AN OPEN LETTER to Me and Trump: Dear You...

In the end, that's what this election is about. 

Do we participate in a politics of cynicism

 or a politics of hope?  

Barack Obama

Dear Jerry,

All your life you have been an optimist... a Pollyanna kind of person, and you are happy about that. (What else would an optimist say?) But I have noticed Jerry, that a playful touch of cynicism has grown to an unhealthy frequency so that it sometimes colors your outlook. You even use it as a tease in your Bio beside this blog. (I'll change that after this post.)

This election and it's mere 600 day run-up is a splash of cold water in your face, Jerry. Optimism and cynicism don't belong in the same sentence (Oops.)


You chose hope, which was forced upon you in this everlasting political exercise that didn't go well, but hope, nonetheless. It's more than politics though... it's a sane, brighter, richer lifestyle. There is nothing positive about cynicism. It is a pervasive and dangerous way to think.

Optimism is hope and hope is healthy. One can't live as a cynic but one can certainly die as one.

Though you, Jerry, voted for Hillary because you thought she was THE person and better choice in a world so filled with strife and uncertainty, You now pray to be proven wrong. (FYI: Jerry, you call yourself an independent with strong democratic leanings--you voted for 12 candidates on the ballot, 9 democrats and 3 republicans, and only saw one of each elected.)

Being a lifelong Cub fan, you are very used to being disappointed, but even Cub fans have their day, right? However, you don't have another 108 years.

So GO big Donald! (You just can't say huuuge, can you Jerry?) You are my President-elect and while you are not in my "like" category yet... or perhaps ever, I know you will do all you can to be a good president for all the people. You said so yourself... and I do believe that.

I respect your office, but you still must earn my respect. I want that to happen. Our perspectives may always differ but if your intent is fair for all as our Constitution inalienably requires, and your actions promote equality, human dignity and  God-given rights, perhaps I can applaud more.

There's a 'thing' about us that the world admires. It's the way we care for ourselves and others. We are magnanimous and open to ideas and people. The Statue of Liberty still shines it's light and those who used it as a beacon have made us even richer. We are the third largest country in the world in land mass and third in population with 340 million people (China has 2.2 billion, India 1.1 billion). We are blessed with natural resources and opportunity for all. We are a democracy, which is not always easy, but always free. We are stylin'! 

The United States never stopped being great, so we don't have to be great again. We have to be greater and more inclusive for those that felt--and often were--left out of the mix.

You have an enormous responsibility to be everyone's President, but  given a republican President, a republican House and republican Senate, the temptation to govern for only half the people is big. Strange to say, Congress needs your serious effort to keep in check the 'balance of power' equation our government demands. And we need the 'third leg' to complete the balance that gives us our greatness, a Supreme Court that equally respects those values.

You actually lost the popular vote Mr. President-Elect. More than half the people voted for Hillary but you won by states, as is our system. Your mandate was thin but decisive. There are as many people today who see your victory as a loss. I'm one. So us owe us, Mr. President-elect as sure as 'the other half of us' that put you in because of that very perception.

For now and forever, may we put the divisiveness in politics--especially during election times--away? IT'S KILLING US! And please God, never again 600 days! If we did all of this in 12 weeks as some more sane countries mandate we would be seen as smarter. Some countries even automatically register voters. What a concept.

If done shorter and more civilly, hatred, threats, violence, name-calling, cynicism and disdain may not have been on our televisions, in our newspapers and social media til death or elections, do us part. It is absurd, and so are we.

You, President-Elect Trump, will become the most powerful, influential man in the world leading our great nation... the most blessed of all nations. As the world looked on for these 600 days, what did they see? WHAT A RESPONSIBILITY.

Your victory speech was good, but so were those in defeat and acceptance by Hillary Clinton and President Barack Obama. All class acts. We must keep that up.

My brilliant daughter once told me, "Dad, you should never feel bad about getting lost. It could be the start of your next great journey." So we begin: 

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963

 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

BACK STORY: In one week, my beloved Cubs won the World Series, my wife's heart stopped (momentarily, thank God) while being transported for a surgical heart procedure and I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Then the election. Talk about a week!

Are we ashamed of ourselves, or what?

Come on, America. This was an election or a war?

It lasted 600 days... 1 1/2 years! 12 dog years! And it seemed longer than the last time the Cubs won the World Series.

