Tom McMahon

In That Order

An excerpt from Michael J. Lewis:

It is often said that great achievement requires in one's formative years two teachers: a stern taskmaster who teaches the rules and an inspirational guru who teaches one to break the rules. But they must come in that order. Childhood training in Bach can prepare one to play free jazz and ballet instruction can prepare one to be a modern dancer, but it does not work the other way around. One cannot be liberated from fetters one has never worn; all one can do is to make pastiches of the liberations of others.

(via Photon Courier)

Life And The Fastpass

A fine bit of wisdom from No Runny Eggs:

A few years back, Disney instituted the Fastpass system.  With this system you can go to some of their more popular attractions, insert your entrance ticket and get a pass that will allow you to skip to the head of the line for that particular attraction at a set time.   There are a number of rules around how the passes work so that you may be able to get 3 or so on any given day and then stand in the regular queues for the other attractions.  Here’s my object lesson:  in life you may get the occasional Fastpass.  It may come in the form of a scholarship, a particular job promotion, a great spouse or some other plus.  Just like at Disney, life’s Fastpass will let you move ahead of your peers for a period of time.  However, also like Disney, you won’t get a Fastpass for every obstacle in your life.  Fastpasses should be looked at and used as a perk, novelty, gift.  Fastpasses are great and should be relished but we’re going to spend most of our lives standing in line with everyone else and that’s what life is mostly about.

Have You Ever Searched Your Own Name On The Internet To See What Would Pop Up?

An excerpt from science fiction writer Michael Burstein:

I imagine it wouldn't surprise the people who know me that I have done this numerous times. When you write fiction, you tend to want to see what sort of public picture you're creating on the Internet.

But I've also run searches on my name to find other Michael Bursteins out there. I'm not sure why I've done this, although I always felt an odd sort of identification with the others who share my name. For example, I'm a fan of the Israeli actor and singer Mike Burstyn because we share a name. (Burstyn's original name was Michael Burstein; I believe he changed the spelling for his career, since it was easier to fit on a marquee.) I make a point of seeing Burstyn perform whenever I can.

Burstein is not a common name, and my father used to tell me that there was a time when the only Bursteins in the Manhattan phone book were our family. I tended to think that there weren't too many other Bursteins out there. But with the rise of the Internet, I've found many others. Including other Michael Bursteins.

Why I am sharing this? Because today's New York Times has an interesting article on the topic of finding people with your own name: Names That Match Forge a Bond on the Internet by Stephanie Rosenbloom. I'm apparently not the only person who's done this. In fact, according to the article, a writer named Angela Shelton has just published a book about meeting 40 other women with her same name. The article also notes why we might feel an odd kinship with someone who shares our name – social psychologist Brett Pelham has done studies that show that our names, and the letters within them, are influential in our lives.

To answer the question: Yes, I do this every day, and just partly to see who is linking/talking about me. Mostly, tho, because there are so many guys out there named Tom McMahon. There's Tom McMahon the Actor, Tom McMahon the Canadian Musician, Tom McMahon the Kids & Family Newspaper Columnist, and Tom McMahon the Executive Director of the Democratic National Committee, just to name a few. 

Almost No One Visits Anymore. Except John McCain.

An excerpt from a 1997 story by Michael Lewis:

For the past few years, Udall has lain ill with Parkinson's disease in a veterans hospital in Northeast Washington, which is where we were heading. Every few weeks, McCain drives over to pay his respects. These days the trip is a ceremony, like going to church, only less pleasant. Udall is seldom conscious, and even then he shows no sign of recognition. McCain brings with him a stack of newspaper clips on Udall's favorite subjects: local politics in Arizona, environmental legislation, Native American land disputes, subjects in which McCain initially had no particular interest himself. Now, when the Republican senator from Arizona takes the floor on behalf of Native Americans, or when he writes an op-ed piece arguing that the Republican Party embrace environmentalism, or when the polls show once again that he is Arizona's most popular politician, he remains aware of his debt to Arizona's most influential Democrat.

One wall of Udall's hospital room was cluttered with photos of his family back in Arizona; another bore a single photograph of Udall during his season with the Denver Nuggets, dribbling a basketball. Aside from a congressional seal glued to a door jamb, there was no indication what the man in the bed had done for his living. Beneath a torn gray blanket on a narrow hospital cot, Udall lay twisted and disfigured. No matter how many times McCain tapped him on the shoulder and called his name, his eyes remained shut.

A nurse entered and seemed surprised to find anyone there, and it wasn't long before I found out why: Almost no one visits anymore. In his time, which was not very long ago, Mo Udall was one of the most-sought-after men in the Democratic Party. Yet as he dies in a veterans hospital a few miles from the Capitol, he is visited regularly only by a single old political friend, John McCain. "He's not going to wake up this time," McCain said.

There Was This Guy I Knew When I Was A Kid

The first half of a post by the I-usually-read-him-to keep-my-blood-pressure-from-dropping-too-low Mike Plaisted:

Pillar of the community – the only lawyer in town, actually. Always in a suit, even hanging around in his own house. Real straight up guy – MC’d everything from the Holy Rosary athletic banquet to the Kiwanis Club Christmas night. Nixon Republican, Vietnam War supporter, fiscal conservative. He was pretty cool, though. Coolest guy I ever knew.

When I stride into the courthouse every morning, I think about him. He was gracious to everyone, friend and foe. He stood tall in that conservative suit. I can’t say I ever saw him actually practicing law, although I knew that’s what he did. But he brought his kind bearing with him everywhere he went. People may have disagreed with him, but nobody didn’t like him.

