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, 12/15/12

 Of course, I would be partial to Jane Parker Fruitcake, as a former A&P employee.  The fact is, I love fruitcake, which makes me a member of a very small but well-fed group.  What's sad is, there are no more A&P grocery stores around here, but if you happen to have an old fruitcake around, don't worry.  Just add a little rum to some cheesecloth, wrap the remaining chunks o' cake in it, and in a day or two, you'll have a fine dessert.

 I love the color known as "rust".  It would appear that these nails were driven into this log before the log was burned, and then someone took a picture that I like just because of the colors. 

 Look at this for a minute and I'm sure you will figure out what it represents...it's a visual alphabet.  Thanks for showing us your 'O' face, Office Space fans!

OK.  So she crossed the road and will soon be on the other side.  And for what? 

Crossing the road'll make you JUMP! JUMP!

I found a way to combine my love of getting books to read for free with my habit of walking in cold air, by walking to the library yesterday afternoon. 

Retirees have all sorts of time for these things, you understand.

On my way home with two books I would not buy, but will read (My Mother Was Nuts by Penny Marshall and Not Taco Bell Material by Adam Carolla) I cut through the parking lot at Carney Elementary School just as a school bus pulled up to discharge some kids.

Crossing Joppa Rd at any time other than maybe 3:30 AM is hazardous at best.  Four lanes wide with a turning lane in the middle, the road seems to remind local motorists of the straightaway at the Daytona 500.  We're a couple of blocks from the speed trap enforcement area over by Spring Avenue, so any chance at a break in traffic is a break we appreciate.  I thought, "This will help me cross the road" as the bus driver put on the flashing red lights that clearly indicate all traffic must stop.

Well, guess what.  Yes, about 6 or 7 cars stopped to let the kids out safely, and allow this old kid with his canvas library sack to dodder across the road.  But two cars zoomed past the big yellow bus with lights aflash as if nothing else mattered but them getting to Wendy's before all the Mozzarella Chicken Supremes were gone. 

So, it's one of two things: either the drivers of these cars did not see the bus and the flashing red lights, or they saw them and did not care one whit about the law.  I mean, don't worry about me.  I've been jaywalking around here for a long time and I know how to avoid that rundown feeling, but the kids!  The kids!

I would bet next week's retirement check that these people, these two drivers, would hop up and down if they thought a pervert or a drug dealer was hanging around the schoolyard.  Anyone would be angry.  But kids had gotten off a bus, and the bus was flashing its lights, and they didn't even slow down, let alone stop.

Even moody actor James Dean knew better than to zoom around like that.

Down the Rocky road

You can go here to see the video of a raccoon being removed from Paul Brown Stadium in beautiful Cincinatti, Ohio on Sunday.

Just how the varmint got into the stadium is unknown at this time.  It's quite possible that one of the Bengals playing in the game had invited him, or possibly he snuck in.

But please take this bit of advice if you find a raccoon roaming through your house, garage or office.  Do not pick him up with your hands.  Don't even attempt to do so.

For one thing, it's wise to regard all free-roaming wildlife as rabid.  They might NOT be, but do you really want to take that chance and get bitten by a raccoon, and then have to undergo a painful series of shots?

For another, wild animals, and raccoons specifically, are known to be represented by law firms based in Beaver Falls, PA.  They will take you to court to fight the removal, and you will lose, and be humiliated when the video of you, hands bandaged, winds up as the "lighter side" story on the nightly news.

So leave the critters alone.  They won't eat much.

Spacey

We didn't know about this until very recently, but with the release of this official government photo, it turns out that the notion that space aliens landed here in the early days of this century, once thought to be only believed by the most outré among us, is now a proven fact.

Pictured here with a former government official, Mr Alien landed somewhere in America and immediately sent for more of his home folk, so as to preclude the need to date and reproduce with local singles.  He was not doing so well with them anyway; the music of A Flock Of Seagulls, so popular back home on Mars, is not regarded as particularly seductive here.  

In the decade since a whole passel of people from REALLY far away joined our nation, they have subtly transformed our society in ways that suddenly make sense now that we know for sure they are here.  Before the damning photo was released, all we could do was ascribe off patterns of behavior to brain softening as a result of watching The Osbournes.

