Sunday Rerun: I think it's time we leave

Every year at about this time, I get the same question from friends and family.  It's always a variation on the same theme, but the question boils down to, "What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?"

No, just kidding.  You know I get that question all year long.  The question that pops up as the nights grow longer and people start looking around for the blankets and quilts they put away in May is, how come the leaves change color every year?

And I thought I ought to look it up, because until I just did, I would have to tell people to ask my friend Mr Damifeyeno.

I got this scoop from www.sciencemadesimple.com and, as with all things scientific, it wasn't quite simple enough the first time I read it, but after a couple of passes, it cleared up somewhat.

Here 'tis...

All spring and summer, plants (which trees are, after all) take water out of the ground through their roots, and they take carbon dioxide through the air. Through photosynthesis, the process we were supposed to learn about in high school science while we were trying to figure out how to get a date with the girl at the next bunsen burner, the trees use sunlight to turn water and carbon dioxide into oxygen and glucose. Like Jumpin Jack Flash, Oxygen is a gas gas gas in the air that we breathe.  Plants use their glucose as food for energy and for growing, as they are not able to shop for food on their own, and very few pizza places will deliver to "The Third Elm on Maple Street."  Chlorophyll is involved in this photosynthesis, and it's chlorophyll, along with envy, that turns plants green.

When autumn is on its way, days get shorter, and the trees get less sunshine, so they figure it's time to put on the winter clothes.  Meanwhile, we have people driving cars and owning property who can't figure out that it's not tank top weather anymore.

Photosynthesis takes off all winter, without light or water to operate, so trees live off the glucose they put in their little wooden pantries all summer long and stop preparing food. Well, there goes the chlorophyll!  And the leaves become yellow and orange.  It's not so much that the leaves turn yellow and orange; they lose the green when photosynthesis ends, and with the green pigmentation that used to cover up the golden colors no longer there anymore, we get what we get. 

Red leaves, such as on maple trees, occur because glucose is trapped in the leaves when photosynthesis stops, and a combination of sun and cool nights turn the leaves red, just as reading The SUN on a cool night makes Robert Ehrlich turn red. For the same kind of reason, oak leaves turn brown from what's left in them when photosynthesis ends. We just don't know why a tree with like 200 leaves on it will drop 200,000 leaves to be raked up.

And that's what I got from the article.  I hope it sheds some light on the amazing natural process known as the changing colors of leaves in autumn.  Next week here on Science Corner with Uncle Mark, let's try to figure out whatever happened to Axl Rose.

The Saturday Picture Show, November 7, 2015

There's a website that shows abandoned things...houses, cars, schools, castles.  Don't you think some royal family could move in here and fix it up nicely?

You might think this manatee is sad and morose, but for all we know he is happy as a clam.  Also, for all we know, he is a she, so what do we know?

There are people with time and expertise enough to carve Bart Simpson on the clay-and-graphite "lead" of a pencil.

Apparently, there was plenty of corn to go around during World War I, enough for everyone to have grits, hominy and corn muffins three times a day.  All right by me!

Buck Owens and the Buckaroos at Carnegie Hall, 1966. left to right, say hi to Willie Cantu on drums, Tom Brumley on steel guitar, Buck on rhythm guitar, Don Rich on lead guitar and bassist Doyle Holly. In 1966, I could not have identified all the Supreme Court justices, but I knew these people by picture.  And I always wanted a suit like the ones the sidemen wore, not a real flamboyant one like Buck had.

I could tell you how great the pizza is at Baltimore's own Pizza John's.  It's a shame that there is a national chain with a similar name, but they sell catsup and cheese on cardboard, whereas Pizza John's is unbelievable!

At this time of year, the only thing prettier than a tree with orange, red and yellow leaves is a stand of bare trees at sunset.

This is one of those albums that I have on well-worn vinyl and cassette and CD and on the iPod.  I add my voice to every one of these songs in my truck with the windows up.  The BEST of American pop rock in the 60s!