The Vietnam era was ugly and, with me as a teenaged know-it-all, we had some very intense conversations about the war and all of the other extraordinary issues of the day. He was a WWII veteran, serving in a boat on the Pacific for some very long years. He respected authority and often seemed bewildered by the freedom my generation felt and exercised. We talked and yelled and vented – understanding each other more than we could admit at the time.

I learned from him the bearing of a true professional man, the respect for opposing views, the value of informed argument and fair play. It was he who first got me interested in the law and the interplay of facts and precedent, even though we didn’t talk much about the details of his work and I never saw him appear in court.

The only case we ever discussed was a client of his who was charged with littering, raising the following issue: if you pick up a can on the side of the road and throw it into a nearby river, can you yourself be charged with littering for simply moving something that had already been littered? 40 years later – 22 as a lawyer – and I still don’t know the answer to that one.

"This guy" was Mike's Dad, who died in 1971 when Mike was just 16. Not fair. But not forgotten, either.

Modern Maturity

From Christian Schneider:

It just seems strange to me that the words we use for looking at naked women always equate maturity with prurient desires. In fact, it's the exact opposite. Think about it - movies targeted to "mature" audiences. Going to a "gentlemans' club." What is so mature or gentlemanly about stuffing dollar bills into a naked woman's garter? In fact, I think it makes a lot more sense to consider those things "immature." I understand a teenage boy looking at pictures of naked women a lot more than I can understand a grown man doing the same. Then, it just gets a little...creepy. ...

I don't understand how we ascribe "maturity" to things that would be more befitting of teenage boys than adults. Are we teaching kids that being more "adult" means being less in control of our desires? If that were the case, wouldn't 80 year-olds be entitled to the best lap dances?

Why Do Conservative Politicians Age So Much Better Than Liberal Ones?

From Thought Mesh:

Even Barry Goldwater is held in high esteem for someone who got totally plastered by LBJ in the 1964 Presidential election. Ronald Reagan, of course, is effectively the archetype. I think it’s quite reasonable to expect current President Bush’s reputation to increase over the next few decades. But what liberal politicians since, say, WWII have aged well? Jimmy Carter? Ted Kennedy? Michael Dukakis? George McGovern? Bill Clinton? Eliot Spitzer? Even John F. Kennedy — his name may be used iconographically, but his policies are anathema to the very people who do that. It’s another aspect of how MAL is the political ideology that dare not show its true form, and whose practitioners can only be protected while they have the power to suppress dissent. Once that slips (due to death, retirement, loss of influence) the inevitable molding begins.

Out-Living A Small Town

An excerpt from Jamie Rhein:

This Sunday I went to my great-uncle's funeral in Hindman, Kentucky. He was the youngest of 11 children and the last one living. Good-bye to that generation. It's weird to have one layer of family gone. But, even more unsettling is a comment made by one of the people who gave a eulogy. He said that he moved to Hindman in 1956 and since then there are only two businesses still remaining. One is the Bank of Hindman. The other is the funeral home. As he said, my uncle, at age 82, had outlived his town. ...

He was the post master there for years and he owned the movie theater that doesn't exist any more. He also ran the drive-in that hasn't been around for a few decades. I'm not even sure where it was. It's startling how fast change can occur to the point that much of a place is no longer recognizable. The vibrancy of life that existed in Hindman that my uncle captured with a movie camera back when my mother was a child is no where to be seen.

What Is Wrong With These People?

From John C. Dvorak:

I started by finding the HP Support and Drivers page, which is not difficult. Then I typed "2210" (the model number of our printer) into the Search box. I was told that HP has used 2210 in the names of numerous lines of notebooks, a line of desktop machines, a pocket PC, and even a digital projector. And, yes, some printers. Aren't there enough numbers in the universe? HP doesn't have to use redundant product numbering for different lines of products. Is it someone's lucky number, or what?

This is like going to Dallas and discovering 20 streets, each named Texas Avenue. Atlanta approaches this sort of idiocy with its numerous versions of Peachtree Street, but HP beats them all, with 24 different products named the 2210. As an exercise, I typed in "2200" and got a splash page from HP telling me there were over 300 products—too numerous to list—for products with 2200 in their monikers. What is wrong with these people?

I couldn't find anything about Texas Avenue in Dallas (a little help, anybody?) but here's the Wikipedia entry on Atlanta and their Peachtrees:

There are several streets in Atlanta with "Peachtree" as part of their name (not all of which are listed here), including Peachtree Creek Road, Peachtree Lane, Peachtree Avenue, Peachtree Circle, Peachtree Drive, Peachtree Plaza, Peachtree Way, Peachtree Memorial Drive, New Peachtree Road, Peachtree Walk, and Peachtree Valley Road. West Peachtree Street is not the western branch of Peachtree Street, but a major parallel north-south street located one block west of Peachtree Street running through Midtown. Others include Peachtree Battle Avenue, commemorating the Battle of Peachtree Creek, Peachtree-Dunwoody Road running between Peachtree Street and Dunwoody, Georgia, and Old Peachtree Road, which traces part of the route of the original Peachtree Trail for which the road is named. Some of these streets intersect with Peachtree Street, others are extensions of it, and some are nowhere near it.

Indeed, what is wrong with these people?

Every Morning

Al Campbell passes along a story he received via e-mail:

It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb.  He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00AM.  I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him.  I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam, it was well healed so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.  While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning as he was in such a hurry.  The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I inquired as to her health.  He told me that she had been there for awhile and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease.  As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he were a bit late.  He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised and asked him, "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?"

He smiled as he patted my hand and said, "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."