For instance, you might have noticed that of late, people around here are in no hurry to remove campaign signs long after an election is over.  You might also see cars or trucks displaying the stars 'n' bars of the Confederacy, despite the fact that the Civil War ended with them on the losing side, and more important, despite how many people's feelings are hurt at the sight of that flag.  On Mars, no one has feelings, so there are no feelings to worry about, and history can be undone by just waiting for everyone to forget who won wars and elections.

As people who had primo seats out in outer space to see it all happen, the Martians were happy to land in a country that had sent men to the moon (and threatened to send Alice Kramden too.)  It was their idea to start the rumor that the whole thing was a Disney production, faked by the same people who brought you Goofy and Pluto.  Disbelief in the moon landings makes a certain percentage of us goofy too...and that's what the Martians want!

The good news that came out of a Gallup Poll was that more than four out of five Americans realize that the Earth revolves around the Sun.  The bad news, then, was that 18% of the people around whom you live, work, shop and play believe that the Earth is the center of the universe. 

One third of the people in Texas believe that dinosaurs and men roamed the earth at the same time. 

We could go on, but it's clear that we all knew a lot more before the space creatures came and spread crazy rumors and distorted facts.  If we can trick them into going home for a vacation and remain vigilant, maybe they'll stay away and we can get smart again!
  

Coach outlet

So, yesterday, following the Ravens' defensive collapse on Sunday that led to their losing to the Washington Redskins, the club did the appropriate thing and fired their offensive coordinator.  Apparently, their feeling is that this will serve as a warning to the defensive coaches as well.

Cam Cameron was the man fired, and you don't have to look far to see why.  Right along Joppa Rd there is a locksmith named for a famous spring holiday, and their sign along the road had a winter holiday theme the other day: "Ho Ho Ho...Cam has to go."  Cameron, shown here measuring running back Ray Rice for a new cap, bore the brunt of the fans' outrage, because the Ravens have been inconsistent on the field this year.

The NFL is an entertainment consortium, a lot like the movie industry, television, and competitive eating.  People gladly part with with what used to a good week's salary in return for being able to sit in a stadium, pay $25 for a hot dog and a beer, and watch the game.  That's all good for all concerned.

The only part of this that makes me shake the old melon a little is what I hear on the radio and television.  The people who call the sports talk shows say the funniest things in the world!  As in, "Listen, I played quarterback in high school, so I know what I'm talking about here.  What Flacco needs to do is...."

Or..."Cam Cameron don't (sic) know what he's doing.  I guarantee you, any fan could come down, put on that headset, and call the plays much better."

Here in Baltimore, we have a world-renowned neurosurgeon named Dr Ben Carson, who is the #1 man anywhere for separating conjoined twins, and removing brain tumors, and other things that require skill, training, experience, and such.  I'm not saying that sliding a scalpel into someone's medulla oblongata is on a par with deciding whether to throw the ball or hand it off to a running back, but here's one thought.

If Dr Carson's work was discussed on some sort of radio show, and someone called and said, "Listen, I took a lot of first aid training to become a Cub Scout, so I know that he should first have trepanned the dura mater so as to relieve the intracranial pressure," there would be a lot of people pointing out that these things are best left to the experts.  Cameron is a recognized leader in his field, and just because things didn't all work out during his time here, that doesn't mean that he doesn't know more about his business than old Brutus from Arbutus, quarterback for the Bulldogs back in '78.

As Ray Rice himself said yesterday morning - before the firing - on Facebook, "Man, the people are my page are polar opposites - no in between - there are the great fans who support me, my team, and our community....then there are the ones who fill my inbox with cursing, name calling, and game advice. Think you can coach or play better? Maybe the NFL overlooked you by accident.... SMH. ON TO THE NEXT!! #FOCUS"

Maybe the NFL overlooked you by accident.  Classic. 

Later in the day, he posted that he was "Thinking about visiting the workplace of an armchair QB to tell them how to do their jobs even though i have no clue. That might be kind of fun!"

If Ray Rice showed up at your workplace and told you were arresting people wrong or putting out fires inefficiently or writing legal briefs inaccurately or parking your delivery van illegally, you might suggest that you know your business better than he.

And vice versa!

Pranked

Sometimes, you have to let a scenario play out all the way to see it all unfold, and that's the only way to learn about the pitfalls.

Look, everyone loves shock DJs, if only because they say the things that we all wish we could.  When Stutterin' John asked Imelda Marcos if she ever passed gas and blamed the dog, and when he asked Tracy Chapman if she was still in show business, a nation laughed as one, because Imelda and Tracy, being public figures, could take a little gentle ribbing.

