Who's That Guy?

I have a savant-like memory for dates from long ago. As in, if you invited me to your wedding in 1972, 1989, 2002, whenever, I can probably tell you the date.  I don't know how it works; dates and days just stick in my mind, taking up space that should be used for important things. 

Faces, sort of. I usually have some idea who people are when they strut up to me and start lipflapping.  Some idea.

Names, forget it. I mean, I forget it.  My secret is, if you're a guy and you come up to me in line at the Credit Union and I can't think of your name, I can get away with "Hey, buddy boy!  How you doin'?"

If you're a female, the appellation "buddy boy" hardly seems to fit, and since only Frank Sinatra could get away with its distaff equivalent ("Chickie Baby"), I am out of luck. Sometimes I will just guess a series of female names. Pro tip:  "Thelma" hasn't been right since 1957.

So Peggy (whose name never escapes me) and I were at the grocery not long ago and a guy about my age started sidling up to me.  There are two kinds of Supermarket Sidles:  a) when a woman of diminutive height is about to ask me to reach something on the very back of the very top shelf (Sunsweet Prune Juice and Special K cereal are always way back there) and b) when some dude thinks he knows me.    

"Hey there!" he said.  "How have you been?  Did you retire yet?" At this point, I realize he does not know me well, because from lifelong boon companion to the guy who made my pizza the other night, everyone I come in contact with has heard about my glorious retirement over and over and over again.  But I admitted to retiring four years ago and he gradually lost all the steam in his conversation, like a fully loaded beer truck trying to climb a steep hill from a dead start.  As my answers became more puzzling to him, he finally raised one eyebrow and said, "You ARE Professor _____ ______ from Towson University, aren't you?"

Brick

"Ha ha ha," exclaimed Peggy and I.  As I thought how odd it would be to see a college professor dressed in my standard Brick Heck attire (t shirt and cargos), I explained to the blushing stranger that I was not the person he took me to be, and I made note of the prof's name.

Axl

And when I got home I googled the guy and he has his own web page and all.  Very upscale, you know. But outside of being a fellow graying 60-something with glasses and a slightly smirky grin, the guy looked about as much like me as I look like Axl Heck, and that ain't much.

Sometimes I think that life gives us retirement so we can spend four or five hours wondering why a total stranger would confuse you with someone to whom you bear no resemblance at all.

On the darkest day

Amirah

There was a sad, sad story here in Baltimore last week. I mean, in a town speckled with sad stories like cloves on a ham, this was awful.

A little girl, eight years of age, was leaving school on the penultimate day of the school year. As Amirah Kinlaw stepped out of the safety of the Steuart Hill Academic Academy, she was standing at the intersection of South Gilmor and West Lombard Streets.


And then, she and a crossing guard were struck by a stolen jeep driven by a fourteen-year old. The guard survived; Amirah did not. Even the best efforts of paramedics on the scene and the doctors at Johns Hopkins Pediatric were not enough.

And the police rounded up the teen driver, and said that he made awful decisions and awful choices. And there were vigils and there was weeping and wailing, and a young girl who was said to be loved by everyone is gone forever.

But her memory, for me, will remain in the soul and person of Leon Carter, her father. He was interviewed several times on the local news, in the brutal aftermath of the accident and at one of the neighborhood vigils.

He set an example of grace and humble acceptance of a fate decreed by God that is something we all should follow, I believe.

"She left me with great memories. Right now how I'm feeling is that she's still here with me," Carter said on TV.

Where another man might have been so angry and upset as to hurl invective and curse his fate, Leon Carter stood strong in the face of heartbreak and said, "I have to stay strong for my family, so all the wonderful memories of her is keeping me thriving and motivated."

He was afflicted with this unbelievable burden, but he found enough inner dignity to say that at least he got "nine beautiful years with Amirah," whom he calls "baby girl."

And then, instead of screaming for blood justice against the teenager who took away his blood kin, Carter said he was glad when the young man was arrested the next day so that he could "do his time and bring peace to the streets."

Leon Carter faced the worst day of his life with enough forgiveness to hope that the young man who took his daughter's life will serve his sentence and come out to a life that never includes the agony he brought to Mr Carter.  If you can top that for forgiveness, I'd like to hear about it, because I sure can't.

