleavy added.

Bloomberg did some bobbing and weaving Thursday when asked about the comments, which were first reported by IrishCentral.com.

"I certainly didn't mean anything that anybody should take offense to," Bloomberg said.

"I was talking about a party they have every year on St. Patrick's Day, where it's traditional to hang out the window and yell and scream, and it's all in good fun."

Later, he issued a mea culpa in a statement sent to reporters: "I apologize. I certainly did not mean to offend anybody."

The act of contrition was enough for City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, the city's highest-ranking Irish-American politician.

"Given the mayor's long history of support for the Irish community, his remarks last night were both surprising and inappropriate," Quinn said. "I am pleased to hear he has since apologized."

Dunleavy said the impolitic remark would not prompt him to disinvite Bloomberg from marching in the parade, and Cahill said the mayor was still welcome to visit the Historical Society.

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I would like to live long enough to see two things happen:

a) people actually starting to think before starting their lips to flappin'

 2) people who have failed to heed a) would then say, "I'm sorry; I was foolish and inconsiderate" instead of, "Well, I'm sorry IF AND ONLY IF you didn't care for me picking on your ethnic heritage in a public forum.  Jeeesh!  Everyone's so touchy!"

Do you   1) think I will live that long?  or b) want to attend the Parade with Hizzoner?

The Best Blade Plans

Shhh!  Please don't tell the good folks up at Gillette Razors Inc., but something went wrong with their OctoSmoothieSupreme Hawaiian-Jazz Fusion Razor.  At least, the one I am currently using, and have been for about six months.

Now, I'm the first to admit, I am not the most hirsute in the bunch, and so shaving my face is not quite as tough on a razor as, say, removing shellac from an old dining room table with Hepplewhite legs.  But I'm doggoned if I haven't been using the same blade insert doodad since Tisha B'Av (which is in August). I don't know why this is.  Every time I lather up the old face (emphasis on old) I always think, today is the day I will start whittlin' off the whiskers and leave abrasions and contusions on a facial plain that, quite frankly, does not need any more damage done to it.

See how it gleams in the morning sun

But no!  The multi-bladed wonder slices through the face forest like Grant took Richmond (not to bring all that up again...) Like a snowplow in last year's blizzard, like Charlie Sheen at a high school prom, like that guy you always see at a buffet who can balance two plates at a time, the razor makes easy work of my quotidian pruning.  A quick rinse in some lukewarm water is all it asks, then it's back into its ready position in the little jar that holds my toothbrush, all set to be pressed into duty again.


I don't think it was supposed to happen this way.  This is maybe the fourth or fifth newly-installed blade set in this razor, and none of the others lasted this long.  As Oprah® would say, What I Know For Sure is, when I do need to change it, the next razor will give me one, two, maybe four good shaves, and then will slice me dangerously close to the carotid artery.


You guys know what I mean.

Take Me To the Other Side

If you get the chance, please click here and go to the New York TIMES website to read a very nice article about Steven Tyler, and how his "rock 'n' roll affability" is doing so well replacing the acerbic Simon Cowell and his tight t-shirts as star judge in the star chamber known as American Idol.  It's funny; Peggy and I watched AI faithfully for many years and so far this year, we haven't tuned in.  For one thing, the early shows feature a succession of oddballs, lunatics and plain old nutbags, and you sort of feel as if you're picking on the village fool for watching people who are clearly deluded about their ability to carry a tune.

Then again, many people with similar delusions are earning a handsome dollar singing on records, in concerts and in nightclubs, so what do I know?

And when they get down to the serious competition among the two dozen or so finalists, we will probably watch again.  But one night we happened to tune in to the last few minutes of the show.  We were getting ready to watch FOX45 News At Ten.  There must have been a snowstorm going on and we figured it would be a way to see the weather forecast and also get a good look at Keith Daniels standing at a salt dome as front-end loaders loaded up the back ends of dump trucks with enough salt to line every tequila glass from here to Juarez.  At the end of the Idol show that night they showed a young man whose fiance had been in a car crash and is now, so sadly, afflicted with huge physical challenges.  The TIMES article goes on about the affecting way that Steven Tyler (real name: Stephen Tallarico) had of greeting the woman and encouraging her. He was most kind, and he showed the bearing of a man who has met thousands of people and put them at ease.  The paper goes on to say that he knows how to do that because he is a professional.