And so can The Duke of Ellington, Prince Willie, and his lovely wife, Barfin' Kate.  I don't really think that her morning sickness is any worse than that suffered by millions of women around the world at this very moment on this very morning, and darn few of them are checking into Her Majesty's Public 'ospital, are they, now?

So if those two wacky Australian DJs had been able to call the hospital last week and get Kkkkatie on the phone herself, and prank her into thinking that 'twas Her Majesty ringing on the telly, that would have been a corker, I say.

Nurse Saldanha, RIP

But they didn't get her on the phone; they got a nurse by the name of Jacintha Saldanha, who fell for the imitation and spoke with the Wonders From Down Under.  So upset was Ms Saldanha that she committed suicide over the humiliation.

Unspeakable.  Tragic.  And so unnecessary.  That's the difference in a sensible entertainment such as "Jackass," in which the only people who have to be the schlamazels are the stars themselves.  Now this nurse, a wife and mother is gone, and the DJs are in hiding, and the radio station is lawyering up.  All of this could have been avoided, but it's easy to see that when the whole thing has ended.

I say, pick on the people who have chosen a life in the spotlight, and leave others alone.  For the love of God, someone please annoy Donald Trump, and leave innocent people to live in peace.

The Sunday picture show, 12/9/12

 I found this magazine ad online, and it reminds us of the days none of us can remember.  Apparently there was a time when few home bathrooms had showers.  I guess if the showers had been more prevalent early on, they would call that room "the shower room," but that's how it was...no shower, just a bath, and I am very glad I wasn't there for those days. 

 A week or so ago, we saw the picture of the house in China where the city had built an airport approach road.  The owners of the house had refused to sell their property and were planning to stay, in defiance.  That lasted less than a week, and they capitulated after all.  Looks like it took the city about ten minutes to level the house and finish the road.  Lesson learned?  I don't know.

 Here's a picture I found online...is that the moon up there, or is it a security light high overlooking a stand of trees outside a building or campus?  Either way, I like the light shimmering off the branches.  Are they just wet, or icy? 

The Chive ran this picture of Neil Patrick Harris meeting and greeting fans at Disneyland.  I really like hearing that celebrities, athletes, performers and Kardashians take time to be good to people.  Guys like Harris, who have been around for a while, know how to mingle and stay popular.  It's just as well that I am not famous, because if anyone ever asked me for my autograph, I'd be glad to sign it, but then they would have to ask, "Hey, what does this say?"

Happy Anniversary, dear!

Yesterday for lunch, Peggy wanted Chicken Noodle soup.  She will only eat Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup.  She takes all the pieces of chicken out.  I can't blame her; the chicken in that soup always reminds me (in appearance and in taste) of Chiclets without the candy coating.

Peggy removes every one of them, saying, "I don't like the chicken."

I once got a can of Giant ® brand "Lotsa Noodles" soup, which promised the taste of chicken broth and noodle soup, without the bother of removing all the minute pieces of chicken.  Halfway through it, Peggy told me it was not good, that she missed taking the chicken pieces out.

I have been with her so long that it doesn't even matter anymore that she reminds me of the old burlesque joke where the guy puts 12 spoonsful of sugar in his coffee and then commences to sip at it.  His friend says, "Hey, you didn't stir your coffee!" and the top banana says, "Who can stand it so sweet?"

On the other hand, when she saw me walking into my shower stall with a bottle of white vinegar, a plastic bag and a plastic wire-tie, she knew there was a logical explanation,  and that it did not involve some novel method of self-gratification.  I read that if you tie a bag o'vinegar around your shower head, it will remove all the gunky deposits and allow the shower to shoot more water.  So I gave it a good overnight soakification and enjoyed a veritable Niagara of steamy sudsy shower satisfaction the next day.

These are things that we have learned about each other in 39 years of happy matrimony.  Beyond her preference in soup (above), music (Enya and Sarah McLachlan) and TV shows (Raymond, Mindy and Oprah get thumbs up, Car 54 and Phil Silvers thumbs down), I can't predict much about her, except for one thing.

And that one thing is that as sure as the sun will rise in the morning, as sure as it's going to rain some days and not others, and as sure as God made little green apples, Peggy, for whatever reasons, loves me in the most perfect, loyal, and devoted way that a person can love another. 