Everyone is unhappy... and mad. Really mad. Most major political
ads feature the diabolical other candidate, usually portrayed in gray and black or purple, with a scowl or mad face. The ads tell us of how bad the person is, how evil, how dishonest, etc.


We are so angry at one another, so mad. We grit our teeth and snarl. We call each other liars, thiefs, bad people worthy of no respect at all.

As the world watches, we represent the worst of America. And bear in mind, the President of the United States is THE MOST POWERFUL PERSON IN THE WORLD! So how do we look to you now, world?

Now we do have smart, good, kind, embracing brilliance in many of our leaders... but those people are also smart enough to not swim in this low water muddy pool.

Do we need more time to find the best of us?  How about never ending campaigns that start at the end of the last election? The television companies would like that. They make enormous dollars--like a year-round Christmas--during campaigns with the political advertising dollars. Nothing is richer to a media company that warring sides.

In social media, anything goes. We can call each other names, threaten and blacken every opponent at every level. We can create both news and undistinguishable fake news in moments. Social media is unrestricted and as crude as the users choose. It fans the flames of fire.

Are we smarter or dumber than those countries that have limited campaign seasons that last, perhaps 12 weeks long? Are we smarter than the countries that automatically register every eligible voter and those countries that make voting mandatory?

What's with us that we do it so badly? And to add insult to injury, we don't forget or forgive. We remain enemies is fact and in spirit so that we can accomplish little except revenge and work negatively to make sure we hurt the leader of the world in accomplishment and cooperation lest he/she get credit. Our congress has achieved the lowest approval ratings in history and we're out to beat our record.

Is there something great about spewing hate and disrespect? You know, this is the world we all have to live in, and we deserve better. There are real problems to solve, both internally and internationally, and we can't even begin without respect for the people we elect and should support.

The rich get richer. The poor and disadvantaged grow larger and poorer. The divide widens.

After such an election, couldn't we create a new platform that embraces the best of both parties for a common good. Then we could have a document to follow. You bet there would have to be give and take, something that never comes easy when it is party first, public last.

Africa offers a similar scenario. Countries divided by tribe that put tribe first, suffer. Countries that focus on common benefit rise. But it's hard to put those rivalries aside. And cohesion starts with listening to what the other has to say, addressing the ails that separate. Rogue candidate Donald Trump touched people. He may not have been THE candidate but he found a message that resonated, an itch that needed scratching. That shouldn't be ignored because it won't go away.

OK, so I've made myself happier by expressing what I feel. I'm guessing that feeling is shared by many. But how do we get to the next step? I hope to God that we find the way. I hope to God.

We are all equally worthy and that's a fact. Not believing changes nothing. If, for one day, one week or one year, we could swap places and see through different eyes, that would be meaningful. But that can happen only in our dreams.

Sweet dreams America.

Backstory: About the Cubs winning... anything

Daughter Jill and one of the very young Cub players

Before the Chicago Cubs won the World Series, before time began, there was a hope that the Cubbies could do it again, just 108 years after their last world championship. My daughter Jill wondered why we cared, though she was not immune to caring. So why do we care? rationale says that, in the end, we're all crazy so why is worshiping baseball gods (small g) any worse than the real world? This is her take:

I’ve been con-vincing myself that tonight doesn’t really matter with simple thoughts of relative importance. My children are all healthy and decent humans to this point. Nate Silver still has my political candidate up. We will have a good meal tonight and many nights into the future. I can be placated, temporarily.

But my stomach is still in a knot.

As I sit in this coffee shop with my laptop open, a clichéd picture of somebody who wrongly assumes they have something important to think, I worry about the Cubs. I know I’m not alone.  All over Facebook, friends from Illinois and even friends who’ve never set foot in Illinois seem to feel that this moment touches them in a special way.

For me, every bit of cynicism in my being is grounded in the bedrock of Cubs Fandom. Though my Dad has always been my cheerleader of positivity around the largest of life issues, whenever the dog poops on his carpet, he takes a wrong turn, or he fails to fix the vacuum cleaner, a deep disappointment in life saturates his surroundings. I remember trying to move out of its way when I was little, the disappointment so pervasive and long-lasting like the coating on the inside of your mouth when you finish a donut or the superglue crust that doesn’t come off your fingers no matter how many times you wash them.