To me, there are few words of higher praise than to be called a "professional."  It indicates that someone has been down this road a few times and knows what she or he is doing, and can handle the unexpected as well as the expected.  Let's face it: everyone loves young people and hopes they do well as they embark on their careers, but who wants to be the first patient for a brand-new brain surgeon?  Put me in the hands of someone who knows what to do when something goes south.  

A pro is one who can handle everything that comes their way with equanimity and grace.  That's when you can really spot a professional: when a curveball comes their way.  I think of that goofy weather guy Chad Myers on CNN when Katrina was hitting the Gulf and how he tossed a little hissy (and his clipboard) as Carol Costello literally begged him to explain things in terms that could be understood by breakfasting Americans who do not hold advanced degrees in meteorology.  Watch him - it's the best definition of unprofessionalism I can offer.  

A professional is where he or she is supposed to be at the time he or she is supposed to be there, trained, prepared and ready.  Have you ever had an appointment with someone who was not there at the appointed time, and then strolled in fifteen minutes later, wheezing about the traffic, or the lack of dry towels at the gym, or who parked in their private parking spot?   

So, big ups to Steven Tyler.  He was really nice to another person, and that's a rare thing.  You can see the entire sequence right here and know that he's the kind of man who can step out of his flamboyant persona and reach out to another person who really needs a boost. 

Dance In Your Pants

I don't know much about the currently popular hit music, but from scanning the titles of the songs that ride atop the charts, I see an awful lot of Sturm Und Drang in just the titles of the songs.  Any time that a society's favorite songs include something called " 'F' You" by the cheery Cee-Lo Green, and "What The Hell," by Canadian teen-forever Avril Lavigne is a good time to say, hey, come on, get happy!

So I got to thinking, where are the dance hits? There hasn't been a dance hit on the charts since the days of "The Lambada" and "Tango # Five" over a decade ago. Not that I could ever dance, nor was there any great demand among the young women of our town for me to demonstrate my terpsichorean skills, but I know that songs like "Land of a Thousand Dances," made popular by both Cannibal And The Headhunters  and by Wilson Pickett - a song in which no fewer that sixteen different dance steps are mentioned - could get couples back on the floor, shaking their groove things, as it were.

The dances mentioned?  The Pony ("like Boney Maronie!"), the Watusi, the Slop, the Chicken,  the Alligator, the Twist, the Fly, the Jerk, the Tango, the Yo-Yo, the Mashed Potato, the Hand Jive, the Bop, the Fish, the Popeye and the Sweet Pea.  You had to know all those steps just to be allowed in the gym for a Friday Night Teen Center.  There were adults at the door, selling cokes and donuts and monitoring the dancing.  Not for nothing did they have that scene in "Grease" about how any couple doing vulgar or suggestive dance moves would get the boot.  In some places, adults walked around with a sawed-off ruler to make sure that a 7" gap was in place between each guy and each girl, lest accidental arousal occur.  Later on, when it was discovered that the average teenage male could achieve ten-hut status over the cartoon image of Wilma Flintstone, the rulers were discarded in favor of baking salt peter into the doughnuts.

"Dirty Dancing"

The Fish was a dance move of unbridled libido, banned in most schools and malt shoppes, as the main step involved simulated upright coitus.  For some reason, in our part of Baltimore it was known as the "Bodie Green."   That was the dance that made Eve Arden blanch in "Grease."  This was the original "forbidden dance of love," long before the Lambada came along.


Teen Centers have gone the way of all things from the 60's, leaving today's hormonally-charged youth to cluster in eddying knots of testosterone or estrogen in the malls of our nation.  I say, let's get the kids together, teach 'em to Hand Jive, and things will be better soon.  As Avril would say, what the hell?

OMG!

Lee De Forest

Friends and neighbors, you never know what you can learn.  You have to pay attention, though.  It's said that radio pioneer Lee De Forest was a very sloppy man, and lived in a house so full of junk and old radio parts that friends who came to call often went away, believing that he was not at home.