Even when I'm wrong, she acts like it's all right.  Even when I'm being a horse's patootie, she acts like a horse's patootie is just what she wanted.  I can't even begin to talk about how much I love my Peggy and how much we enjoy each other's company, so I won't even start enumerating the ways.

Before I started artificially graying my hair

Other people wonder about our story and how we fell in love on a Thursday and got engaged the following Monday and then got married in just five months.  I marvel at it as well.  As far as I'm concerned, I would have been happy to get married the night we met, but there was no church open, so I waited.

39 years later, on our way to together forever, as Paul Harvey used to say, and not one petal has fallen off the bloom of our love.  You don't have to tell me how lucky I am to have her.  I know it every time I look in her eyes, which are still the exact color of root-beer barrel candy.

Thank you, Peggy, for all these years of love, encouragement, support and fun and laughter.  I don't know what I ever did to deserve all this happiness, but I'm glad to have it.  And thanks to friends and kinfolk for being there, too.  No one would believe this story if not for you being witnesses to it all! 

Pearl Harbor Day

Among my cherished possessions is an old work schedule for the shift my Dad was on at the Baltimore Gas and Electric.  I kept it because it showed his remarkable penmanship, which he used when lettering his great handmade crafts or writing me a note about how many faults he found with Jerry Lewis being so egotistical as to write an autobiographical sketch without mentioning his partner of ten years, Dean Martin.  (I wish I had saved that note!  A quiet and humble man, my father was appalled at any display of immodesty and flamboyance.  So look whom he raised...)

As I was saying before I interrupted myself, I have this old schedule framed, and it shows who was working on Sunday, December 7, 1941, the day which still lives in infamy.  It was that day that Japan attacked America's naval base in Pearl Harbor. Some 2,400 Americans were killed, with 1,100 wounded, as four of our battleships were sunk and four more heavily damaged, along with many other ships and planes.

Of course, I have often wondered about the men who were working with Dad that day 71 years ago.  How many of them went off to war and did not come back?  Dad was in the Navy within a year and served for the duration on a repair vessel in the Mediterranean and the Pacific.  Beyond that, I don't know much about his war experiences.  Most of the baby boomers I grew up with said the same thing: their dads heard the call to duty on this day in 1941 and went off to serve, and came back without much to say about it all.

To honor them, those who went and were lucky enough to return, and those whose lives were given in the defeat of the Axis powers, the least we can do today, in my opinion, would be to give a little thought to all those men and women and what they did.  Thanks for taking the time today, Pearl Harbor Day.

A friend indeed

Something jarred this story loose from my memory bank the other day, and it brings to mind two essential facts for everyday living. 

Well, they are to me, anyway!

My friend and his wife and kids were coming back from Ocean City late one night when they were involved in a car wreck in Cambridge, MD.  Cambridge is a fairly big town on the Eastern Shore, maybe a couple of hours from here and two-thirds of the way to the beach.  Sitting there at a red light, their car was smashed into by some dude.  The details of all this are hazy to me, but for sure, my friend was the hapless victim.  His car was a total wreck, so there he was in a police station late late at night, wife and three kids and luggage and beach stuff and no way home.  Trailways was not going to be an option.

He called his neighbor back home, and that fellow got into his car and drove on down there to get them.  And when they were a block from the police station, he pulled out an unopened pint of Southern Comfort and passed it to my buddy, saying, "Take a slug."

Now I am not saying that alcohol is the cure for all that ails us, by any means.  Take a listen to any country song to see what I mean.  But, a little medicinal shot of hooch can help the soul at times.  I say, a little shot.  It's good for shock and stress. I guess.

That's lesson #1 for me, and I've kept it in mind over the years when helping others in distress.  But thought #2 is, how great is it to have friends and like that!  As the old song says, if you've got friends and neighbors, though your house may be tumbling down, you're the richest person in town.

And if your house is tumbling down, better make friends with a carpenter!

Gotta hope it looks like her

Well, there is excitement afoot, and at hand, because Kate Middleton,  AKA Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, has an English muffin in the oven, due next year.

Not for me to question the excitement over her and her husband, Prince Fielder William, Duke of Cambridge.   I know she is pretty, if a bit skinny, and she seems nice enough.  But why Americans get all worked about about the British Royal Family escapes me.  I know one thing for sure.  His father, Charles "Big Poppa" the Prince of Wales, has been waiting to become the King since Hector was a pup, and so the offspring of Kate and Willie will have a short route to the top only if compared to the American Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, Shaun Donovan, who is 12th in line for the good seat at the White House as of right this minute.  Yes, Jolly Cholly, as he likes to be called, once he's wearing that crown...he will not give it up too soon.