Two Old Men

The first, William F. Buckley, died yesterday at age 82. Loved by many, respected by just about everyone else, he led a full, full life. And a good one too. Helped bring down Communism, and wrote mystery novels. Had a TV show. etc etc etc Like I said, a full, full life.

The other old man is much less well known. Pat Cunningham is a former columnist for the Rockford Register-Star. When I lived in the Rockford area many years ago, I really enjoyed reading his columns. They were fresh, with an offbeat perspective. So when I found out he was starting a blog recently, I was excited. I even recommended that you read it.

Unfortunately, the Pat Cunningham of today is not the same person I remember. Well, he is the same human being, with the same face, but his writing now is just the window into the soul of a bitter, bitter man. BILL BUCKLEY, SNIVELING RACIST, DIES was his post from yesterday. His entire blog is a variation on that theme.

Why some old people are happy in the midst of numerous ailments while others are old and bitter and shriveled up before their time is one of those mysteries of life. And while it always sad to lose a fellow like William F. Buckley, it's not nearly as sad as watching the slow, painful decay of a bitter old man like Pat Cunningham.

Passive-Aggressive Presents

Passive-Aggressive Presents

Jessica Hagy nails yet another one.

Evidently It's Obnoxious Not Just In Madison, Either

From the St. Louis blog South City Musings:

Light changes. I turn. And, like according to prophecy, the little white honda makes a wide left into me. We don't quite touch, I lay on the horn, and she swerves. Speeds up, cuts me off. ...

The car that cuts me off, it has two bumper stickers. The first is our local NPR affiliate. The second is one of those Coexist stickers where the word is made up of different religious symbols. This person holds a lot of the same opinions I do, I can tell. Except that I try very hard to not wreck my car or cut people off.

I follow her, not on purpose, we're both going to Schnucks. She gets out of her car. She grabs her canvas bags. She has a felted wool hat and a kicky jacket on. she is tall AND thin. Sophia and Maeve get into the car cart. We go into the store right behind her. In front of the organic lettuce section, where she has dropped a bag on the floor accidentally (but doesn't reach to pick it up), I pick up the lettuce and say,

"Magnolia at Kingshighway is a double left."

"I know," she says defensively.

"You turned into my lane."

"Well, sorry, then." And walks away from me.

Word Of The Day: Multi-Dadding

From Word Spy:

multi-dadding pp. Having multiple children with multiple men.
—multi-dad v., n.

Example Citation:

In our part of the world, Lucy Lawless, Sally Ridge and Wendyl Nissen happily navigate their way through multi-dadding arrangements. ...

Women like Anderson say the negative reaction towards multi-fathered families comes from an assumption that multi-dadding women must be promiscuous.

But Anderson is quick to set the record straight, saying she has only had relationships with four men — the fathers of her four children.
—Shelley Bridgeman, "Who's the daddy?," The New Zealand Herald, September 30, 2007

See also this soon-to-be-obsolete synonym.

Living At The End Of The Runway In Bridgeton, Missouri

Living At The End Of The Runway In Bridgeton, Missouri

That arrow is 12652 Celburne Lane, where we lived in the 1960's when I was a kid. (A question for the current residents of Bridgeton: Is that Freebourn Park named Mrs. Freebourn, the long-time Music Teacher at Carrollton Elementary School?) But it wasn't quite as bad as the map above makes it look.

They Tore Down My Old Neighborhood To Expand The Airport

It's still pretty close, though.

The Satellite View

In the 1960's it just never occurred to any of our neighbors to sue the airport for excessive noise. After all, the airport was already there when the houses were built. Yeah, those 707's taking off and landing made quite a racket. And they screwed up the TV reception for about a half a minute in those days before cable. But I never got tired of watching those jets coming in for a landing. Twenty years later I found myself working about the same distance from O'Hare. I guess it just got in my blood.

Is This A Great Country Or What?

An excerpt from Ben Stein:

Then, on the TV, came an amazing image: Senator Barack Obama giving a speech at a college in Selma, Ala. And what do you think is the name of the college where Barack Obama was giving his talk? George C. Wallace Community College.

That's right, named for the late ultra-segregationist, white supremacist governor of Alabama who famously said, "Segregation today, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever" when he was sworn in in the early '60s.

Now, George Wallace — who later in life pleaded with the blacks for forgiveness, and got it from many — is also under a stone, and Barack Obama is running hard for president at his namesake college.

Dear Lord, is this a great country or what?

RIP, The Weekly World News

An excerpt of a story originally from The Washington Post:

Somewhere in Kalamazoo, Elvis weeps: The Weekly World News is folding.

The Weekly World News was not one of those sleazy tabloids that cover tawdry celebrity scandals. It was a sleazy tabloid that covered events that seemed to occur in a parallel universe, a fevered dream world where pop culture mixed with urban legends, conspiracy theories and hallucinations. Maybe WWN played fast and loose with the facts, but somehow it captured the spirit of the age -- and did it in headlines as perfect as haiku:

"DEAD ROCK STARS RETURN ON GHOST PLANE!"

"BLIND MAN REGAINS SIGHT AND DUMPS UGLY WIFE!"

The most creative newspaper in American history, the Weekly World News broke the story that Elvis faked his death and was living in Kalamazoo, Mich. It also broke the story that the lost continent of Atlantis was found near Buffalo. And the story that Hillary Clinton was having a love affair with P'lod, an alien with a foot-long tongue. And countless other incredible scoops.

None of these stories was, in a strictly technical sense, true, which explains why the Weekly World News never won a Pulitzer Prize. But in its glorious heyday in the late 1980s, the supermarket tabloid amazed and amused a million readers a week. But that was then. Now, with circulation plunging below 90,000, American Media, which owns WWN, has pulled the plug. The Aug. 27 issue will be the last.