I know the foundation. I learned this deep, perhaps misplaced disappointment before I could even identify the chatter of the baseball announcers or the voice of Harry Caray. Though I never met my Grandfather, within my bones, I could feel him walk heavily across the wooden floor of his Uncle’s Chicago grocery store after a Cubs loss. I imagine him going through the inevitable ups and downs of life as his Italian family settled into their American world, looking toward the Cubs as an iconic symbol of hope, success, and victory. In the beauty of baseball, he always had next year. He had next year until the day he died on his walk home from his work in the bowling alley. He was probably around my age – 47.

I think I know how he must have felt around then, having moved through the ascent of life, the fantasies of meeting the incredible love of your life and creating enormously brilliant and beautiful children, the dream of finding a meaningful career that vaults one into either important notoriety or quiet peaceful satisfaction. At 47, one realizes that love is complicated, children bring worries, and work satisfaction is as mercurial as the moods of colleagues. When the Cubs lose, one must settle in for another year of recognizing that life is just like that. It can be a little disappointing.
Not that the sun doesn’t rise in the morning or anything. It does and it can be really beautiful with the haze and the heavy morning air and all that, but really, this game matters.

Tonight, as you attempt to calm yourself with those stories about how lucky you are that you have the ability to even watch a ball game, don’t kid yourself. All hope rests on this evening.

PS from me: World Series this year, Universe Series next year. Will this never end?

Special note to all who receive my blog posts automatically by email...

HEY!
If you receive my blog posts by email as millions of you do, I accidentally posted my blog on the Cubs before it was finished. So you all got a short canged, half-baked version of something very religious about the best darned team in baseball, no matter what the World Series may... OR MAY NOT SAY, click ItsNutsOutThere.blogspot.com  or just scroll down from this post for the new, improved, completed version now corrected. Thanks!

If the Cubs win the World Series, will hell freeze over? Maybe... just maybe!

I've been a Chicago Cubs fan all my life... just one of millions. We live... and die for the Cubbies. But if they win, do we go to heaven? Non-scientific evidence suggests we may not!

There lives a 110-year-old lady who may be the only one alive when the Cubs last won the World Series. She was just two at the time and has suffered 108 years--a lifetime-- of bitter Cub disappointments... a living hell! Now, if the Cubs win, it may spoil everything for her, and all of us.

Buddah says "Life is suffering," to which Cub fans say "Tell us something we don't know." As one writer says, "All religions, to some extent, understand the value of suffering to be 'worthy' of the promised land.

Catholics understand this as the most underappreciated Christian virtue, wrote Michael Laskey, a Yankees-loving National Catholic Reporter columnist.

A rabbi columnist for the Jerusalem Post hailed the Cubs as "the Jews of the sports world," an idea seconded by U.S. Jewish ambassador, Ron Dermer at a Cub game this year.

There are yarmulkes and caps spelling "Cubs" in Hebrew.  And a Hebrew language T-shirt asking "What did Jesus say to he Cubs? Don't do nothin' til I get back."

Well, it could be happening, but down 3 games to 2 at this writing, and going into the 40-year desert of the enemy, we may yet be saved. However, if the Cubs win and we are fulfilled on earth, where will our eternity be. Has all of our suffering triggered an theological apocalypse with God asking "But what have you done for me lately?"

John Sexton, an NYU law professor and theologian wrote "Baseball as a Road to God." But heaven-forbid we spoil it all with a giant W hanging over Wrigley Field or at Jeff's house.

Rabbi Arnold Kantor, in his annual remarks at Yom Kippur services at Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation in Evanston, Illinois sounded depressed at the prospect of the Cubs finally winning the world Series. "We Jews are not happy when we're happy. We need something to kvetch about. Forty years we walked in the desert. For what" To become the damn Yankees."

Aw, it's ok Cubs. As Adrian whispered to Rocky Balboa as he was coming out of a coma and promising to give up boxing, "Win. WIN! WIN!!!" So I'll take the chance.

  

The Song that Changed Christmas

Irving Berlin's famous song, "White Christmas" isn't at all what you think. It has a backstory that literally changed the way we celebrate our most cherished--and profitable--holiday.