Greatgrandmama

Do you remember that Americans dressed in tiaras and other "royal" gear and sat in movie theaters in the middle of the night last April (2011) when those two crazy kids tied the knot at a quickie ceremony in London?  There is something about us that makes us care about these folks, and so I want to do my part.  Here are some names that I have chosen for the royal kid...

MALE                                       FEMALE

Elvis                                         Brandine

Jerry Lee                                   Jinx

Hector                                       WhiskeySue

Duane (or "The Rock")               Goldilocks

Forrest                                      Lexus-Ferrari

Joe Don                                     Britney

Baldy                                        Camilla

Lee Harvey                                 Kinki

Marmaduke                                Deja Vu

Nixon                                         Ricola

These names are offered to Willie and Katie, free of charge, in a hands-across-the-sea gesture.  Should one of these be chosen, I will expect an invitation to the Royal Christening and a fortnight's stay at the Palace.                                

Time to grow up

I have it on good authority - and also from FOX News - that Nick Lachey was thrown out of the San Diego- Cincinnati game on Sunday.

Lachey is a Cincinnati native and a big fan of the Bengals.  He went to see his team play the Chargers in San Diego on Sunday and apparently was unable to moderate his behavior to an acceptable level, and so was thrown out of the stadium by Chargers security.

This being 2012, he didn't even get to his car before he took to the Twitter, tweeting, "Just got kicked out of the chargers stadium and couldn't be prouder! Go Cincy Bengals!"

We all remember Lachey from his ill-fated marriage to Jessica Simpson.  They were both young crazy kids in love in those days (2002-2006).  Now he appears on reality shows such as "Stars Earn Stripes" and makes records that no one hears and seems to have enough money to run around Southern California making a patootie of himself at professional sporting events.

But, when I looked up information about his life to write this, I was startled to see that he was born in November, 1973.  The man will be 40 years of age this time next year, and he doesn't know any better than to run around acting like a galoot in public?

His final tweet on the topic of his getting shown the gate yesterday was, "Bengals win again. i'd (sic) talk trash to everyone in SD, but what's the point? you already had me kicked out of the stadium and you still lost."

Efforts by this writer and anyone else concerned have so far been unable to establish a causal relationship between Nick Lachey getting thrown out of a stadium, and the Cincinnati Bengals winning a game that he came to see and had to leave.

 

 

Suspending time

On Saturday, we went Christmas shopping in the afternoon and did not get home, bearing presents and a nice hot pizza pie, until about 7.

But the all-important South Eastern Conference football championship game, pitting the Crimson Tide of the University of Alabama versus the Bulldogs of the University of Georgia, started at 4!  Oh no! What to do?

Bearing in mind the ancient Chinese proverb about the second-best time to plant a tree being today (with the best time being twenty years ago) I had planned for this collision of the shopping world and the football world by setting the DVR to record the game.

Then, it was simply a matter of avoiding the television department at the Super Try 'N' Save (because they would likely have a 64" screen showing the game) and making sure the car was playing a CD rather than the radio.  Also, when we went into Italian Sensation to get the 16" pie with sausage and mushrooms, I peeped in first to make sure there was no tv playing to wreck my plan.

So we went home and watched the game from the beginning, just as nature had intended.  It was an indoor game at the Georgia Dome, so for all that daylight mattered, it might as well have been three o'clock in the morning.

And the only other step I had to take was to make sure not to check Facebook or email, so as not to be tipped off about the outcome.  I'm glad I didn't!

It was a great game, not decided until the very second that time ran out!  And just in case you recorded it and have not sat down to watch it yet, I won't wreck it for you other than to say that the winning team had red in their uniform.

The Alabama baton corps is always smiling

There is nothing that the NFL can offer, great as their football is, that can match college football in terms of pageantry and excitement.  Maybe this is because a tiny percentage of the college players are being rewarded handsomely (now and forevermore) for their ability and skills, while the great majority of them are humping along for the four years of football without the option of going pro - but they give it all they have without the weary nonchalance of a 38-year-old pro offensive lineman.  And to see the cheerleaders, the bands, the baton corps is to see the best of young America spirit on display.  Nothing is wrong with pro football, but for me, you can't beat watching a kid who, six months ago, was being handed a high school diploma, and on Saturday night, was being handed a football and told to run like a galloping ghost.

