Last week, the weathadoodle predicted a 100% chance of rain for the following day. This was very unusual, as these guys just never go to 100% on anything.

Naturally, when I got up the next morning, it was sunny and warm—a perfect day.

I don’t understand why anybody becomes a weathadoodle.

The Christmas spirit.

If you’re not in the spirit of the season yet, it’s not for a lack of effort on the part of TV folk showing ‘Christmas’ movies almost constantly. Of course, the debate about the ‘best’ Christmas film fizzes along the edges. Is A Christmas Story better than Die Hard?,to cite one example.

Well, being on overload with ‘Christmas’ films, I think it’s time we started making some distinctions and defining what we mean by ‘Christmas’ films. Here are my distinctions:

all-in films. These are films where Christmas is subject and theme. Think Miracle on 34^th Street or Bad Santa These are Christmas films, no doubt.
on the fence films. These include Christmas themes, but are not about Christmas. Oddly, a lot of recent Hallmark movies fall into this category, where the plucky heroine has to save the charming waterfront from soulless condo developers while helping her high-school sweetheart organize the Christmas parade. Lots of trees, but lots more distraction. Could this film be shifted to another time without damaging the plot?
background, plot-starter ‘Christmas’ films. In Die Hard, John comes to L.A. to join his wife for Christmas, but except for the odd shot of a Christmas tree at the company party, there ain’t no Xmas.

Why is this important? I think we should observe the apples and oranges distinctions, consider the writers' intents.and more to the point, I’m tired of having to put brackets around ‘Christmas’ when talking about films. Also, a lot less disappointment.

Hearing Mom spin.

My Mom was a child of the Depression, which is probably why we were very careful about using every last bit of everything that came in the house. Catsup. Mustard. Toothpaste. Soap. And for those of you who grew up in a house like that, you know how hard that can be. The toothpaste tube splits. That little sliver of soap that refuses to stick to the larger bar. The three little bits of pickle relish that skitter around the bottom of the jar ahead of the spoon. The most frustrating is probably mayonnaise jars that have a dimple in the bottom, creating a ditch for the mayo to sulk in and more surface to stick to.

I still do all this. One of yesterday’s projects was to move the catchup from two little unasked-for tubs acquired at a drive-through into the catchup bottle. So it still goes on.

People who were not brought up that way are probably scratching their heads and asking ‘why?’ Well, it’s not just about the three cents of catsup in the bottom of the bottle. It’s about the breakdown of the moral fiber of the self, and by extension of the nation. It’s about tradition, heritage and folkways (a word I don’t think I’ve used since my one Sociology class).

Which brings us to the latest recall (no, I don’t know how that works either), I think for salmonella-infused frozen waffles. Or maybe it was cucumbers. The recommendation used to be ‘take the item back to the store for a refund.’ While inconvenient, my Mom would be OK with that. But now, the CDC recommendation is to simply throw them away, potentially adding more salmonella to groundwater and soil.

Mom would not be OK with that. If you buy something, you must Use. It. Up. I can hear her now. If you see any salmonella, just brush it off, or eat around it. It’ll just be a mild case. But mostly, she would want to know ‘who would buy frozen waffles?’ They’re so easy to make. And fun, too!

All of this is in the context of buying too much stuff, conservation, global warming, rampant consumerism, and thrifting, making do with less.

So I know, even though she’s buried 600 miles away, she’s spinning because of all the waste.

And if I want her to keep spinning, I’ll just let her read Buzznet’s 20 Common Household Items That You Should Toss Out Immediately, Here’s What Happens. Or tell her we’re supposed to just throw away any black plastic kitchen utensils we may have.

We’re going to need a bigger trashcan.

Old joke.

Tagline in ad for ‘The Residences of Dove Mountain’ proclaims The greatest discovery in life is finding oneself.

I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you had lost your oneself. If I had known, I would have helped you look for it. Do you remember where you had it last?

All the while thinking, ‘what a load of pretentious B.S.’

Make up your mind.

Popular Mechanics gets caught: Your Consciousness Can Connect With the Whole Universe, Groundbreaking New Research Suggests.

However, there may be nothing there to use to connect, literally: Human Consciousness Is an Illusion, Scientists Say.

Widening window.

I have commented before (in my continuing series ‘hey you durn kids get off my lawn!’) on how the age where people consider themselves ‘old’ has been getting younger.

Huffpost continues the downward push with I’m 37, And I’m Beyond Over It’: Older Adults Are Revealing The Things They’re ‘Too Old To Deal With’ Anymore.