"Legend has it," says WSJ writer Will Friedwald, "that Irving Berlin was in Hollywood working on a movie, and missing his family in New York, as he wrote the musical score for (the movie) Holiday Inn.

Berlin was a prodigious song writer with about 1250 to his credit including 25 that reached number one on the pop charts of the day. He wrote "Alexander's Rag Time Band" in 1911, God Bless America in 1918, Easter Parade in 1933, There's No Business like Show Business in 1946  and a LOT MORE , mostly sentimental old favorites... so old and so sentimental that if you are under 40, you perhaps can't even hum the tune, let alone know the song. Hey, times change as they must. I just put my spats in a garage sale last week.

White Christmas, was first sung and played by Bing Crosby for his leading lady as he sat at the piano, and it is still one of the most played songs every Christmas season. If the words are not engraved in your heart, here are the first two verses:

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow
 

                                                       I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
                                                       With every Christmas card I write
                                                     May your days be merry and bright
                                                   And may all your Christmases be white

Christmas just wasn't as big then as it is now. Oh sure, trees and gifts and Santa... but it was so toned down by comparison that nobody had Christmas sales starting before Thanksgiving. 'Black Friday' was unheard of and sometimes, an apple (not the computer) was a worthy gift. Jingle Bells was the top Christmas song of the day and worse, there was no Charlie Brown special! How did we survive?

White Christmas was first written as a variety number to represent that season in a mix of others, but it was taken to heart and resonated deeply as we were just eight months into World War II, deeply worried and needing something that lifted spirits. There was no Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer or I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. White Christmas was richly flavored to where our hearts and dreams were.

It became the centerpiece of that day's blockbuster movie, Holiday Inn. "The song's first audience," said Friedwald, "comprised soldiers and those on the home front who embraced it as a prayer for peace." And it came on the scene just in time for the introduction of the long-playing record and that new medium, television. It was those two that virtually reinvented Christmas for all the emotionally needy of the time.

As Friedwald said, the song "created its own holiday mythology with itself at the center as a hymn for peace, love and family." And it changed Christmas sentimentality forever.

 

Two years later, still in the midst of "The Great War,"  Berlin wrote the perfect seasonal follow-up,  I'll Be Home for Christmas  . This link is my blog post on that classic, based on an actual experience. And cry if you must. I did.

Imagine Christmas today without these two songs. It just wouldn't be the same.

Old habits die hard... or "Over my dead body."

Betcha can't do this: zipper merge, that is. And if you are forced to it, bet it makes you mad.

Yes, the incredible, hard to believe, impossible, nonsensical, ridiculously wrong perfect thing is as logical as understanding climate change but it really (*substitute word to follow) 'ticks' us off.

Honk. Honk! HONK! HOOOOOONK!!!!

But it works. The zipper merge has been studied by experts for years and we ALL KNOW it works. It just isn't us. The 'zm' flies against bad logic when we know that driving right up the tail pipe of person in front of us is far more satisfyingly-right?... especially if we are frustrated or in a hurry. And letting some 'rule-breaking scum' into your traffic lane... "Over my dead body."

So I know I sure as heck won't do it*... except sometimes, and then not at the first honk or 'finger.'

I'll tell you, just a few months ago, I was returning to NC from St. Louis and took I 40 because I could 'get away' with 70-75 mph and still not be a radar magnet. (In all fairness, my Vespa scooter is not red so I might have gotten away with a little more.) But on a very pleasant Sunday when traffic is supposed to fly, there were two construction stops that added--no exaggeration-- 2 1/2 stop-and-go hours to the journey. I know, bridge needed repairs, but on Sunday with no workers present, big jam none-the-less.

"I'll get ya' through, baby... "

So if all thousands of us drivers did the zipper merge (to the tempo of "All the way" by Frank Sinatra), we would have zipped home hours earlier, and in a far better mood.

We could have slowed to a decent funeral procession speed, allowed a 3-or-4 car space between us and the driver in front, bobbed our heads back and forth in time with the music and smiled through every slow, God-help-us, mile without speeding to close the gap then slamming on the brakes and stopping till we get to go and speed again, then repeat forever. The catch: everyone has to do it or it doesn't work. (That's like never being able to take an in-focus picture of earth from space because somebody moved.)

OK America, that's the plan. Now let's get out there and just 'do it!'