Presidential Tunes

We were riding along the other night, my Peggy and me, listening to one of the 14 dozen homemade CDs that roll around in my SUV. Two of the songs, back to back, were "I Can't Get Over Me Not Getting Over You" by Little Jimmy Dickens, and then along came "Raw Ramp" by T. Rex.  We both had to admit that it was highly unlikely that any other couple in all the world was listening to two songs by those two artists at that time.

And so, I thought it would be a good idea to put together a list of the songs I would want played for my presidential inauguration, in case every other person in the country, and several Estonians, turn down the job of POTUS and I am voted in, 1-0.   Hey, a fella can dream, can't he?

And even though I know that the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard all have their outstanding bands, I don't like cover versions, so they can all give their thumbs a rest and play these originals as I smartly approach the podium:

This Could Be The Start of Something:  Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme.  Oh, it would be something, all right...

Sabre Dance by Aram Khachaturian:  The song that they always play when plate spinners are spinning plates. Relax...no fine china will be flying around!     

High school confidential: Jerry Lee Lewis / Joe Jammer The instrumental version of an old Jerry Lee number done in London with a guitarist named Joe Jammer.  This song moves right along, I tell you.

Surrender by Cheap Trick.  Sing it with me..."Mommy's all right...Daddy's all right...they just seem a little weird...Surrender, but don't give yourself away."

Robert Earl Keen Merry Christmas From the Family As President, I might have to send people out to the KwikSak for some diet Sprites and fake snow.  They need to know how!

Bing Crosby  Do You Hear What I Hear   I know the inauguration will take place in January (don't know yet what year, or planet) but it's never too late to hear the finest Christmas song ever!

It IS Steven Tyler, yes it is.

Aerosmith Dude Looks Like a Lady Because everyone deserves to look the way they want to, until they look like Steven Tyler has taken to looking, and then it's time to talk 

Mötley Crüe - Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away) Because when I was just a wee lad, my grandfather gave me a propeller beanie that carried this slogan on its front

Sammy Davis Jr Please Don't Talk About me When I'm gone The greatest entertainer of this or any other generation (tie with Jerry Lewis!)

Phil Harris Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas As president, I might request that the military bands play this whenever I arrive at a big ceremony or supermarket

Somebody's been using that thing  Milton Brown and his Brownies- This is one of those records that we used to find in someone's father's record collection as we rifled through it on New Year's Eve while the "adults" were making merry upstairs

Garrison Keillor and Meryl Streep  Gold Watch and Chain  Mr Keillor's movie version of his Prairie Home Companion radio show was the first movie in which I saw Meryl Streep act.  Then I saw her in "The Devil Wears Prada" and I was amazed.  She was able to portray a completely different type of person! Peggy had to sit me down and explain that was she "acting" and that she is the best at it, and that in real life she is like neither of those women.

Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts  Roly Poly  I think that Doug Clark was kin to me, at least in the sense of the comic songs and tender, vivid love ballads we both liked.

Jerry Lewis You'll Never Walk Alone Jerry Lewis, not to be confused with Jerry Lee Lewis, tied with Sammy Davis, Jr, in my all-time list because, like Sammy, he could do anything in any show biz venue.  And extra points for making Labor Day something to look forward to all summer long.

All Summer Long:  The Beach Boys sang about a time when T-shirts, cutoffs and pair of thongs were standard summer attire for all of us.  Note:  not the kind of thongs you're thinking of!

But then again, I'm not the kind of president you're thinking of. But let's enjoy the music again!  Enjoy the inauguration!

It all Depends

When you consider the work of actress Lisa Rinna, star of great cinematic triumphs such as Captive Rage and Night Sins, you recognize her position as a great chronicler of Hollwood history.

She's been married to Harry Hamlin for almost 20 years, a veritable lifetime by Hollywood standards, and we know Harry from the celebrated films You Lucky Dog and Shoot Or Be Shot, which I believe was the life story of Richard "Dick" Cheney.