From this, we get the old expression "You can't see DeForest for debris."

Speaking of which, there's a song by Harry Nilsson called "Good Old Desk."   It was on his album "Aerial Ballet," which he named in honor of his grandparents, who were Swedish circus performers who did an act called Aerial Ballet on trapezes.  I learned that by watching the documentary on Nilsson called Who is Harry Nilsson? (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him) and you know what else I learned from watching that DVD?

Harry Nilsson

The Good Old Desk he was talking about stood for GOD! Now, Harry went on to lead an interesting life.  When he first came to notice as a songwriter, he was working the 3-11 shift at a bank in Los Angeles.  Back when computers were new-fangled, he was one of the new fanglers, and he stuck with that bank job until The Monkees recorded "Cuddly Toy."  Then, he felt safe to go into show business full time, and he did some good business for a few years, but fell into an embarrassing lifestyle of drinking and drugging and getting thrown out of nightclubs along with his running buddy John Lennon for heckling The Smothers Brothers.  I mean, really.  


It was a shame that he fell to that depth, but by the time of his death in 1994 (aged 53) he had come back from bankruptcy, a blown-out vocal cord and a sharp drop in record sales to have a happy marriage, complete with six kids who adore him to this day along with his widow.  


And now I listen to the Good Old Desk song:

My old desk does an arabesque, in the morning when I first arrive.
It’s a pleasure to see it's waiting there for me to keep my hopes alive.
Such a comfort to know it’s got no place to go, it’s always there.
It’s the one thing I’ve got, a huge success, my Good Old Desk.

My old desk never needs a rest, and I’ve never once heard it cry.
I’ve never seen it tease, it’s always there to please me from nine to five.
Such a comfort to know, it's dependable and slow, but it’s always there.
It’s the one friend I’ve got, a giant of all times, my Good Old Desk.

My old desk isn’t picturesque, but it’s happy as a desk can be.
We never say a word, but it’s perfectly alright with me.
For when my heart's on the floor, I just open the drawer of my favorite guest.
And what do I see? But a picture of me working at my Good Old Desk.

And I realize what he meant, all those years ago, before his life became an aerial pandemonium.  Nice to see the spiritual message behind a happy kinda song. Hope is always alive. 

Baby Boom

I tell you, sometimes I feel like Garrison Keillor, writing these daily bursts.  Not that I have the grasp of the language or the overall mien of the legendary man from Lake Wobegone, but stuff that happens here in our town can be every bit as interesting, or odd, as what happens in that Minnesota version of Brigadoon.

Fans of Krusty the Clown will remember when he sat in the witness stand and bragged about betting on sports games, only to be told by the prosecutor that such conduct was illegal.  "Ohhh Ohhhhhhhhhhhh...." was all the clown, born Herschel Krustofsky, could say.  So did you know that it's illegal to display a lookalike bomb in a public space? 

I mean, besides movies starring Christina Aguilera and Cher?

Tiny bomb tank approaches toilet tank warily

On Monday, a guy placed a toilet outside our county courthouse.  The toilet was not hooked up to the water system, or someone surely would have used it. But it was connected to an old radio and an old cell phone, and it had a petition seeking justice for the murder of a young man out in Illinois, and some newspaper clippings, what the police termed "numerous miscellaneous notes," and so forth. 

This is not the sort of thing that one normally sees while racing to be on time for work for once, so here came the police and the bomb squad, all duded up in their protective garb, but you just know that at least one of them is wearing one of those t-shirts that says, "I am a bomb technician...If you see us running, try to keep up!!!"

It took the local gendarmerie about five minutes to figure out what was going on here, and they have arrested a man who operates a pit beef stand up the road a piece.  The man said he decorates toilets as fund-raising objets d'art but knew nothing about this instant case.   I don't know about the decorated toilets - most art lovers don't take that sort of thing sitting down - but there is nothing that says "Baltimore, hon!" like a pit beef stand.  For the benefit of our many reader in far-flung states, pit beef is what you get when you get a round roast and cook it over charcoal, then slice it up and put slices on a roll or rye bread with onion and bar-b-q sauce and horseradish.  You get a round for $20 and make 87 sandwiches out of it, each selling for $6.50.  Profit margin is high.  Customer satisfaction, the same.