Sometimes, Things Work Out Great. To Be Honest About It, Usually They Don’t

From The Asian Badger:

As I’m sitting here reading blogs and listening to the Crew lose, I got a call from the hospital. I flew a young man (YM) and his parents to Milwaukee last week for some kind of pediatric procedure for the YM (10-12 years old) at a local hospital and the YM didn’t make it. I’m going to fly the parents home on 7/9/07.

As my blog readers know, I do the volunteer medivac thing as just that…a volunteer. It’s round trip service for everyone win or lose.

Sometimes, things work out great.

To be honest about it, usually they don’t. What makes this one even tougher than usual is that the family, including a very sick YM were just optimistic and hopeful as could be. The YM handled my “patient” take-off maneuver with aplomb. On top of that, he asked some very intelligent questions about flying (despite seeming to be in great pain) and seemed to have an instinctive understanding about the cockpit flight deck. He could have been a pilot.

I referenced above that some flights suck. This is going to be one of them. I’m not a parent so I can’t imagine what his parents are feeling but I’m not going to be a happy camper when I bring it back to the Home Base. No buzzing on this one.

And the second post:

As I posted here, I knew Thursday was going to suck.

It did, big time.

Everything sucked….the weather, the fact that the YM died and the fact that I had a shitty landing when I brought the parents in to their local airport.

It was a non-precsion IFR landing in bad weather and even though I set down on the numbers, it was more stress on the landing gear than I usually do.

It didn’t help the mother was weeping the entire time (I can’t blame her) of the 2.30 hour flight. On top of that, it was bumpy the whole way. I couldn’t find an altitude that was somewhat smooth. Thank God, no one got sick since in my own stupidity, I forgot that I didn’t have any airsick bags on board so I didn’t put any on board. I felt so bad for the YM’s parents.

That’s why I try not to get emotionally involved in Med Flights…it can screw up your mission which is to get everyone “From A to B” in a safe manner; but I got involved on the inbound flight which was pretty easy to do. They were so nice and optomistic (sp?) that you couldn’t help but not like everyone in the family from the start.

The flight back wasn’t much better since I was bounced around pretty good in a front. In honor of the YM, I vowed to make a perfect precision approach on ILS 10 at Crites. (PDF required.)

I did and nailed the landing…in fact I broke out of the shit at 600 and made a textbook landing. With a 22 knot crosswind. I’ll authorize any YouTube guy that caught it to use it as a training video. It was that good.

Not bad for a four-eyed fat man.

YM….I’ll see you in about 20 or so. Sooner if I keep getting invested in flights like yours. In our next lifetime, we’ll go to The Big Mango. The first one is on me.

To my regular 10 readers…thanks for looking at this…it helped to write it and it helps to know that you will read it. Normal rants high quality posts of stimulating intellectual content will start again in the very near future.

plz dnt kll me. k thx bye.

Another quality rant by Rachel Lucas:

It's great that 91% of us think sending text messages while driving is dangerous, but what I really want to know is, who are the asshats comprising the 9% who don't?

Anyone? Anyone?

I saw a teenage girl texting while driving a car next to me the other day. She literally was not even looking at the road. I considered running her into the ditch just for fun, but then realized I would go to jail for that so instead I honked at her and shook my head reproachfully. I really am an old person aren't I. Ever since I realized that since I'm 35, I could easily have driving-age kids if I had chosen to be a dumbass when I was young and had gotten myself knocked up, I've felt crotchety and mean with regard to all teenagers. I want to kill most of them. Just for pleasure.

Mensa

An excerpt from Burt Prelutsky:

In fact, as I look back over my life, the only group I ever joined was Mensa, and that, more or less, was an accident. It happened back in my 20s. I was dating an attractive young woman at the time. Apparently wishing to prove that she had more than good looks going for her, she decided to prove her worth by passing the Mensa test. That was okay with me. If other people wish to join groups, that’s their business. The problem was that she insisted that I, too, take the test. I guess the way she saw things, it would be unbecoming for her as an official member of the big brain club to be saddled with a knuckle-dragging nincompoop.

So, one Saturday afternoon, as I recall, we took the test. As anyone the least bit familiar with life as it is depicted in movies and TV sitcoms could readily predict, I passed and she didn’t. Worse yet, I don’t think she believed me when I told her I didn’t think any the less of her. However, if our positions had been reversed, she would have obviously dropped me in a New York minute, and she clearly doubted my sincerity. That was that, except that I was now a card-carrying member, and I soon began receiving invitations to Mensa events.

Being dateless, I figured I had nothing to lose. After all, unlike some men, I preferred intelligent women. So off I went to a mixer for new members. Frankly, I’m not sure what I expected. But whatever it was, I was sorely disappointed. Never having been in prison or a mental institution, I’d never met so many embittered people in my entire life. ...

Important Facts They Learned From Their Dads

From postsecret via nonchalantsavant:

My dad used to say that inside of the car's air-bags was uncooked popcorn. When you wrecked the popcorn would pop and you would have a snack until help came.

My dad told me the worst swear word you could possibly say was "Bostonian". It meant "someone who has no private parts." My brother and I used the word until we were teenagers and my father giggled every time we said it, right before he sent us to our rooms.

When i was little my dad told me that polyester was a small animal in australia & they would kill it to make clothes. that night i sat in my room reading the labels on my clothes for hours & threw all of the polyester ones away.

When I was little my Dad told me that the tune played by the ice-cream van was the ice-cream man letting everyone know that he'd run out of ice-cream.