Sid's final picture

Sid Vicious is listed as the bass player for the Sex Pistols, although he did not know how to play the bass. Sid, born John Simon Ritchie, had joined the original punk band because he hung with the same crowd as singer/leader Johnny Rotten (ne John Lydon) but he did not know how to play a bass guitar any more than you or I do (unless you are Paul McCartney.) So, Sid (who was named for Rotten's parakeet) conveniently came down with hepatitis as the band prepared to record their great "Never Mind The Bollocks" album.  Later he left the band to move to New York and devote himself full time to using heroin, and killed his girlfriend Nancy Spungen at a fleabag hotel.  Upon his bailout from jail, he celebrated by overdosing on heroin supplied by his mother, and died.  

His was not a life to be celebrated. The poor bloke did not quite catch on that show business is half show and half business, and took his punk act to a stupid conclusion.  While he lived, he was fond of attracting attention to himself by wearing clothing with Nazi swastikas, and safety pins in his cheeks.

So this is what they do now

So, Harry and Lisa, with time off from their busy schedule of making commercials for adult diapers, cast about for a legendary couple from a famous movie to portray this Halloween.  Rose and Jack from Titanic?  Scarlett and Rhett from Gone With The Wind? Latika and Jamal from Slumdog Millionaire? No.  They chose to go as Sid and Nancy from Sid And Nancy. 

Harry thought it best to sport a swastika T-shirt on Friday night.

Monday's apology on Instagram read like every celebrity apology you've ever scoffed at: 

"If I hurt you we were being authentic to the characters of Sid and Nancy for our Halloween costumes. It hurt and angered many of you and we are deeply sorry for that. That was never our intention. We did not mean to offend. With love, Lisa and Harry."

Of course, you have to wonder if Harry, faced with career oblivion at age 64, might have thought this was a clever way to get publicity, by traipsing about with the symbol that meant death for six million people. 

And then you realize that it's career decisions such as this that will keep him in the cast of diaper commercials and movies named Quarantine forever.

Is that a phone in your pocket...

I have to stop for a minute and pay a compliment to Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Ann Droid, the people who invented the cell phone.

#iboomarryyou

Tell you why.  We were at a wonderful wedding the other night (Hello, Ben and Samantha!) and except for the professional photographers on the job, everyone was pulling the iPhone and Androids out and snapping pictures like professionals themselves. I don't recall seeing anyone with a real camera camera.

I meant to bring ours, but I left it on the nightstand, where I had put it so I wouldn't forget to take it to the wedding.  And that's the point of cell phones...you might like yours, you might hate yours, but chances are, you'll have it with you, right in your purse or pocket when you need to take a picture or send an email or a text message or check your Facebook or send a private FB message or view pictures on Instagram or Snapchat or figure a tip for a server or listen to voice mail or find your way via GPS or listen to a tune or record a audio message to save or see if something is level or check the weather or watch a video.

And like the guy who turns his hat backwards and then needs to use that same hand that put his hat on wrong to shield him from the sun...don't forget...you can also use a cell phone to CALL PEOPLE on the phone!

Strange, but true!

Since you ask...

Sometimes, younger people honor me by asking for advice.  I don't think this is because they ascribe any particular wisdom to me, and nothing I say or write would seem to nullify that.  But they figure I've been around since Hector was a pup, and just maybe I may have learned a thing or two about affairs of the heart and/or mind, which, believe me, are not always connected.

See?  I learned that pretty well!

The question I hear more often than any other is, "Should I change to please that person I am trying to get with?  Should I lose weight, change my hairdid, take a night course in rug hooking, develop an interest in world travel, learn the fine art of French cooking, become a wine expert, switch my political views and affiliation to match theirs?"

And while that sounds like the perfect answer, the real fact of life is that after you make all these changes, he or she might throw you over in favor of a pudgy, poorly-groomed hermit whose idea of gourmet chow is Vienna Sausages on Ritz crackers and a Cherry Dr Pepper.  It's sad, but the deal is, you have to be yourself.  Just think of this: if you like someone, you like them the way they are. right?  So just as you wouldn't expect someone to change, don't let someone expect you to.

There's a fellow from Oklahoma named Dallas Frazier. (I guess he got that first name because whoever heard of a kid named "Oklahoma City" Frazier?) whose songwriting career started off with "Alley Oop" for The Hollywood Argyles before he went country and wrote for Jack Greene, Ferlin Husky and Connie Smith.  For Connie, he wrote a song called "Just For What I Am," which I recommend to anyone thinking about being what they aren't.