It's said that the concept of getting beef and selling it on the side of the road in a wooden lean-to was inspired by The Beach Boys...remember their 1964 hit, "I Get A Round"?

Anyway, the beef salesman told a reporter he couldn't talk; he was headed to the courthouse to renounce his citizenship.

Ironically enough, he might have other business in that same courthouse soon!

And that's the news from Baltimore County, where we are flushed with excitement.  Pass the horseradish, if you will...

Broad Stripes and Bright Stars

I shouldn't make this assumption but I guess I will.  I mean, is it fair to deduce that the entertainers who sing in the Super Bowl pregame and 1/2 time show are told in advance that they will be performing at the game?  By way of proof, I have to figure that the Black Eyed Peas don't usually sit around dressed as they did for the game, and were not sitting at home chomping on Doritos when the call came to get down to the stadium and do a medley of their hit.  

Being for the Benefit of Ms Aguilera

So along those lines, this open letter to Christina Aguilera: The Star Spangled Banner was written in 1814, here in Baltimore, so that has given you plenty of time to learn the lyrics, young lady.  This is not third grade, although I would hope that most third-graders could sing the first verse of our national anthem without screwing up the lyrics.  You can click here if you want to see it again, how she kerfuffled her way through the most important song in our patriotic repertoire.   Instead of singing, "O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?" she sang, "What so proudly we watched at the twilight's last gleaming?"  And then, after the game, she issued a statement explaining her lyrical mishap. 

"I can only hope that everyone could feel my love for this country and that the true spirit of its anthem still came through," she said.

'C' You real soon!

I can understand nerves, even for someone who has been a spotlight performer since her days as a Mousekeeter with Britney and Justin.  And everyone makes mistakes, myself more than most.  But please, spare us that "look how patriotic I am!" excuse, and just say, "I screwed up! I got the words all wrong!  No matter how patriotic I am or am not, the point is, I got the words wrong.  Sorry!"  

How refreshing that would be!

Meanwhile, for those who have been invited to sing the anthem at Bingo halls, youth soccer opening days, and Sarah Palin's inauguration,  clip and save:

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

 

Pan American

Some twenty years ago our good friend Lisa gave us an old-fashioned frying pan - the cast-iron kind - along with the fixin's for a great pizza.  (Fry up some sausage in the pan, spread out some bread dough in the pan, top with toppings, bake in pan and love it love it love it!)

We love the pan too.  People worry about Teflon® and Stik-No-More artificial surfaces on aluminum pans, and you have to think...after a year or so, the slippery surface is wearing thin, and where did it all go?  Were you eating chemicals along with your homemade "Eggs Derelict"?   There is some concern about a chemical called PFOA, and while I have no idea what the story is there, I am relatively sure that PFOA does not stand for Pretty Fine Organic Additive.  If I'm wrong, I will either stand, or sit, corrected.

So I recommend getting away from the non-stick surfaces, and also, this ain't the Ritz and I ain't Anthony Bourdain, so I am not about to use plain metal pans that have to be scoured every time I sauté an onion.  Go with the cast-iron skillet and build up a "seasoning" on the cooking surface.  It's easy to clean and it makes everything taste all home-skillety.

EVOO!!!

Take my pork chops!  Just toss some chops in a plastic bag with some flour, bread crumbs, garlic and onion and a little Italian seasoning, and throw a little EVOO in the pan...then put it in the oven, put 'em on the table, and stand back out of the way! (Congratulations if you remember that Esskay jingle.)


Take my corn bread!  Mix up some corn meal and milk with a tiny bit of honey and a beaten egg, and have the skillet in the 400° oven while you're mixing.  Then, put on your OveGlove and take the pan out, throw in enough EVOO to coat the bottom, get a pitcher of beer, and pour in your batter.  (You will want to change pitchers if it's a left-handed batter.) (I regret that pun, but I do not take it back.)  Back in the oven goes the pan, and you go looking for the pizza cutter, because in 15-20 minutes, you're gonna be slicing up the best corn bread you ever had!  Crumble it up on some chili you made in the crock pot.  Hint: you can add fresh or canned corn to the batter, unless you are married to someone who doesn't like "other things in (their) food." Kenny Rogers Roasters always did it, is all I know.