Right everybody?... Anybody?... aw, never mind.

Notice: This has been a public service blog post because I couldn't think of anything fun to write.

*I actually do, most of the time.

Perfect day for Singin' in the Rain

... and a pretty darned fun movie, rain or shine. Released in 1952, Rotten Tomatoes today has it at its 10th best rated film. In 2007, The American Film Industry called it the 5th greatest movie of all time. And Entertainment Weekly names Singin' in the Rain it's highest ranked musical. Wow!

The reason I love this film is not only for it's title song but for Good Morning, the richest song and dance number I have ever enjoyed. Its opening line by Debbie Reynolds is still heard today on one TV network's morning show to open its broadcast.

Gene Kelly's script for the movie

And there is a rich backstory of the movie itself. It is set back in the 1920s when silent movies were transitioning to 'talkies' and the three principal characters were mirrored after real actors of the day, anxious about their future in this technical new world. (Sound familiar?)
 
Aspiring actress Debbie Reynolds was a newcomer in those days. When hired, she lived with her parents and had to leave home at 4 a.m. and take three different buses to get to the studio on time. She often slept on the set.

She had a good face and great voice but couldn't dance. Gene Kelly, who directed, choreographed and starred in the movie, was known as somewhat of a tyrant and was verbally critical of Reynolds inability to dance. The film's third star, dancer Donald O'Connor found Reynolds crying under a piano and promised her that he would help her learn.

Reynolds had gymnastic talent and, it was discovered, was a very quick study as the dance numbers will prove.

My favorite dance number started filming at 8 in the morning and concluded at 11 p.m. It required 40 takes before it was director-satisfied. Reynolds had to be carried to her dressing room after having ruptured blood vessels in her feet. She later said that having a baby and doing this film were the two most painful things in her life.

Filming was so demanding that several of the stars had to take time off after strenuous segments were filmed. In one segment, Donald O'Connor tap danced across the floor and up the walls before a backward flip.

Gene Kelly

He recalled,  "I was smoking four packs of cigarettes a day then, and getting up those walls was murder. They had to bank one wall so I could make it up and then through another wall. We filmed that whole sequence in one day. We did it on a concrete floor. My body just had to absorb this tremendous shock. Things were building to such a crescendo that I thought I'd have to commit suicide for the ending. I came back on the set three days later. All the grips applauded. [Gene Kelly] applauded, told me what a great number it was. Then Gene said, "Do you think you could do that number again?" I said, "Sure, any time". He said, "Well, we're going to have to do it again tomorrow". No one had checked the aperture of the camera and they fogged out all the film. So the next day I did it again! By the end my feet and ankles were a mass of bruises."

The first time they tried to film the famous "Singin' In The Rain" song and dance sequence, they shot it in the late afternoon. Unfortunately the homeowners in the area had just come home from work and had turned on their lawn sprinklers so there was not enough water pressure for the "rain" to work. They finally filmed the sequence the next day, early enough so that everyone was at work and the water pressure was adequate for the shot. And this is how it turned out.

Donald O'Connor, Debbie Reynolds, Gene Kelly

Best dog book ever!

Aren't we suckers for dog books? Seems most 'must read' books about dogs are either instructional or touching tales, real or fictional... but I hate it when the dog dies in the end. By last count, we've more than 30 here and there, not counting what we've given away or 'rummage sold.'

But there is one that is a must. It has delighted every grandchild--17 in total--and every adult reader. And it gives a message so real and pure.

That would be Flawed Dogs: The Year-End Leftovers at the Piddleton "Last Chance" Dog Pound by Berkelley Breathed. It is probably the best dog book ever. It fancifully tells the story of every 'rescue' and how each got that way. Every ending will earn a smile and milk a tear. AND BEST, No dogs died in end.

The sign on the door of the Piddleton Last Chance Dog Pound, Piddleton, Vermont, Pop. 327 (People 243) reads:

DOGS AVAILABLE!

So hurry lest you miss out.

It is whimsically drawn and told by Friends of the Piddleton Pound, Tammy Quackenbush, President (who is also President of the Piddleton Poetry Club, the Vermont Booster Broads, Vice president of Vegetarian Quilters against Land Mines and Bazookas and Treasurer of the Chicken Liberation Front.)