The words are below so you can karoake it yourself as Connie sings:   (This is the version with Connie's husband Marty Stuart backing her on guitar, and Buck Trent on electric banjo.)

Blue ain't just a word, it's a feeling
A feeling of loneliness that I can feel right now
Love has looked at me but tried to change me
I wish that love would take me just for what I am
Just for what I am, I want someone to love me
Someone who won't expect me to be like their old memory
Just for what they see, just for being me
I want someone to love me just for what I am
Cry ain't just a sound, it's a sadness
A sadness that lives with me, and follows me around
Love wants me to be someone I can't be
I wish that love would take me just for what I am
Just for what I am, I want someone to love me
Someone who won't expect me to be like their old memory
Just for what they see, oh just for being me
I want someone to love me just for what I am
I want someone to love me just for what I am

And please always remember, and don't ever forget, you have to be who you are. There is only one you! Don't try to be the fake someone else. The right person is out there being the right person.

Who says?

Maybe it's because I am currently reading a book ("The Class of '65," by Jim Auchmutey) about the high school in Americus, Georgia, a town that refused to integrate their schools until they were forced to do so ten years after Brown v. Board of Education was supposed to have granted equal education to all Americans, but it's irksome to keep seeing instances of how gay people are being abused and discriminated against in a nation that proudly calls itself The Land Of The Free.

I'm not gay or a minority of any other classification, but I don't like it when people are treated shabbily. And it's even worse when the people doing the mistreating are people who run school systems or churches.

Dylan Settles

The latest case in point came from Brookland, Arkansas, where a church told a young man who has been a member there at Woods Chapel General Baptist for six years that he is no longer welcome to attend.

"I'm a little hurt by it but I know how they feel," says Dylan Settles, who had not been attending church all that often lately.  So when he got a letter from Woods Chapel, he figured it was one of those "haven't seen you lately, please come worship with us on Sunday" sort of notes.

But no. The letter told him there had been a vote among the members of the church board, and they voted to take away his membership.

Because he is gay.

"I was like in awe ... I was in so much shock. I couldn't read like the rest of it,” Settles said.

He came out to his parents three months ago, and mentioned on Facebook that he had tried to find a wife or girlfriend but realized that was not his path.  He feels good about having received many messages from people inviting him to come to their church.

The letter from his church went on to say that he can come back if he is willing to repent for his lifestyle, but Settles says, "I don't feel comfortable sitting at pew or sitting beside my parents when all I'm going to see is people pointing their fingers at me because of the lifestyle I chose.”

Please join me in wondering when the people who sent him all that hate in the mail will repent for their lifestyles.  But again, just like Americus GA in the 1960s, there are people all over in 2015 who feel that they are in a position to determine who gets to go to school or pray or eat in a restaurant or marry or get hired or serve in public office or check into a hotel.

And they are wrong to think so.  The people who went to school with one young man from Americus, a young man who was scorned, shunned and abused in many ways because he supported the rights of all Americans to attend all American schools, later sent apologies and reunion invitations to him. That's how the book turned out.

Maybe the people at Woods Chapel could do their apologies and take it all back now, instead of waiting 40 years.

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 Special Halloween Edition, October 31, 2015

Halloween parties used to be popular for children, and besides the snacks and treats, there was always some game that involved sticking your mug in a giant tub, hoping to get an apple, or trying to bite an apple bobbing around on a string.  All that work for an apple?

Sending Halloween postcards used to be fun too, so that you and the recipient and the mailman could enjoy reading them!

Homemade costumes just used to be WEIRD!  There's no other way to say it!

Zombies and ghouls and hobgoblins on the big screen.  I would imagine that walking with a zombie, it would take a long time to get anywhere.  They don't scoot along.

"Fun size" candy bars are not really any fun at all.  Go big and give the full size candy bars!

 How do you get into this guy's house?  Use a skeleton key!

I love Sriracha sauce and I like this costume!