Take my reheated fried or rotisserie chicken! It tastes even better reheated in the skillet in the oven or on the range top, which is also where you can use the pan to reheat pizza.


Toasters quit toastin', spatulas only spatulate for a certain amount of time, and heaven knows you can't get a coffee maker to last more than a year or two.  But your cast iron skillet will not wear out or quit working or need replacement! It will last forever, just like our friendship with Lisa!  








         

The Old Quizmaster

 I got this from Robin and from Laura - so herewith, my answers:

Welcome to the new 2011 edition of getting to know your family and friends. Here is what you are supposed to do, and try not to be lame and spoil the fun. Change all the answers so that they apply to you. Then send this to a bunch of people you know, INCLUDING the person who sent it to you.

Some of you may get this several times; that means you have lots of friends. The easiest way to do it is to hit 'forward' so you can delete and change the answers.

Have fun and be truthful!


1. What color are your socks right now?    R-e-double D redd!
2. What are you listening to right now?    Harry Nilsson
3. What was the last thing you ate?   Italian cold cut sub (bad for diet but umm umm good!)
4. Can you drive a stick shift?     Yes and you never forget how!
5. Last person you spoke to on the phone?   Peggy
6. Do you like the person who sent this to you?   Love 'em both
7. How old are you today?  59 heading for 60! I'll be a SEXAGENARIAN!!! 8. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?   football (Roll TIDE!)
9. What is your favorite drink?   iced tea or iced beer
10. Have you ever dyed your hair?  yes, this fashionable grey is right out of a bottle
11. Favorite food?    Sea
12. What was the movie that u last watched?  Jackass 3-D in theater
13. Favorite day of the year?   Christmas Day
14. How do you vent?    Sing along really loud in the truck (alone) 
15. What was your favorite toy as a child?   Howdy Doody marionette.  It looked like W.
16. What is your favorite season?   Winter, Cold harsh nasty brutal snowy sleety winter!
17. Cherries or Blueberries?    Cherries
18. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back?  yes please
19.  Who is the most likely to respond?   Jonie
20. Who is least likely to?  Dick Cheney
21. Living situation?   Been alive since 1951, currently doing so in a happy house w/ Peggy
22. When was the last time you cried?  1994
23. What is on the floor of your closet right now?  slippas
24. Who is the friend you have had the longest that you are sending to?  Chandler Bing
25. What did you do last night?   took groceries to Mom, visited funeral home for friend's Mom
26. What are you most afraid of?  Dick Cheney
27. Plain, cheese, or spicy hamburgers?  Cheeseburger
28. Favorite dog breed?   mutts are the best
29. Favorite day of the week?   Saturday
30. How many states have you lived in?  1
31. Diamonds or pearls?   baseball diamonds
32. Favorite flower?  Black Eyed Susan
33. What do you wish you could give up?   my 33 1/3% ownership of the new OWN TV Network

The happiest day of the year!

I always make the same joke this time every year by saying that it's easy to remember Peggy's birthday - it's the same as Alice Cooper's: February 4th.  But unlike the onetime shock rocker born Vincent Furnier, Peggy, born Margaret A. Noon, has never done anything shocking in her life, with the exception of marrying me.

This time last year, I had developed some sort of back problem that was to wind up causing me to have surgery in September.  Who do you think it was who, every morning from January through September, as I donned my red socks, would tenderly and lovingly rub my back to loosen it up for another day at the rodeo?  Who would apply salves, unguents, ointments and back plasters to the affected area?  Who did more than I did when it came time to shovel out two immense blizzards?  Who went with me to all the doctor appointments and pre-visits and pre-physicals and orientations ("You and Your Surgery: A Survival Primer") and kept track of all the medications and treatments and I don't know what-all else?  Who slept overnight on a sofa in my room that might have been better suited, size-wise, to a third-grader?  


While I'm on the topic, who takes care of my mother's finances, which are only a little less complicated than Tim Geichner's GM bailout plan?  Who works with my sister to make sure Mom has her pills and even takes some of them every now and then?  Who writes Mom's checks, pays her bills, gets her grocery list to me every Thursday?  