Your Monday Morning Debate Topic: Resolved, Happy People Can Marry Anyone And Stay Married

Philip Greenspun very nicely frames the subject:

At a dinner party a week ago, a woman talked about one of her friends from professional school.  He was the nicest guy in the world, friendly, optimistic, happy.  Everyone was shocked when he married “a total bitch.”  The marriage has now lasted 15+ years with no signs of friction.

I offered my theory:  “Happy people can marry anyone and stay married.  They are dating someone who isn’t so great, yet their mood is good and they don’t feel any strong motivation to change their circumstances, so they slide from dating to marriage.  Fundamentally unhappy people, however, are always trying to change something in an attempt to become happy.  They will break up with partner and search for someone new, thinking that a new partner will make them happy.  They keep doing this until they are 40 years old and desperate, never realizing that it wasn’t their circumstances making them unhappy, but their genetics.”

Life's Unanswered Questions

Just a few from CrazyThoughts.com:

• How old are you before it can be said you died of old age?
• Why is it said that an alarm clock is going off when really its coming on?
• Why do you put two cents in when its only a penny for your thoughts?
• If "Fantasy Island" really granted wishes, why wasn't Tattoo 6'6" ?
• Why do we sing 'Take me out to the ball game', when we are already there?
• If a Man is talking in the forest and there is no woman there to hear him, is he still wrong?
• If Wile Coyote had enough money for all that Acme crap, why didn't he just buy dinner?
• Can blind people be dyslexic when they read Braille?
• Why is the St. Louis baseball team the cardinals, but the Missouri state bird is the blue bird?
• Why is Charlie short for Charles if they are both the same number of letters?
• Do they have burglar alarms at Christian bookstores?
• Can you put a gay man in a straight jacket?

(via Mike McOlash)

The Granolas of Minneapolis

Economist-turned-amateur-anthropologist Don Salyards on this modern-day urban tribe:

There are distinct physical, fashion and spending attributes that separate the Granolas from the rest of the human race. Men wear long ponytails and dress in khaki pants or jean cutoffs, with button down shirts. Women wear their hair long, almost like the 60’s, hanging loosely down their backs or tied up like the men. Women wear loose fitting 100% cotton garments that reveal no female shape whatsoever. Earthy, muted-colored tunics are often worn with baggy slacks underneath. Accessories include Birkenstock sandals and knapsacks in lieu of purses. Granolas shop at 2nd hand stores, both for economy and to avoid channeling their money to the fashion industry. Women don’t wear makeup and probably don’t shave their legs or underarms, but no body knows for sure. Granolas home school or send their kids to public schools. No private, elitist schools for the offspring of Granolas! One place where the normally thrifty Granolas don’t mind spending lots of money is the local coffeehouse, where they purchase expensive herbal teas and ten-dollar sandwiches bulging with sprouts. Probably one of the biggest reasons the Granolas go to the local coffee places is the fact that there are a lot of other Granolas there to commiserate with. Granolas think themselves to be quite intelligent compared to other human beings. In reality they are urban mystics who often believe that they have the answers to all of the world’s problems, if only the rest of humanity would listen! No Starbucks for the Granolas; that would be selling out to corporate America!

Off You Go!

• "Off You Go!" is a British phrase that means "Go Away!", but in a nicer manner. I first heard it in The Day of the Jackal, right after the chief British detective had finished giving his men the assignment of checking every file in some huge Hall of Records. Simon Cowell uses it too, during the audition phase of American Idol.
• Like We Care, Part I: In Milwaukee Time-Warner Cable is running ads that AT&T is trying to get into the cable TV business, but "not on a level playing field". I know they care, but do they really think we care?
• Like We Care, Part II: Also in Milwaukee, the Wisconsin Indian Tribes are running ads to keep the Mohicans from Connecticut from building a new casino in Kenosha. The implication is that we Wisconsin White Folk & Black Folk will be much better off if Wisconsin Red Folk get the money instead of the Connecticut Red Folk. A tougher sell than the cable TV thing, I think.
• Why can't the State of Wisconsin build the Kenosha Kasino itself, and eliminate our Indian Middlemen Overlords?

The Boat Lullabies

The Boat Lullabies

The Boat Lullabies is the name of a blog with all sorts of old photos. Sort of like rummaging through the photo albums at an estate sale. Fascinating.

The Crucial Importance Of Personality In Politics

An excerpt from the Irish AtlanticBlog:

It continues to surprise me that some people can survive and even prosper with what appears to be a complete lack of tolerable personality. Bill Clinton has it in spades, Hillary a lot less, Kerry none. Similarly in Irish politics. The Irish prime minister, Bertie Ahern, is charming. But I offer a story from a friend here in banking. An Irish TD (basically the same as a British MP) walks into a bank to cash a check. He is fairly well-known, but the teller is fairly young and does not recognize him, so asks for ID. Instead of showing it to her, he starts getting upset, doing the whole "Don't you know who I am?" routine. An older teller who recognized him rushed over to settle his ruffled feathers, leaving the young bank teller upset and embarrassed. I won't say who it is, because I do not want the legal hassle, but I will note who it is not. It was not Bertie, obviously. Bertie would have shown her ID, and then spent five minutes, Bill Clinton like, persuading her that it was all his fault, and he would have left the bank with her worshipping him to the end of her days.

This is the very reason, my friends, that it really doesn't matter that Barack Obama had 17-year-old parking tickets, or that his church is a tad too Afro-centric. 

The Two Tools Of Life

• Phil Proctor: Sometimes, we just need to remember what the rules of life really are:  You only need two tools: WD-40 and Duct Tape.  If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40.  If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape.

How Much Money Would It Take For You To Put On A Diaper And Drive For 900 Miles Straight?