Yes, I hope that someday I will find that house that everyone always talked about...the house where they handed out beer to all the kids...meanwhile, Happy Halloween to you all!

Hard drive

It's easy to point fingers, but there are at least three reasons why Heather Cook, pictured at right, is waking up this morning in the Walled-off Astoria. Not long ago, she was the #2 ranking Episcopal church official in the local diocese, and now the only number she bears is longer, and worn on the front of her shirt.

Cook was sentenced Tuesday to serve seven years in prison.  This is because last year, two days after Christmas, she got drunk three times the legal limit and drove her car up Roland Avenue, striking and killing bicyclist Tom Palermo. She was texting on her cell phone at the time.

And then, maybe worst of all, this woman, a representative of God on Earth, chose to drive away from the scene, leaving Palermo to die on the street.

Frankly, it's hard to tell what was the worst part of all this.  Maybe it's the fact that she got gassed a few years ago while serving on the Eastern Shore, driving on a rim and a shredded tire with marijuana in the car.  She said then that was her major wakeup call.  And then she went right back to sleep, adrift in the slumber of the uncaring, the unconcerned for anyone but themselves.   

Mr Palermo's family spoke for two hours at the sentencing hearing Tuesday, begging the court to put this awful woman away for a long time, as they spoke of the emotional loss of a son, brother, and father.

Led away for a long time

"This tragedy will not define Tom or our family; our resolve is strong as we hold Tom in our hearts,” Palermo’s sister-in-law Alisa Rock said.

I understand the struggle many people have with alcohol, and I sympathize with that fight. However, it's one thing to sit in one's house and drink to excess, and quite another to drink to excess and then get behind the steering wheel of a car, and to be texting and careering up the street in that car, and to strike and kill another human being and flee like a coward.

People who study crime and punishment will tell you that one part of the reason for prison (penitentiary - a place to be penitent) is to punish wrongdoers by taking away their freedom and confining them to a cell, and the other part is to serve as a deterrent by reminding people who might be thinking about driving while drunk and/or being careless enough to text while driving, that there will be severe consequences for doing so.

It's sad.  The Palermo family will surely not be the last to be bereaved due to the foul actions of others, but chances are that someone will get the message from this, and not drive drunk.

And for the next seven years, Heather Cook won't be driving at all. Thank God.

I'm all up in the air over the blimp

Right up the road from us, up US Rte 40 or I-95 (depending on whether you want trucks going 40 mph, or 95 mph, six inches behind your back bumper) lies the little town of Aberdeen, MD.

It's known to sports fans as the home town of the Ripken family of baseball legends (Cal Sr, Cal Jr and Billy) and Ripken Stadium, where Cal Jr's minor league team, the Ironbirds, plays, as well as teen league baseball with kids from all over the world, in summer.

It's also known as the home of Aberdeen Proving Ground, a huge Army installation and the home of two one blimps 10,000 feet in the air, keeping an eye out for incoming enemy missiles and trucks speeding on I-95.  

Just kidding about the trucks. No one cares about that.

But the good people at the US Army and the Raytheon Corporation are spending 2.8 BILLION tax dollars on the project, which gives defense officials a good look at cruise missiles and I don't know what-all else on the way to Baltimore and DC.  And my neighborhood, for that matter.  They even claim that the blimps can find attacking missiles from as far as 340 miles away, although they cannot look down and see that they are about to break away and fly a couple hundred miles themselves.

For almost a year, we have looked up at the sky and seen these giant inflatables hanging around.  Technically, they are aerostats, or tether aircraft, since they are tied to the ground by really thick, strong cables that cannot possibly break or come loose and let the blimps go a'sailin'. 

This is my favorite news story since Kim Davis

And, just to make you feel better about those dirty enemies sneaking in a missile on us, these blimps are part of the completely impregnable, inscrutable, unbeatable Joint Land-Attack Cruise Missile Elevated Netted Sensor System, or WHOOOOPS.

You know what I'm getting at.  "Our" blimps were the lead story on all the news last night, even bumping another local product full of gas, Ben Carson, off to the side for a minute, because one of them broke free from its moorings, and took a cruise of its own, as blimps will do.