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, 12/1/12

 This sign comes to us courtesy of "vandalizers" (as Haley says on "Modern Family") who played on the old Jose Feliciano Christmas song to make a pun.  As everyone knows, the original expression refers to the holiday celebration in the law enforcement community which is known as "Police Navidad."

Now, here's a photo that shows us all the best things about this time of the year...snowy trees and landscape, and pretty lights at night.  I can't wait to see our town looking like this for real.

 This was probably the most widely circulated photo of the past week.  It shows New York police officer Larry DePrimo, who came across this barefoot fellow in New York in November.  DePrimo was wearing boots and two pairs of wool socks, and he couldn't bear the sight of this man with neither, so he spent $75 of his own money to buy them for him.  Surely this blessing will come back to him many times over his life and police career.  It's good to know there are still people like this sharing the earth with us.

If you think this wooden deck chair looks a little beat, well, that might be because it is one of only seven remaining of the hundreds of others like it to have sailed on the Titanic that April night in 1912.  As the mighty ship sank, crewmen were seen tossing these chairs into the ocean to serve as flotation devices.  This one is up for auction, with an estimate price of $50,000- $75,000.  I love to look at objects such as this and marvel at where they have been, and what stories they could tell, if only...

Book review corner: "The Entertainer"

When people talk about Lyle Talbot these days...well, they really don't talk about Lyle Talbot all that often.

You remember him if a) you've been around a while and b) you like B-movies and 50's sitcoms such as "The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet," in which Lyle played that annoying neighbor who always borrow your hedge clippers.

His career ended in many years ago; his life ended in 1996.

And yet, there is renewed interest in ol' Lyle these days because he and his fifth wife Paula gave the world four outstanding children.  Steven Talbot played Beaver's troublemaking buddy Gilbert on "Leave It To Beaver," and is today a well-known director of documentary films.  David, his other son, is an author and the founder of the great website Salon.com.  There were two daughters: Cindy, who is a family physician and medical school professor, and Margaret, who is a writer for the greatest magazine of all time, The New Yorker.


Margaret has written a book, just out, about her father - and as she weaves his tale, she also does a simply splendid job interweaving the history of American entertainment in the 20th Century. Lyle was born Lisle Hollywood Henderson (not to be confused with Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson of the Dallas Cowboys) in 1902.  His middle name came from his grandmother's maiden name, and the Henderson was lost when his mother died shortly after he was born.  His grandmother took the infant in and gave him her married surname, Talbot. 

From an early age, young Lisle (he changed that later too!) was involved with magic shows and traveling tent shows that played the midwestern circuit around his native Nebraska, finally hooking on with a theater troupe as a teenager.  From there, it was a few magic steps to winding up in Hollywood at the beginning of the talking pictures era, being a founder of the Screen Actors Guild and settling down after four failed marriages and a significant alcohol habit.

His Wikipedia page will give you the details about the hundreds of shows - movies, TV, Broadway theater - in which Lyle Talbot was involved.  The book is fascinating, as it carries his story through the development of the movie, TV and theater industry.  Lyle was there for everything, and while he never became a big star, and is certainly not all that well-known as compared to guys like Bogart and Gable and Cagney, his story is every bit as interesting. 

The title of the book, "The Entertainer," says a lot about the man.  Toward the end of his life, long after he retired, he went with his son to a revival showing of one of his 30's pictures, and as the lights came up at the end, the audience recognized him and the old showman in him enjoyed every second of the adulation.  How gratifying that must have been!

Men Men Men Men Manly Men

He's 19, which is not the same as being 9, but you'd think he would have learned a few things, being a TV star since 2003.

He's Angus T. Jones, the formerly pudgy kid who still plays Jake on "Three and a Half Men," the show that people used to watch when Charlie Sheen was in the cast.

Angus makes about 8 million semolians a year, playing the dumb kid on this sitcom.   So now he decides to act like a dumb kid in real life.

He's gotten religion, which by itself is not a bad thing at all.  But someone - possibly someone with an idea of separating young Angus from some of that money - has gotten him to talk about how bad the show is for the national health and welfare.  The show that he still appears on, you understand...

The young man who used to say all those double entendre gags on the show now gags at the idea of the show, calling it "the work of the enemy."  That is certainly a Devil-may-care stance to take, to assume that the Devil might care enough to speak to people through the words of sitcom writers.