• Wouldn't Do It For Any Amount
• $1,000,000
• $500,000
• $100,000
• $50,000
• $10,000
• $5,000
• $1,000
• $500
• $100
• Sounds Like Fun! I'd do it for Free!!!

Just for fun ask your co-workers this question the next time you go to work. Or copy and paste this into an email and send it to everyone you know. I Triple-Dog-Dare-You, so you have to do it. Go on now, you know the drill: CTRL-A, CTRL-C, CTRL-V, and [SEND]. They'll all appreciate it, you can take it to the bank!!

Not Us!

Pat Sajak on the importance of respecting one's elders:

We Boomers may not be the “Greatest Generation”, as our parents have come to be called due to their defense of freedom in the world, but we are the most self-absorbed generation ever, and we firmly believe the world revolves around us. Hey, didn’t we stop a war, throw out a President and open everyone’s eyes to the wonders of peace and drugs and sexual freedom? We’ve been running things for decades now, and we’re not about to give up that power. When we expressed our disdain for old folks, we meant the really old folks, not us.

The Corner Mailbox: A Dying Breed

The Corner Mailbox: A Dying Breed

Just for kicks, notice how many you see (or don't see) driving around to-day. Photo by Tim McMahon.

A Christmas Conversation

Do you all have conversations like this?

SHE: You know, I really don't get all this gift-giving stuff. I mean, I get you a present for $50, and you give me a present for $50, so why do we both just keep our $50?

HE: Because that's exactly what people do the other 364 days of the year. And people crave variety, so for 1 day out of 365 they give gifts to each other.

SHE: So why don't you just give me a permission slip to spend $50 on myself, and I'll give you a permission slip to spend $50 on yourself, and we'll call it even?

HE: Because that's not how it's done. People like to do things different, but only in the same way.

Please Pay No Attention To That Loud Banging Noise

I work in a new office building, and we recently received this e-mail message:

Have you heard loud banging noises in the building?

Do not be concerned if you hear a loud banging noise coming from the building structure. This is called “banging bolt phenomenon” which randomly occurs in new buildings when bolted steel connections suddenly reach their final equilibrium position. Our design engineers have assured us that the banging is not a design, construction or safety issue. Please report, however, anything you find unusual or concerning to Security or Facilities.

The Little Girl And Her Four Toy Trucks

An excerpt from Burt Prelutsky:

I just read “Why Men Never Remember and Women Never Forget,” by Marianne Legato. As the title cleverly suggests, it deals with many of the differences between the genders.

A lot of what divides us, according to Dr. Legato, is due to chemicals, hormones, and even brain size. And she’s not merely dealing with sex, but the way in which we hear things; the way we deal with parents and siblings; and even how we deal with stress, friends, and arguments. ...

In one of her favorite anecdotes, she relates that a married couple, wishing to avoid sexually stereotyping their little daughter, bought her four toy trucks. When they went to her bedroom to watch her play with them, they found the lights dimmed. Their daughter met them at the door with a finger to her lips. She had tucked the trucks in bed, and they were all taking their naps.

Still Rambling

• Happy Birthday to my brother Tim!
• 49 years ago to-day the first Sputnik was launched, and Leave It To Beaver premiered.
• I thought the Space Race was awesome. The Russians got the first satellite up and also put the first man in space (and woman 20 years ahead of the USA), but the USA got a man on the Moon first. But we didn't know that's how it would turn out at the time, did we? It's made every competition since, even the Olympics, seem like penny-ante playground stuff.
• Gigablast lets you restrict your search to just the sites you specify, much like Rollyo.com

More Ramblings

• You can watch the Spanish-language equivalent of The Jerry Springer Show on Telemundo or Univision and it really doesn't matter if you speak Spanish or not. You'll be well entertained either way.
• The gals on both those channels always seem to be very healthy, by the way.
• We've been lucky for the past 10 years in Wisconsin: When the Packers have been bad, the University of Wisconsin Badgers have been good, and vice versa.
• Can Mormons Be Freemasons? In a word, Yes. But wouldn't that be weird?
• If you're surfing through the channels and you happen to hear Sheriff John Bunnell (Ret.) say "Dooley County, Georgia", stop clicking at once. You're in for a quality chase involving one high-performance car, one low-performance driver, and a highly-trained Dooley County Deputy Sheriff.
• To this day, I still don't know the English words to La Bamba.
• Is it possible to be unfair to Warren G. Harding?

Ramblings

• Don't people know by now that book-burning bonfires never make you look good, even if you're just burning copies of Mein Kampf?
• It's both amazing and tiresome how Bill Clinton and Madonna keep making themselves the center of attention.
• Bill Clinton wanted to be an Abraham Lincoln, but turned out to be a James Buchanan instead.
• I always used to wanna strangle DJ's who talked over the saxophone intro to Martha & The Vandellas Heat Wave.
• My wife saw lightning strike a building this morning while she was driving. I've never seen that.
• Even tho the station itself is defunct, you can listen to Chicago's RealOldies1690 WRLL-AM streaming on the internet, without Larry Lujack and Lil' Tommy Edwards (or anybody else, for that matter).
• I think I was unfair to James Buchanan a couple of bullets ago.
• Tokyo Rose just died a few days ago. That amazed me, for some reason.
• Is the State of North Dakota really living up to its potential?

Characters Are The Chocolate Chips In The Big Cookie of Life

Characters like the late Steve Irwin are the Chocolate Chips in the Big Cookie of Life. Setting aside Family and Friends for a moment, who do you remember among the thousands of folks you've met along Life's Journey? The Characters, of course! And just like Steve Irwin, you don't realize how much joy they bring into your life until they're gone.