Two F-16 fighter jets, normally assigned to protect Trump Casino in Atlantic City, scrambled and got airborne and tracked the big white device, which came to earth near Williamsport, Pennsylvania. They found it by hearing from people on the ground below, hollering that their electricity was knocked out by the dragged tether from below the blimp.  So that meant that Pennsylvanians could not follow the story on cable news all afternoon, but the story could not have taken place anyhow, because the Army said it never could have.

Today is not going to be a good day for a lot of people in the defense industry.  The phones are going to be ringing and ringing. "They" said this could never happen.  "They" were wrong, again.

Heaven on earth with an onion slice

There we were at a cookout the other day (this is the time of year I love cookouts best, when hanging near the grill actually feels good, and you need a hoodie and long pants outside) and a guy was flipping burgers off that Weber, and they were goooooood!

I'm not gonna lie to you. From a frozen patty on a whitebread bun, to fresh-ground top round on a ciabatta roll, I love a hamburger sammy. I can even skip the cheese, and I can live without the fried onion and relish and lettuce and tomato if need be. If the other goodies aren't available, just a squirt each of catsup and mustard will do me fine.

Cook it on the grill, broil it in the oven, fry it in the cast-iron pan, it's all good.  Even if the patty is ground turkey or chicken, I'm fine. The amazing pizzaburger sub is great, too: toss some pizza sauce and cheese onto an opened-up sub roll and toast it, while meanwhile cooking up a couple of thin patties, which you then toss into the roll and dress up with shaker cheese and oregano. Swiss cheese! Provolone (from the Italian, meaning "in favor of volone")! Port wine cheese spread!  Even good old American cheese. I'm just a "cheeseburger in paradise," as the old Jimmy Buffett tune had it. Buffett said, "I like mine with lettuce and tomato, Heinz 57 and French fried potatoes, Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer..."

I had to talk about all this because, as you probably heard, the World Health Organization now issued their monthly reminder that red meat likely is bad for you, and you might as well smoke ten Lucky Strike cigarettes while you chow down on bacon, sausage and other processed meats.  

They have studies about how bad it is to eat red meat, like beef, lamb and liver. Well, I have said all along that liver is not good! So I have that going for me. And hot dogs have been part of the American diet for over a century. So what are we going to do, stop going to ballgames?

And sure, eat more fish, the scientists say. I wish I had time to do more fishing for dinner! Right out near us is a lake owned by the Paul family, where the wily stickfish swim. Rectangular fish born without heads, these tasty treats come already breaded and ready for the pan, right out of Mrs Paul's lake.


I am sorry, vegans and vegetarians and malt-dextrose gobblers. I know you will be alive to see the year 2100, and I won't be. I can only hope that the presidents of the end of the 21st Century (Carson III, Trump IV, and Pee Wee Herman) will treat you kindly. 

There comes a time

We know that there are five stages of grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance) but sometimes people speed through the first three and get stuck in a depressed state. And that stops them from getting to acceptance, which is the way out of the grief we feel from loss.

Well, just google "how to beat depression," and you get almost as many answers as if you had looked up ways to beat the Las Vegas crap tables.  Everyone has their ways to do it. Get up early and go for a swim!  Sleep late and get plenty of rest! Set goals and work toward them every day!  Let life come to you as fate has it unfold! Laugh a lot! Be serious more often!  

You see the point...when someone has suffered a loss, the climb out of the blues can be steady, a step or two every day, and then on the next-to-last landing, you get stuck.

We have a friend who is currently fighting that last hump toward getting over a sad, sad loss, and it's tough to know what to say or do sometimes.  And while it's tough for me, a guy who likes to get things done and move on to the next, to know that I haven't come up with the perfect magic word or phrase to help out, that's only a tiny fraction of how hard it must be for that person in their utter unspeakable grief and agony.

That's the key thing to remember...it's their nightmare to get past, and you do the best thing to steer them to professional help, and then let the qualified people do their thing.  Saying, "Snap out of it," or, "It could be worse," or "They're in a better place, you know" is not helpful.  