Sunday Rerun: She Got Me For a Song

Saturday night, we went to Cracker Barrel for dinner...and Peggy thought that the last remaining bit of cheese had finally fallen off of my cracker.

First of all, I will admit to talking to people all the time. I love people and everything about them. As Bill Murray said in "Stripes," it's the STORIES! I love to hear peoples' STORIES! And usually with a few words and a smile, you can wind up passing words and smiles back and forth, even with someone you don't even know.

And I will also admit to having a base of knowledge that is wide-spread and far-flung. Most people think I fling it, and not far enough, either. What I'm saying is not that I am so doggone smart, but I have a lot going on up here in the old melon, most of it of absolutely no value to anyone at all.

And it's a problem, because maybe the reason why I can't learn new facts is that my cranium is already full of information such as Chuck Estrada's 1960 won-loss record and ERA (18-11, 3.58) and the name of the actor who supplied the voice for Mr Ed (Alan "Rocky" Lane). Therefore I cannot figure out how to do anything new or assemble anything Swedish. 

So you understand why my jokes are all old and so are the songs I reference. Good thing, because when the waitress for Cracker Barrel drew near, I saw her name on her apron. It was Lena. You don't meet a Lena every day. I might go months and months til I meet another Lena, so I figured I should make my move.

"Did you ever hear the song called 'Bald-Headed Lena' ?" I asked.

She allowed as how she hadn't so I began telling her the opening verses of this old Lovin' Spoonful number, and the look she gave me was one of wonderment, mirth, and no small amount of confusion.

"Bald -headed Lena
Has anybody seen-uh?
Cute as she can be!
She got a cue-ball head
that's hard as lead
But she's alright with me!

Bald -headed Lena
Has anybody seen-uh?
Cute as she can be!
She can't wear no wig
Cause her head's too big
But she's alright with me!

Sloppy Gertie, she's so dirty
Skinny Minnie, she's too lean
Racy Tracy's out of place
And Joanie's downright mean..."

Our Lena, who I hasten to point out is blessed with a full head of lovely, vibrant, healthy, lustrous hair, smiled, said she never heard of the song before, and did not indicate that she desired another hearing of it. Ever. She departed for the kitchen area.

Peggy, stunned, said, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

(This is a question that has come up before over the course of our marriage and my life. The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.)

I said nothing was the matter with me and I thought that as a Lena, the waitress would like to hear the song. Peggy said, "Is her name Lena?" and I said of course. I certainly wouldn't have told her the lyrics to "Bald-Headed Lena" had her name been Louise, for the love of Pete. I would then have recited the lyrics to "Every Little Breeze Seems To Whisper Louise."

Once again we stood at the great divide, pitting my brash, flamboyant garrulousness with Peggy's classy, elegant dignity. One key difference is when we go to a restaurant for a birthday. For years, Peggy would have died rather than have the waitstaff encircle her and sing "Happy Birthday" and I would have died if they didn't!

Peggy wonders why I would say such dumb things, and wonders if I had hurt Lena's feelings. I don't think Lena was put out by the song at all. She brought me some extra butter for my grits with a big happy smile.

And that night, she went home with a bigger tip than even our usual 21%, "just because."

I just hope she told her whole family that there's a song about her. It's cool to have that sort of thing going on. If there were a song called "Bald-Headed Mark," I would sing it all day long.

And I just might anyway.

The Saturday Picture Show, June 18, 2016

I have friends who work in the retail world and tell me this is a real-life problem...people who run into their store for some sunblock or Cheetos or a blunt and peel money out of their bikini top or whatever covers their nether regions, still dripping from the waters of the bay, ocean or pool.  Then you put that money in the till and at the end of the shift you have a pile of ones that's like particle board, all glued together.  Trust me, any money I hand you will be dry...and dusty.

Welcome to Thessaloniki, second largest city in Greece.  Looks like if you set out to meet the neighbors, you'd be a long long time getting that done

As a nation, we were all told that "someday a machine will come along and do your job."  And so, in our minds, we imbued the machines with human features, characteristics and feelings.  That self-checkout down at the Try 'N' Shop talks to me like she knows me, but it's all a front.

Let me know when you see the human being in this picture.

I like carrots and Trader Joe's has the really colorful ones. They make great snacks!

This is a house in Turkey with a nice covered outdoor eating area. Not that I would move to Turkey, but who knows?