Going Postal, RIP

From Population Statistic:

But does that term “going postal” still resonate? It’s been over a decade since the last mailman massacre of note grabbed the national headlines; the public perception of Postal Service employees being dangerously high-strung probably has passed. (I might throw in something here about how email has lessened the crush of work that may have unnerved Post Office employees; but I believe the latest numbers will show the flow of letters and parcels to be higher than ever, so that theory goes out the window.)

I ask because, coincidentally, this term came up for me a few weeks ago. I dropped it on a woman who’s around my age; she gave me a blank look, and I had to explain it to her. The caveat is that she admitted she’s been pretty current events-ignorant since she was a kid. Still, it occurred to me then that the phrase “going postal” might indeed have outlived its relevancy.

Susan Butcher: The Story In The Photo

4-time champion Susan Butcher signs autograph in Ruby during Iditarod 2006

Susan Butcher died August 5 after a year and a half long battle with leukemia. Here the brave mask slips down a bit to reveal the hidden battle facing the courageous former champion. I love this photo.

Understanding Women: A Man's Perspective

Just one of many observations by Big Shot Bob In Texas:

I know I'm not going to understand women. I'll never understand how you can take boiling hot wax, pour it onto your upper thigh, rip the hair out by the root, and still be afraid of a spider.

Friends And Acquaintances

While just about all of us know how important friends are, Don Salyards thinks the value of acquaintances is vastly underestimated. A few excerpts:

A friend is someone with whom you have a deep bond. A friend is a person that you think about often. You are willing to go to substantial lengths to meet the needs of a friend. You think of your friends daily and often get together with them to shop, golf, or hang out. I've heard people say that a friend is someone with whom you can share your deepest secrets, without worry that they will expose them to others. During times of crisis friends are the first people you call for support. Some say that a friend is someone with whom you can cry. Using these descriptions of friendship, a person is fortunate to have even one friend. Having two or three would be outstanding.

Acquaintanceship is much different. An acquaintance is someone that you see often, speak to regularly, but do not associate with outside of the environment in which you meet. Your acquaintances may stem from either a work or leisure setting. Examples of acquaintances are a co-worker, the guy that runs the local newsstand, or the waitress at a local restaurant. Acquaintances know each other on a first name basis and often have a fair amount of knowledge about each other's families, jobs, and lifestyles, yet they are not friends. You could say that the acquaintance relationship is a lot more "shallow" than the relationship you have with a friend, but acquaintances are incredibly important and integral to a happy life. ...

Acquaintances also give us something else that is refreshing in life, variety. It is easy to have an acquaintance in a different socio-economic level, with a different sexual orientation, or with a vastly different political view. Friends tend to be more homogeneous. There is older fellow in my neighborhood that comes by once in a while on his bicycle, collecting aluminum cans. I save my cans, just for him. He isn't in my socio-economic category and I don't know anything about his politics but he is friendly and grateful for the cans. We'll talk about the weather and other trivial stuff as I help him load the cans on his bicycle. He says goodbye and peddles down the alley. It is an enjoyable experience for me and I think also for him. The alley, the bike, the cans…this is a setting in which we can relate to each other. There is probably no other venue in which we would enjoy each other's company.

Many people have a hard time adjusting when they retire from their jobs. Sometimes they even pass away soon after retiring. It isn't their family or friends that they miss when they retire; they miss their acquaintances! Without really thinking about it, we go through our lives constantly buoyed up by our acquaintances. Acquaintanceship is extremely important to all of us. Long live acquaintanceship!

Conspiracy Theorists

From Burt Prelutsky:

In my experience, it's always people who have no real access to big secrets who are always sure they know the straight poop. They may not know that their wife is carrying on a torrid affair with the next door neighbor, but they know who was on the grassy knoll down in Dallas. They have no idea that their kids are flunking out of junior high, but they know all there is to know about black helicopters and what the space aliens out in Roswell, New Mexico, had for breakfast this morning. They may not know how to spell NASA, but they're convinced that the moon landing was staged in a studio outside Newark.

When I was very young most conspiracy buffs devoted their undivided attention to flying saucers. Even as a kid, I was willing to bet that it would take two of these guys working together to break 100 on an IQ test. It struck me, but not them, that it was very odd that these sightings always seemed to take place in very out-of-the-way places. I used to wonder why these creatures from another galaxy would bother flying millions of miles only to land in some godforsaken Mississippi swamp and talk things over with Lum and Abner when they could have flown for another few minutes and had a heart-to-heart with the president.

I could come to only one of two conclusions. Either they had come all this way to get a recipe for barbecued possum or some fair number of my fellow earthlings are just incredibly goofy.

Whoa, Whoa, Oh, Oh, My Freedom! Freedom! FREEEEE-DUHM!

Model Elyse Sewell describes the goings-on in her Paris neighborhood:

Anyway. I had fun in my homeland while I was there. I bought stick deodorant and enjoyed my first Downy-fabric-softener-enhanced load of laundry in months. I was appalled at the atrocious fast-food innovations

Holy s**t, an urgent aside about what just happened: there are two male models living in the apartment below mine, and some demon from hell has bestowed upon them two guitars, a small amplifier, and complete freedom from the shackles of self-consciousness. Thus liberated, they are able to open their windows, plug in their axes, and disturb the entire block by playing the wankiest noodling out-of-tune "riffs" and caterwauling along at the tops of their voices. First in the hair-raising jock-handjobbing style of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, then in the falsetto style of the Flaming Lips, this is what they are singing: "Freedom! Oh, whoa, hey, freedom! Whoa, whoa, oh, oh, my freedom! Freedom! FREEEEE-DUHM!"