But with a late entry, The Wall Street Journal wins the ‘Push it down’ sweeps with When middle Age starts in your 20s. Why a win? Well, if middle agers are feeling old, the kids get to ride along, I guess.

Well, wanna-be oldster, speaking from experience, and being officially old, there’s bad news. You may be over dealing with it, but to quote Rosanne Rossannadanna, a now-mythical philosopher of the early Discoball Period (who you are too young to remember), ‘Well, it just goes to show you, it’s always something! If it’s not one thing, it’s another!’ You will always be dealing with something unpleasant. As soon as you master how to dodge, the rules will change and there will be another source of frustration. Or even more maddening, the original frustration will just—go away. Here in Virginia, we now renew driver’s licenses by mail, and standing in line fuming at the DMV is now a distant but still unpleasant memory.

Now, if you want to be older because you’re losing out on reserving prime time at the neighborhood pickleball court to the officially old, well, tough. I understand there’s space available at golf courses. So take up golf, a real sport, at least compared to pickleball.

And stop whining, at least until you get off my durn lawn, and I can’t hear you. The only whining I want to hear is my own.

But maybe they’re wrong?

The number of people wanting to rush to senility may not be as large as I thought. Science Daily claims People think ‘old age’ starts later than it used to, study finds. And the National Geographic asks When does old age begin? and answers it by saying Science says later than you might think.

So we might paraphrase Mick Dundee and say, That’s not old age. THAT’S old age. And if you don’t know who Mick Dundee is, well, you’re not even close to being old yet.

Hey kids!

If your grandparents or great-grandparents ever start grousing about the stupid things kids do today, or fads, or how bad the music is, or any of those diss things ‘adults’ say, look them levelly in the eye and say, ‘Do the Freddie.’

from (Poet)

Jazz

(following bob kaufman)
real jazz
live jazz
true jazz
secret jazz
created in dark places
created with the hearers
reaches tendrils 
through the ears,
down, down, down,
to places never touched,
seen, acknowledged
by anyone
the place where 
our deepest longings,
desires hide,
a cure for loneliness
even as it makes us feel alone,
erases one suffering
while creating another,
under all, digging deeper
an appeal to our uncivilized,
violent selves.
notes from bells caress our skins,
hearts, groins,
make them itch,
fingers sliding along strings
easing its passage,
rat-a-tat-tat driving home the point
this is jazz, live only in the moment,
notes, feelings fading into nothingness
the further they seep from the sources,
lingering in the last shards of darkness
that are assaulted, destroyed
by the streetlight on the corner.

November 2024

all is calm, bright

All is calm
all is bright
on the shortest day
of the year,
a time of denial,
cheating the dark, death,
artificial light,
frenzies of parties,
activities, buying,
wishing that we triumph
over fears lurking
in the dark shadows we cannot erase.
And so we deny the darkness
sending light and cheer 
into every corner,
toasting, caroling,
denying.

December 2024

:::Last Week:::

Hoyle’s rules.

December 11

We have a winner! I always look forward to ‘year in review’ or ‘best of’ lists. Ideally, they will occur at the beginning of the following year to account for end-of-year surprises.

But everyone wants to be first, so now I look for the most daring list generators. The winner this year is the Wall Street Journal, with its best of 2024 books list on December 6.

Hope springs eternal,

but is often dashed,

or, the importance of formatting.

I have lots of bookmarks to sites that I rarely visit. They mark bits of information that I once needed, blogs, html how-to pages, stuff I found interesting once and I thought would continue to interest me.

One of these is a site called ArcaMax, a news site that carries a cartoon that I followed regularly but lost interest in. But I still drop by often enough to justify the bookmark.

Sometimes, after looking at my comic, I will glance at one of the other topics–News or Columns–in hopes of finding something of interest.

So it was when, in Columns/Health, I found a piece by Chuck Norris entitled The Overlooked Importance of Living Color.

Well, my brain being wired the way it is, I immediately inserted a nonexistent ‘In’ between ‘of’ and ‘Living.’

Wow, I thought, Chuck Norris, legendary torch bearer for the conservative right, kick boxer, and Walker: Texas Ranger, was acknowledging the significance of the equally legendary Wayans Brothers’ sketch comedy show of the early 1990s, featuring African-American comedy. This I have to read!

I should have heard The Dread Pirate Roberts in the background telling Inigo Montoya Get used to disappointment.