You may or may not like Joe Biden the politician, but Joe Biden the man has said some mighty things about dealing with a loss.

For those who came to him after he had learned of the death of his wife and daughter, and years later, of his son, he said, "I have to tell you. I used to resent people. They'd come up to me and say, 'Joe, I know how you feel.'" To claps and laughter, he continued: "I know, right? I knew they meant well. I knew they were genuine. But you knew they didn't have any damn idea."

And this hopeful note, at the 2012 TAPS National Military Survivor Seminar:

"There will come a day, I promise you and your parents, as well, when the thought of your son or daughter or your husband or wife brings a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. It will happen. My prayer for you is that day will come sooner or later.. But the only thing I have more experience than you in is this: I’m telling you it will come."

I guess all I can add to that would be the old axiom: If you're going through hell, keep going!

California Dreaming!

Out in Nevada City, California (it's near Cisco, Grass Valley and You Bet) there is a radio station with the call letters KVMR.  You can listen to them live by following this link.  It's a volunteer-based, listener-supported operation out there, and you never know what you're going to hear when you tune them in.

Listeners recently were treated to that old Simon and Garfunkel classic, "Sounds of Silence," followed by The Tremeloes with "Silence is Golden" and then "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.  No. I kid.  Anyone could play those records, but the all-night DJ on KVMR fell asleep during her own show!  And she was playing a Native American flute marathon! The show is called American Timbres, and she started the fluteathon off strong at 2 AM, but by 3:30 in the yawning, she was out cold and there was naught but dead air on the station except that she left her mic open, and there was the "the soft, yet distinct sound of gentle snoring," according to the news story on AOL.

The best part is that a few listeners believed that the snoring was part of the show.  

Lynn Cooke operates the crisis line overnight for that community, and she likes the wafting, lilting sounds of Native American flutes in the room as she counsels the forlorn. “The flute sounds are perfect for my stressful shift when I’m helping people in need. Then there was silence, so I thought someone screwed up. It happens, you know? However it went on for over twenty minutes and then the snoring started. It was pretty funny.”

The article in The Nevada County Scooper went on to say that American Timbres is the #1 show in hotly-contested overnight ratings battle in Nevada County.  Its chief competition is Coast to Coast AM, one of those shows that deals in conspiracies and aliens and pyramid UFOs flying over Brazil, for the 37 people in this nation with time to invest in fol-de-rol.  

Also making news among the recent KVMR staff notes was the discovery that their former evening DJ, James E. Stanley, was in fact a recently escaped psych ward patient.  The people at the Nevada County Health and Human Services Department were able to unmask the psych patient-turned-DJ by seeing through his clever ruse of using his own name.  

A promotional picture

The Scooper reporter tried to contact the radio station for their comments on Stanley's abrupt departure, but the radio people told the reporter to get out of the building. Bystanders who claim to have been around for the apprehension told the Scooper that the health officials nabbed Stanley during his news commentary.  That was wise, because the musical portion of his show tended to be an hour or two of solid white noise.

“There was a lot of commotion,” said one witness who chose to remain anonymous. “There was a lot of shouting about the Illuminati and forced vaccines from the police state. All weird stuff. They just shoved him in the car and drove off. It was really odd.”

Oh, THAT was odd?

I think it's best for California and me to remain strangers.  I love some people who live there (Anne, Pat, Sam, Chris, Jonie, Katie, Patricia, Tracy) and they have a tremendous governor in Jerry Brown.  But how could I relate to James E. Stanley?

Sunday Rerun: Talk It Over

Friends of mine have a son, middle school age.  With back-to-school looming heavily in the immediate future, he got himself ready by assembling a desk from a kit (might have been IKEA) and they showed a picture of the desk on that Facebook thing.

He set the desk up very well, had his trash can all ready to go, and a copy of a book on prominent display.  The book is called "How To Talk To Girls."

I would now like to offer all that I know on that topic, for the benefit of young men everywhere.