In the Daily News article, you'll see that Angus feels compelled to tell people not to watch his show, but not compelled to walk away from his contract and stop appearing on the show.  It's sort of like someone working for a big burger-and-fries chain coming out with medical reports that warn against eating McWhoppers but adding that he will continue to fry those patties for another year or so.

The young man's parents recently broke up, and he did spend a significant amount of time in the company of Charlie Sheen, so we can look the other way while he says dumb stuff like this.

But it's dumb because he's saying it's bad for him to keep on watching the show he's going to keep on making.  He is the 1/2 man in the title, but if he ever wants to be considered a man in full, he will need to get on one side or the other of this matter.


UPDATE: You might have seen that young Mr Jones issued a retraction and apology yesterday, after someone pointed out that he has 8 million reasons for doing so. 

Worried

I started this blog years ago as a way to record daily thoughts and, well, feelings.  If you know me at all, you know I try to stay positive and happy.  Why not?  Who would choose to be gloomy and cranky?

Tyler (photos from Patch)

But as I write this morning, my heart is heavy with sadness, and worry.  A young man we have all come to like a whole lot is in very bad condition following an auto accident. His name is Tyler Waldman.  I worked with his mom, who is Chief of our county's Animal Control Division, and she was proud when her son finished college and started this Patch thing in Towson.

Towson.Patch.com is what they call a hyperlocal news source.  There are local versions online in most states on this side of the Mississippi.  Their deal is, they do not carry a single story about Benghazi or whether the grapefruit diet is harmful or who won some "celebrity" "dance" "contest."  But if the local volunteer fire house has a Halloween party for the kids, if some local official is caught in a bad scheme, or a kitchen fire breaks out in a townhouse, they will be there.  Heck, one night on my way home from the x-ray place, I got smashed up in a four-car wreck as I sat waiting for the light to change.  And then as I sat on the wrecked bed of my truck, waiting for the EMS personnel to check me out, there was Tyler, snapping photos of the mess for the Patch.

Accident aftermath

As I understand what happened on Monday morning, Tyler had breakfast at the new Corner Bakery in Eudowood and was heading out on Goucher Boulevard, where, at the intersection of Joppa Rd, his car collided with another, occupied by two women. The stalwart men and women of the Baltimore County Fire and Police Departments did all they could to stabilize him and send him by helicopter to Shock Trauma. It was a very serious accident, Tyler is still in Shock Trauma downtown in critical condition, and is facing more surgeries and deeply in need of our best wishes. 

He has mine, and I ask that you offer yours as well.

You know, it turns out that life is often like that insurance commercial, or an O. Henry story.  You're living your life and suddenly, in your path appears a gigantic roadblock and things get turned around in an instant.

Tomorrow is promised to none of us.  I pray that Tyler will have many more tomorrows, and thank you for letting me share my thoughts.

Teenage Crime Beat

Law enforcement personnel in Katy, Texas now have a second baffling question facing them.

The first, of course, is whose idea was it to name the town "Katy"?

And once that's solved, someone needs to figure out why the Catt family, lately of Katy, but formerly of Portland, Oregon, has taken to holding up banks as a form of family revenue enhancement.

Now, normally, when people enter a profession such as broadcasting, baseball, or bank robbery, they start in the smaller towns, and as they achieve greater competence and skill, move to the larger markets with the eventual goal of getting to New York or Los Angeles.

But back in Portland, there dwelled a family named Catt:  Ronald "Scott" Catt was the dad, and he had two children: Hayden, 20, and Abby, 18.  Scott's life turned bad - he left his wife after she was convicted of domestic violence, he lost several jobs, his house went into foreclosure - and the police there suspect the family of five bank heists.

This much is fact: Scott and the kids moved to Katy, where Abby Catt (tell me that doesn't sound like a movie name) continued to be an honor student and member of the swim team.  And, instead of working at Golden Corral or the Regal Multiplex 27 like most high school kids do, she ALLEGEDLY worked as wheelwoman for her dad and brother who ALLEGEDLY held up banks.  The Katy PD has video of them purchasing the same kind of vests and masks that were used as disguises in the heists.

Abby's Facebook page did not throw eagle-eyed investigators off the path.  Just claiming to work at Victoria's Secret does not fool anyone.  It's hard to get a job there.  Believe me.  It's impossible!  I know!  I applied there, and they said,"$8.50 an hour" and I said, "I can't pay you $8.50 an hour; I'll just hang around the front entrance like I've been doing."