Who's the emotional rock that two siblings have turned to during her brother's recent sudden illness and passage?  


Who's been with the same firm for almost 38 years now and has a sterling work record (and knows where all the files are?)


Who is it that my late father called "the best thing that ever happened" to me?

Whose smiling face begins and ends every day of my life?

Who will be embarrassed by all this heaped-on encomium?


The answer, my friend, is my wonderful Peggy.  You know what happens all the time, when we run into people who know me and not Peggy? They invariably say, "How in the world do you put up with him?" at first.  And then, after a few minutes in her company, they know how her amazing love conquers all.  

I believe in many things. I believe in the infallibility of the Democratic party. I believe in love. I believe that proceeding hopefully is the best way to proceed, and I don't believe in misusing the adverb "hopefully." I believe in trust and faith and in shouting out "Baba Booey! Baba Booey!" at inappropriate times. 

And I believe in predestination, and that a wise and wonderful God sent me a perfect angel to love.  I'm glad that you love her too! That makes her happy, and I believe that anything that makes Peggy's heart glad is a good thing.

Thank you, world, and thank you, Peggy.  Happy Birthday!

A Man-to-Man talk

I know we have talked and talked about the bills being proposed to make same-sex marriage legal in our state.  I don't want to talk about that bill per se, as we all can have our opinions, no matter how wrong.

But the debate sponsored by Dan Rodricks in the SUNpaper, on his midday radio show on WYPR FM and on the pages of Facebook, caused a woman named Diane to write an interesting letter to the editor of the SUN.  Here is what she said: 

Good for Senate President Thomas V. Mike Miller saying he believes that marriage should be between a man and a woman because that arrangement is blessed by God ("Wait just a blessed moment, Mike Miller," Jan. 27). The majority of us still believe that! God has plenty to say against homosexual liaisons in the Bible, and nowhere does it say that He blesses such unions. All I can say to Dan Rodricks is that in the very end (of time), we will see who has this right.

First, I betcha that's not ALL you would have to say to Dan Rodricks about this, but I have to say a couple of things.  The first thing is, I am no Bible scholar, so I am at a disadvantage if people start quoting from Leviticus.  I know I believe in God, and God tells me above all to love everyone.  I am heterosexual and am happily involved in a 37-year "standard" marriage.  During those 37 years, I have seen plenty of marriages between men and women start off fine and end in heaps of acrimonious bickering, amid charges of adultery, drunkenness, physical abuse, mental abuse, and all down the line.  I don't think that's what God had in mind when He talked of marriage, nor did I figure that He favored a 55-hour sham marriage between Britney Spears and some guy she dated in Louisiana just because it was a man and a woman. 


And I have seen plenty of marriages start off great and stay that way.  Is it significant that some of them are man-woman, and some are man-man and some are woman-woman?  When this sinbuster Ted Haggard hires a male prostitute to have sex with and use crystal meth with, and then goes to therapy and comes out pronounced "totally heterosexual," do you worry more about his drug use and his cheating on his wife, or about the fact that he did those things with a man?


When Diane starts talking about "the very end (of time)," I wonder what she is worried about.  If she feels that her marriage and her life can hold up to questioning at the Pearly Gates, than she shouldn't worry about others so much. Because 100% of the good marriages are between two people, and that's all Diane needs to know.  I humbly suggest to Diane that she worry less about what Dan Rodricks will have to answer for, and widen her views a little to allow others a chance to flourish before that great come-and-get-it day rolls around.


I often think of how sad it must be to be scorned just because of the way one chooses to love.  I think of the words of Sammy Davis, Jr., forced to hide his dates with Kim Novak because they were of different races.  Plenty of Dianes back then raised plenty of Biblical objections to mixed-race marriage, and eventually, common sense won out.  But Sammy said that during that relationship, he was panhandled by a seedy, filthy, drunken, intemperate drifter who approached his limousine and asked for money.  Sammy gave him a C-note and then was saddened to realize that Kim could be seen in public with this mendicant with no outcry, just because he happened to be of the same race as she.  

To the Dianes: Live and let love.  Please.