Oh f*****g g********t, in the time it took me to write that f*****g sentence, they have busted out a HARMONICA and a little dog has started yapping along furiously. I have never heard them with a harmonica until this moment. But that's not even the point! Get this: across the airshaft and one floor down lives a single man whom I and my roommates have observed stirring up dinner in his kitchen, butt-nekkid. Just one paragraph ago, when I was about to write a sentence about the gross new s**t they have at Kentucky Fried Chicken, I glanced out the window and down across the airshaft at Monsieur Nude, who was standing nakedly in his kitchen and looking out his window just in time to make eye contact with me. Butt, but butt naked, Monsieur Nude looked into my eyes and made an extravagant, Italian-style hand gesture of "what the f**k?" in the direction of the guitar-blasting male models' apartment, clapped his hands to his ears dramatically, and, p***s aswing-- p***s aswing!!-- reached to his boom box and started blaring Li'l Kim. Li'l Kim! And now he's cooking! I am looking right at his naked a** RIGHT NOW.

Ohhhh, my FREE-DUHHHM!

Monsieur Nude has not looked back up here. And Li'l Kim has segued into Janet Jackson, and an unseen upstairs neighbor is now singing along. The harmonica and the yapping dog have stopped, but "Whooooo, freedom, freeedom! Oh, freeeeeduhm!" has continued.

Whoa FREEEEDUHM!

I haven't enjoyed such rantings by a female since the Golden Era of Rachel Lucas. Oh, to be young, smart, pretty, and such a good writer. But hey, let's all sing along: "Freedom! Oh, whoa, hey, freedom! Whoa, whoa, oh, oh, my freedom! Freedom! FREEEEE-DUHM!"

The Roger Craig Paradox

My previous post The 13 TV Series of Actor Robert Urich got me thinking about this. A kid might say something like "Gee, he took 13 TV shows down the drain. He must have been a pretty bad actor." But that's not true, is it? Robert Urich was a fine actor, a lot better than most. Good enough to do more than his share of infomercials. If he really was a bad actor, he would have never been given those 13 chances, eh? In fact, he was an above-average actor who was given more opportunites to fail simply because he was above average. Sorta like Roger Craig.

Not Roger Craig the NFL football player, but Roger Craig the baseball player. In 1962 and 1963 he was a pitcher for the amzingly awful NY Mets. In 1962 he lost 24 games, and in 1963 he lost 22 games, leading the National League with the most losses both years. But in 1962 he also won 10 games, the most of any Mets pitcher that year (the entire team only won 40 games that year). Like Robert Urich, he was the best man available for the job at the time, and was given the most opportunites to fail.

Which leads to The Roger Craig Paradox: Someone who has been given the opportunity to fail a lot by someone else is almost certainly an above-average performer. Such as 3-time Democratic Presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan or 2-time candidate Adlai Stevenson. Both men were the best the Democrats had at the time. Doesn't apply to case of nepotism and the like, but I think you get the idea.

As proof that Roger Craig was above average, I simply point you to the Ultimate Mets Database:

Craig pitched his heart out for a terrible Mets club in '62 & '63, but everywhere else he was a winner. He won a pivotal game in the Brooklyn Dodgers ONLY World Championship in '55 and helped the Cards to their first Championship in 18 years in '64 with an incredible 5 inning/9K win in relief. He led the pennant-winning '59 L.A. Dodgers in winning PCT and ERA, outpitching Koufax, Drysdale and Podres. He was the first San Diego Padres manager to post a winning record (1978), improving on his predecessor's record by 25 games(!), and in 1989 managed the Giants to only the second pennant in SF history thus far. And let's not forget his work as pitching coach for the juggernaut Tigers in '84. Roger...over and out!

What The Mainstream Media Could Be

In this touching post, Stephen Baker reminds us of the pockets of professionalism in the most unexpected places:

People rag on newspapers, especially among the blogs. Let me share an example of MSM professionalism and society service: Obituaries.

Last week I wrote an obituary for my father and sent it to his hometown (for eight decades) paper, the Philadelphia Inquirer. I thought the obit was clear and concise, with just enough chest-thumping to convince them that it deserved space. With my 25 years of journalism experience, I flattered myself that it didn't need much editing--that the obit editor could have one easy afternoon.

The editor, Sally A. Downey, soon called with questions. A couple things weren't clear. She asked for additional facts, to fill in historical holes, or to add something more of interest. I was dealing with a pro. But the real surprise came when the obit was published, on Tuesday. She had done her own research on my father, and had dug up resume details I didn't even know.

So, in an industry accused of publishing press releases, a small but shining example of diligence and professionalism. I wonder if in the grim new world of newspaper economics the obits pull their weight. Will they soon be Wikipediaed?

Deliverance

An excerpt from Dennis York:

When you get to the hospital, they will put you in a little waiting room where they do a preliminary check to make sure you’re really having a baby and you’re not just there pulling an elaborate ruse to get the free mini-Pepsis from the OB snack bar. After they check the mother out, they will tell you that there’s a chance that despite your rush to get to the hospital, the baby may not be ready to come out and you may have to go home for a few hours. At that point, you will tell them that you are leaving the hospital with a baby, whether it’s yours or someone else’s.

Soon, they put your wife on drugs to try to induce the child to come out. This is far more effective than your idea of dangling two free Packer tickets down between her legs. Now is the time to take pictures, as within hours she will have convinced the staff at the hospital that you are an active al-Qaeda operative. Once the contractions start, you and your wife will enter an entirely new phase of your relationship. For details, see any Bill Cosby standup routine from the last 30 years.