Two paragraphs in, I realized Norris was talking about… color. Like in the sky, plants, and the world around us. In Chuck’s world, the sky is living.

Only then did I notice the missing ‘In’ and the lack of italicization on ‘Living Color.’ So, hoist on my own expectations and desires (my petard wore out a long time ago).

Time to move on.

Don’t we all?

Ontherecords.net claims Karla Bonoff…Deserved More Success.

Back to the future.

Hot Stove League prognosticators are in high dudgeon about a proposed Major League Baseball change that would allow one batter to ‘jump the line’ and bat out of order once in a game. Some pundit on ESPN suggested that the opposing manager should be allowed to send out their best pitcher to face that batter.

I like that idea. It hearkens back to earlier times, when instead of having two armies fight, or engaging in lengthy sieges, each side would send out their champion to decide the conflict.

Of course, the proposed idea won’t work. Opposing managers will simply tell the pitcher to intentionally walk the extra batter.

You never think.

I read a poem by Robert Duncan, which led to reading his biography, which included a reference to H.D., which led to her biography, which included this line: Her work is consistently unique and original, both reflecting and contributing to the avant-garde milieu that dominated the arts in London and Paris until the end of World War II (all courtesy of The Poetry Foundation).

World War II was one of ‘the wars to end all wars,’ and it’s kind of odd to think that people were carrying on normal activities that had nothing to do with supporting the war effort or hunkering down in shelters to escape the blitz.

Actually, it’s more of a reminder. One of my Advanced Composition students wrote a brilliant essay about a traveling circus that had the bad luck to be in Dresden during the firebombing of that city during World War II. Ordinary events carried out in extraordinary times. Lives continued to be lived.

Which, of course, is a reminder of Breughel’s Landscape with the fall of Icarus and the resultant poems, especially William Carlos Williams’.

Walking in Ireland.

The Irish Potato Famine is one of the great underreported inhumane events in the ‘civilized’ world.

To redress this lack, two commemorations have recently gained some attention: The Doolough Famine Walk and the Stokestown to Dublin walk, now commemorated by the National Famine Way.

Looking at the descriptions of the original events reminded me how much of a new high (or low) of man’s inhumanity to man these times were.

Overkill.

My wife’s new computer boasts a screen that can display over one billion colors.

As a guy, I can only see (or more accurately identify)1 the colors in the Crayola Box o’ 16. So I guess this computer is just not for me.

Another rabbit-hole.

The other day, someone told us about a Gilligan’s Island marathon. Which of course prompted the question ‘Just how long is that?’ Turns out it was 98 episodes, or 49 hours, or just over two days (the fastidious bean counters among you can subtract about eight hours to account for missing advertising). I did not include the time that would have to be spent in therapy after watching two days’ worth of Gilligan’s Island

Along the way, I found out the show was revised after the pilot was filmed, replacing three actors. One of those replaced was Nancy McCarthy (Mary Ann), who did the usual not-a-star acting stuff. She is ranked No. 54,993 on the Girl-Most-Crushed-Upon Celebrity Women list. By way of comparison, Dawn Wells, who ‘replaced’ McCarthy, ranks 462nd.

I wonder what it’s like to know there are 54,992 people who are more crushed upon than you.

BTW, John Williams wrote the theme music for the pilot episode (yes, that John Williams). It was also replaced for the series.

There are worse ways to waste a morning. Just offhand, though, I can’t think of what they may be.

Get a clue, lady!

The Guardian reports More than 100 raccoons besiege house of woman who had been feeding them.

We said POACHED chicken on Tuesdays! How hard is that? Are you even paying attention?

Oh.

The first sentence of The Poetry Foundation’s biographical note on Henry Carey reads Nothing is known definitely of poet, playwright, and musician Henry Carey’s origins.

In spite of this lapse, the writer manages to scrape together 22 long paragraphs about the rest of his life and literary output, along with three samples of his writing. Fine doggerel.

The paragraph about Carey’s possible authorship of God Save the King is particularly charming and obtuse.

Maybe the writer is getting in the spirit of Carey’s work.

Glad that was cleared up.

A picture caption in The Wall Street Journal tells us that Lopburi, Thailand, held its annual Monkey Banquet, a tourism-promotion event dating to 1989.

The picture shows a bunch of monkeys eating various fruits and greens. Much more palatable than the alternative.

Also, there don’t seem to be a lot of tourists around, for an event started 35 years ago. But, like visiting the site of the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, there’s not a lot to hold you there once you’ve seen it, or bring you back.