Velveeta for 68¢ for the 2-lb log! Chunk Bologna, 28¢/lb.  Wash it all down with Kool-Aid (3¢/pkg) and ice cream for dessert! ($1.39!) Good times back in the day at Cut/Low!

A guy has his laptop set to take a picture and send it to his phone if someone makes three unsuccessful attempts to log on.  Here is the photo he got of the culprit.  Yes it looks like our Eddie, but she will not wear a collar so she's off the hook.

Baseball as life

Going to get all baseball-centric here for a minute, and even if you don't care for the greatest game ever invented, you probably understand that baseball is a perfect metaphor for life.  Just look at how many baseball terms wound up in our everyday lexicon:

• out in left field
• pinch hitter
• rain check
• hit it out of the park
• warming up in the bullpen
• throwing up in the bullpen

OK, that last one, maybe not.  

But today I am thinking of a ballplayer named Carl Crawford, recently released by the Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles (in case anyone confuses them with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.) Crawford came up with the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays and went on to the Boston Red Sox before signing a huge contract with the Dodgers.

He will be on any list of All Time Underachieving Ballplayers for his generally lackadaisical efforts on the diamond, and now I'm reading that he has been involved with a woman who once was married to Chad "Ocho Cinco" Johnson, former football player, and they say that she will probably drive off with most if not all of his money as she leaves him for the next payday. 

So as he sits around in the future, looking back over the glory days, he might recall the night of September 28, 2011, when he stood out in left field as a member of the Red Sox.  And I don't mean that he stood out by dint of his excellent play; I mean that he more or less stood around out there, displaying all the agility and effort of a statue.

In those days, the Orioles were a pretty awful team, populated by once-but-not-anymore greats like Vladimir Guerrero and never-greats like Kyle Hudson and Willie Eyre.  But the base of the now-great team was already forming, with Jones, Weiters, Davis and Hardy on the field in orange and black.  

That was the last game of the season, and it would have been easy for the O's, in fifth place out of five teams in their division, to pack it in early and wait for next year.  But they went into the ninth inning losing 3-2, tied the game on a double by Nolan Reimold and won the game when Robert Andino, a little-known utility player, drove Reimold home with a hit that Crawford didn't quite try hard enough to catch.  I still love seeing the videos of that night because the final game of the 2011 season carried over into the 2012 season, and that's when the Orioles started winning.

Robt. Andino

You see, as the Orioles were playing the Red Sox in Baltimore, the Tampa Bay Rays, who had let Crawford go seek his fortune in Beantown, were playing the Yankees in Florida and were losing by 7-0 in the eighth inning. The Sox and the Rays were the last two teams in contention for the wild card spot in the playoffs, and all the Red Sox had to do was beat the Orioles, or hope the Rays lost, to get in. The Rays came back from being seven runs behind to win their game, and, as we have seen, the Red Sox lost, and this is why the Rays went on to the playoffs and the Red Sox went home to sulk.

Those who believe in jinxes and hexes call it The Curse of The Bambino that the Red Sox traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees and therefore did not win the World Series for dozens of years. Knocking them out in 2011 is still known as The Curse of The Andino around here, and even though Robert is not currently a major-leaguer, he would still get a standing ovation if he showed up here in Baltimore.

Coffee Talk

One thing about young people is that they find strength in numbers, even though most of them hate studying mathematics.

So one teen can be sullen or cranky, but you put two or three of them together for a bee-fest and the sum of their nastiness is much more than its individual parts.  And I mean boys and girls too.  Don't think for a minute that boys don't run each other down, too! Sometimes with their words, sometimes with their cars.

But what we have here is the note that a woman named Michelle Icard left for a gaggle of girls she happened to sit next to at a Starbucks in Charlotte, NC. While they sipped their mochachocalatayayas, they were bashing some other girls and whinging about gifts that had been bestowed upon them that were not quite up to their lofty standards.

Ms Icard was so upset that she left the coffee shop, but was encouraged to come back and try to educate the young ladies. She wrote a note:

"Hi Girls! I sat near you today in Starbucks and listened as you talked. You three are obviously pretty and hard-working. I wish your kindness matched your pretty exteriors. I heard you talk about a girl who sang a song about being lonely in the talent show – and you laughed. About a girl who couldn't be lead singer because you got all the votes, about crappy presents other people have given you … and you sounded so mean and petty. 