As I remember from the days when I was in junior high school, we were reeling from the budget cuts made by President Fillmore, so a lot of our extra-curricular activities were eliminated or made smaller.  I was a founding member of the Detention Club, though, and that's where I met a lot of girls. Good girls, bad girls, ok girls, tall girls, short girls, blondes, brunettes, redheads, smart girls, not-so-smart girls...I was turned down by every type of girl you could name.  But persistence was my ally, so I would just keep talking until they said, "IF I agree to go out with you, will you just shut up?  And also never tell anyone about it?"

And then, I felt the true majesty of young love sweeping over me.  I shivered, and they shuddered.

Listen, guys, these books will tell you to be sure of yourself, to come on a little strong but not like Justin Bieber, to compliment the girl but do so sincerely, to ask gentle questions, to get her to laugh, and above all, to get her to talk about herself.  Warning: this may result in her saying that what she likes about herself the most are those moments when you are nowhere in sight. Use caution.

Right

Also, "they" (and trust me, this book was not written by George Clooney or any member of One Direction) offer the advice to let the girl know you hope you'll be able to talk to her again.  This often results in the girl going to the school office and getting a new locker assigned. 

Wrong

I was not one of the smooth guys with a great way with women, but feel better about this: I wound up with the best woman on earth.

And before that, well, there were a lot of women asking me if I would like to be married!

They included my mother, my grandmother, my sister and my aunt.  But still.

The Saturday Picture Show, October 24, 2015

 Here's President Eisenhower throwing out the first ball of the 1955 baseball season at Griffith Stadium in DC.  Fans of the movie "Stripes" will wonder if Yankee manager Casey Stengel is about to ask, "How's it going, Eisenhower?"

A chilly, misty gold-dappled autumn morning.  Can't beat it!

Nature has the greatest way of showing us signs of love. For those of us who can't afford a heart-shaped pool, here's a heart-shaped puddle!

Here's a brilliant use of photoshop technology - inserting Calvin and Hobbes cartoons into real life!

A man was taking a picture of the sunset when a water droplet splashed his camera's lens, creating this diffusion effect...

Taken by a construction worker in New York, someone who gets to appreciate the great view from way up high.

The best movie for everyone who ever got the PC LOAD LETTER error code on their printer, or was told that their boss needed them to go ahead and come in on Saturday...

Just a week to go to get that Halloween shopping done! Goobers, Raisinets, Milk Duds, Almond Joy, B-B Bats, Snickers, Mars...Trick or Treat!

Something about a bird

Clark's Nutcracker

You can call them "Clark's Nutcracker" (no relation) or by their biological name Nucifraga columbiana, but you can't call them "birdbrain."  

Clark's Nutcracker is a bird we don't get to see here in the mid-Atlantic region of the United States; they live in high mountains in the western part of North America, from British Columbia and western Alberta in the north down as far as Baja California and New Mexico to the south. If they can't find enough food where they are, they might jot over to Illinois or Pennsylvania for takeout. Wouldn't you think that if they come to PA, they would just wander down to Maryland? But no.  

These guys love to eat pine seeds, in much the same way we love to put pine nuts on our salads, and they don't even need bleu cheese dressing with theirs. Let them near some pine cones and they are happy; they can find all the chow they will need, and carry a lot of with them! They are gray-and-black, with white in the tail and wing. And their bills are sharp. They use them to dig into a pine cone and get the seeds. Clark's Nutcrackers have a sublingual (beneath the tongue) pouch that will hold 50–150 seeds, as well as their car keys and the garage door remote.

But here is why we can't label them as "birdbrains." These birds store seeds, in little piles of a dozen or so. They put them in the ground, and this does two things for them: in the long run, it allows for more pine trees to sprout and grow to provide more food for future nutcrackers, and of course it provides a nice stash of seeds for later use.  

Fly high, Freeeeeeeee Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrrd

Bird experts figure that a single Clark's nutcracker can cache away as many as 98,000 seeds per year, and here's the kicker: they remember where as many as 70% of the seeds are planted!  We think birds are dumb, what with their little tiny brains, and yet they remember to sock some food away and they remember where most of it is!

And half the time, I can't even remember where I left my lunch.