And by the way, you're not supposed to commit adultery either

We talked two times before about this fellow down the road who chose to register his opposition to slot machines in his county by stealing signs supporting slot machines in his county.  The funny thing was, the cops had him on video surveillance tape as he was ripping down one sign, and they found a whole lot of signs - 70, in fact - in his pickup, along with the tools he was using.  You can see the video here - it's always great, just like on "COPS," when you see the law pull up and catch a dude in flagrante delicto (Latin for "with his hand in the cookie jar.")

Well, the election came and went, and the people of Anne Arundel County voted to have slots to put their coins in, so now it's time for the swift hand of justice to deal with all the leftover trials.  Here's the scoop right out of the BMore SUN:

Man accused of stealing pro-slots signs gives check for cost

Lawyer for David Scott Corrigan says $8,740 is not admission of guilt

A Northrop Grumman engineer gave an Anne Arundel County prosecutor a check Friday to pay for signs supporting a slots parlor at Arundel Mills mall that were stolen during last fall's campaign, a move that his lawyer said was not an admission of guilt.

David Scott Corrigan, 50, of Glen Burnie was charged Oct. 23 with property destruction and theft of $1,000 to $10,000. Police said that when arrested, Corrigan had 70 of the signs in the bed of his pickup in addition to one they said they saw him remove by the headquarters of the pro-slots campaign in Severna Park.

The check for $8,740 was "kind of a measure of good faith" and not an admission that Corrigan took down the signs, Corrigan's attorney, James Nichols, said outside the courtroom.

Both sides asked the judge to postpone the trial, which had been scheduled for Friday in District Court in Annapolis. Attorneys were not able to resolve the case with a plea agreement, and Assistant State's Attorney Michelle Smith said one of her witnesses did not come to court.

Later in the day, the court set a new trial date of April 18. "At this point, we are just trying to move past all of this," Nichols said. A conviction could cost his client security clearances he needs for work, Nichols said.
Corrigan previously had told court officials that he makes $160,000 a year as a project manager at Northrop. He has been described by his lawyers as a religious man who does not support gambling and volunteers in the construction of homes for Habitat for Humanity.

Anne Arundel voters approved a ballot question in November to bring what would be the largest slots parlor in Maryland to the county. In recent days, opponents have filed a legal challenge, and the Baltimore-based developer, the Cordish Cos., broke ground for the slots facility at Arundel Mills mall.
 ***************************************** 
You know what I want? I want to be able to commit a crime, no matter how serious, and have the cops catch me in the act, and have evidence of 70 other crimes I seem to have committed in my truck, and then I want to write a check as an "act of good faith" toward those I ripped off. And I want my mouthpiece to say, "At this point, we are just trying to move past all of this."  And I want someone to explain to me how someone thinks he ought to walk on theft charges because being convicted on theft charges could cost him his security clearance.  


I have to say, if I was pulling down 160 big ones per year, I'd have a better lawyer than that.

And then, I'd have someone tell me how a man who purports to be religious can break Commandment Number 8 (Thou Shalt Not Steal). No matter what your cause is, you're not right to try to advance it by committing a crime to do so.  I mean, stealing is not an act of good faith, is it?

Crazy about Lincoln

I read about this in the Washington POST!

Back in the days before computer-printout report cards, the pressure was always on for guys who didn't take the time to learn Spanish subjunctive verbs or the biological phyla, kingdoms and classes of the common earthworms, or the leading causes of World War I, to take their BIC pen and change that 'D' to a 'B'.  It happened all the time, and often, people who did such things were referred to psychiatrists to find out just why they couldn't be bothered to study.

So where do you want to send a psychiatrist who does things like that?  Check this out: this retired shrink, Thomas Lowry, 78, would hang around the National Archives in Washington, DC, and volunteer to sort out and file old documents.  He fancies himself to be quite the expert on the Civil War, which took place between 1861 and 1865, according to guys who did not have to fake their report cards.  In 1865, Honest Abe was shot by John Wilkes Booth, the most famous actor ever to hail from Harford County, MD.  April 14, 1865, in fact, was the date of that assassination.