"You are smart and you are pretty. It would take nothing from you to also be kind. – M." 

And so far, while plaudits and kudos have rained down on Ms Icard like a typhoon of good will, no one has come forward to admit being one of the NazzztyGurrrrrlzzzz Squad. Icard runs a website where she promises to help people deal with middle school students, and so she deserves our love and support for attempting the impossible.

A very wise friend of mine once said that no one likes a 13-year-old boy...even other 13-year-old boys. It's a horrible age to be, and let's hope this note rang true to these young ladies and that they are - even as we speak - reaching out to the less lovely, the less talented, and their families, demonstrating how they have learned a valuable lesson and will now get their coffee at WaWa.

He could claim he was railroaded

When I was in junior high school there was a real scandal in town when some guys were caught stealing stuff from local stores such as Taubman's, Food Fair and Read's Drug stores.

You will observe that all of these stores are now out of business, but I don't think this is attributable to the 14-year-olds and their theft ring.  

But even though only two or three guys were involved (none of them I) we heard about it in school and in church and at home, for such was the ethos of the day: crime was wrong and everyone got hollered at over it.

And all they had ripped off was stuff of no value - hot rod magazines, cheap pocket knives, pocket combs.  Which is not to say that they should have stolen more valuable stuff.

But it was small stuff, junk they shoved in their pockets before sauntering out of the stores in a nonchalant fashion.


Over the years, theft has become a much more specialized avocation, and here is the saga of a man from Ellicott City, MD, who got caught swiping stuff that he really couldn't put in his pants unless he were the Big Cowboy at the Woodstown Rodeo in New Jersey.

For, you see, Randy Penkert, who has spent 50 years with us here on earth, has pleaded guilty to stealing $222,000 worth of railroad track.

Last fall, CSX railroad police were investigating what happened to several hundred feet of rail, tie plates, bolts and spikes that used to be in a railroad yard in Howard County and now are not.  Penkert was at the yard that day and produced a contract for the removal of scrap from the yard.

But the contract was as fakey as those nekkid pictures of Martha Washington you see online.  

Sentencing will be on August 25.  Penkert could receive as much as 15 years time in prison.  And how cool would it be if they still used convicts with balls and chains to build railroad lines?

Penkert could say, "Hey!  I know where we can get more of this stuff!"

It just might!

As Sigmund Freud was fond of pointing out, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

And sometimes, as The Fortunes loved to sing, one drop of rain on your windowpane doesn't mean to say there's a thunderstorm coming.

It's funny how things can fool us.  You'll be driving along headed east and all the westbound cars will be dripping wet with the wipers a-flappin', and you think you're driving into rain.  And you might well be right, or you might be in the neighborhood of the Clean As A Whistle Car Wash on a Half-Price Tuesday.

Admit it - when you watched "That '70s Show," you thought that Topher Grace would be the one star in that cast to go on to great fame and top billing.  I sure did!

Recently, I was all discombobulated when we got a new car and it had everything I had wanted in a car - except a CD player.  I have burned several hundred CDs at home over the years containing such obscure musical treats as "That's A-Plenty" (Ray Miller and His Orchestra), "Zing a Little Zong" (Bing Crosby), "Don't Boogie Woogie When You Say Your Prayers Tonight" (Jerry Lee Lewis), "I've Got Nothing To Do But Love" (Phil Harris), and "You Get What You Give" by New Radicals, and you really can't expect to hear any of these songs on any radio station that expects to make a profit.

So I've been busy burning a couple of giant 16 gb thumb drives, putting all my nutty music on there, and it's much more convenient anyway than fooling with CDs as I drive along.

They should have named her LuRay.

Now, this deal of keeping an open mind and waiting to see how things work out only goes so far, you understand.  You pick up a book by John Grisham, you are guaranteed turgid prose and a leaden plot; there's no getting around it. Order a yam instead of a russet, and don't expect the same tasty taste.  Sit down to a Julia Roberts movie and there is no getting around her a) overacting and b) guffawing. And try as you might, you will never be as happy with off-brand el cheapo jeans as you will with real Levi's.

But these are the only exceptions!  Everything else, keep an open mind.  Especially about keeping an open mind.