So Dr Lowry, sorting through age-old sheets of paper, finds a pardon that Lincoln signed for some soldier on April 14, 1864.  And it must have occurred to him what a great piece of historical ephemera it would be, had Lincoln signed that pardon on April 14 of 1865...making it one of the last, if not the last, piece of paper upon which Abraham Lincoln scrawled his John Hancock.

Look fakey to you?

So what he did was, he brought in a fountain pen in 1998 and changed the date!  A volunteer! A psychiatrist!  With a fountain pen, he ruined a piece of history in his effort to become a famous historian, which he sort of was. He wrote a book called "Don't Shoot That Boy! Abraham Lincoln and Military Justice," in 1999, and has written other books since. 

Please!

 The people at the National Archives were vexed and miffed, not to mention irked, by all this.  And when they finally figured it out by checking the date of the pardon in another book, a couple of tough Archive Police showed up at the doc's home and grilled him til he sang like a canary, after first denying that he altered the document.  He even signed a confession, and probably would have waxed their unmarked car just to get them to leave.

You can look at this amazing metamorphosis as the '4' became a '5.' Real good work, Dr Lowry.  Next time, get a middle-school kid to show you how it's done.

But there will be no next time for Dr Lowry, who has been banned from the National Archives for life.  That will give him time to lie down on a sofa and talk to himself about why he does things like this.  I bet his mother never really nurtured him.

And now, in a related story, the people at the National Archives are questioning the authenticity of an iPod that someone claims was the personal property of George Washington.

Where's Charlie? How's Charlie? When's Charlie Coming Back?

I bet her name isn't Kasey at all

Carlos Irvin Estevez, known and loved as Charlie Sheen, is in a rehabilitation facility as we sit reading this, or so we presume.  Just by googling his stage name, we are transported to a make-believe land where cocaine is consumed by the briefcase-full, porn stars with "stage" names such as Kasey Jordan reveal that before spending the night at one of Charlie's all-nighters, she once hung with beloved entertainer Kevin Federline and was given the task of watching Britney Spears's kids while Kevin was off doing whatever it is that he does, and the uncles of sitcom stars express their concern for their nephews by trying to usurp their sitcom roles.

Let's look things over for a second.  

America loves to laugh, and its favorite sitcom is Two and a Half Men, in which Jon Cryer plays the schlamezel younger brother, Angus T. Jones plays the underachieving nephew, and Sheen himself takes on the daunting role of Charlie Sheen.  On screen, the character hardly works, yet earns beacoup dólares, he abuses substances, mounts women in an astonishingly cavalier manner, and conducts his personal affairs in a tattered fashion.

I hate to say it, but except for the "hardly works" part, the show could just as easily be called "Bill Clinton in Hollywood."  Bill and Charlie represent that guy who is in our family, our workplace, sometimes even our home, whose rascally vagabondish ways earn him nothing more than a "tsk-tsk" and a head shaking as it chuckles, "Oh, that Charlie..."

When you're a kid, you can carouse all night, get wasted all the time, fool around and fall in love, and get up for work in the morning with nothing more than a smile.  That's when you're a kid.  Charlie turned 45 last September, and we all hope he will be around to blow out 46 candles, but for that to happen, it seems that he will have to extinguish some other fires within himself between now and then.   

He's heard it from everyone.  His co-star Cryer goes on TV to say that he needs to watch TMZ to get his Charlie status updates.  This should not be. 

Nor should it be that Charlie's uncle Joe Estevez, who has tried to become an actor and director for years now, wrote to the producer of 2.5 Men and suggested that he be hired to assay the role of "Charlie's uncle" for a while while Charlie heads off to rehab. "The show must go on," he figures, "and why not have me starring in it for a while?"

Charlie should look at how his uncle is ready to hop into his recliner the minute he gets up a second for seconds, and think about slowing down the merry-go-round for good.  And now this: Lindsay Lohan is concerned about his condition.  That's the Hollywood we know, when someone's press agent sees your trouble as his client's promotional opportunity.

Listen, Charlie, how about you tell all your coke-smokin' pals and girlie girls who star in movies like "The Porn Identity" that you want to join the rest of us in scorning them?  Tell 'em it's been fun, but you want to grow up now.