You'll read about flawed dogs Bipsie and Noodles, Tina and Lulu, Rollo and Titus, Jeeves and Pete, Pepe and Willie Wonker, Buttercup and Heather, iBoo and Ben, Sal and Barney, Spanks and my favorite, Sam the Lion. And here's the secret that's not so secret:

So in this world

Of the simple and odd,

The bent and plain,

The unbalanced bod, 

The imperfect people

And differently pawed,

Some live without love...

That's how they're flawed.

I promise you will fall in love with the story, the dogs, and especially the drawings. It is a richly told and illustrated tale of morality and kindness that applies to all creatures and touches humanity where there seems to be a need.





Ask for Flawed Dogs by Berkeley Breathed (published in 2003) at your bookstore or electronically here where you can thumb through a few pages to see what I mean. Its cover may also look like this... but I like my cover best.

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night...

That's a 12 cent stamp on her forehead

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall stay these couriers from swift completion of their appointed rounds. The U.S. Postal Service has no official motto but these words, engraved across the front of the U.S. Postal Building in New York are familiar to most of us.

 

Smoke signals were probably our first 'expedited' method of conveying information rapidly a long distance. Then came The Pony Express followed by telegraph, telephone and beyond.

The U.S. Mail was founded in 1775 with Ben Franklin as its first postmaster general. It is legally obligated to serve all Americans, regardless of geography, at uniform price and quality. And they always did.

In the 19th century, much of the country was 'rural' and the Post Office deemed door to door, mailbox to mailbox, the mail must be delivered. Before this, most had to venture to the closest post office periodically to get their mail... often a lengthy trip over bad roads in horrible weather. To go with this, a new level of delivery--parcel post-- assured many things of different weights and shapes could be mailed at costs below postal expenses. And everything, up to 50 pounds, could be mailed.

And for a while, the United States Post Office delivered children. (Yes, really.) This photo (right) is real. The one above is someone's modern day recreation.

It was felt, at the time, that this was an accepted service to help parents get their children to grandma's house a few miles down the road, or in one Oregon instance, from Grangeville to Lewistown --70 miles for 53 cents. For just 15 cents, a 6-year-old was mailed 725 miles from Florida to Virginia.

Actually, the kids were treated like kids, not sacks of mail, often riding in mail cars and being given food and water on the journey.

It wasn't until June 13, 1920 when kids were officially taken out of the mail sack for good.

It was the giant mailers of that day, Montgomery Ward and Sears, Roebuck & Company that drove the demand for parcel post to deliver their mail order goods to rural America that led to human cargo. Oh, and pets too.

Sears Kit Home

From 1908 all the way up to 1940,  Sears, Roebuck & Co. (today, Sears) sold and shipped 70,000 mail order kit homes, complete from instructions to nails and everything else needed to assemble and live in. The homes were  freighted but so much of everything else in the giant catalog was borne on the backs of the postmen.

One of the strangest (if you don't count a severed ear or and the slave who escaped by mail) was the shipment of 80,000 bricks from the foundry to a Utah building site 127 miles away. They were sent in parcel-post-package-limits of 50 pounds each. This was deemed the least expensive way to get them from point A to point B. That would be about 3,200 packages if my postal scale is correct. And I do hope you appreciate my fact checking but I'm out the cost of 80,000 bricks and now don't know what to do with them.

Bless the USPS for its diligence over the years but today, it cost lots more to mail less... and our postal system is loosing billions of our money every year. Darn that email. This, however, will be corrected when I complete my new teleporting booth and sell it commercially for less than the cost of an EpiPen. Hope I'm luckier than the guy in The Fly.

Challenge match: Who is funnier, The Brits or the Colonists?

Confession: This post is 3 years old but I liked it... so here it is again. With the exception of Monty Python and Peter Sellers, we (the USA) are definitely funnier, Brexit or not, than the Brits.

The ten best jokes at the Fringe Festival in Scotland have just been announced. The headline in the British newspaper read "... These are the best jokes, bar none." Oh yeah? The jokes are so lame that I am challenging them to see which side of the pond has the funniest jokes. You be the judge.

Number 10

Theirs: The good thing about lending someone your time machine is that you basically get it back immediately.
Ours: I was in Rome recently and wanted to say "Hi" to the Pope, so I looked up his number in the phone book. It was et cum spirtu-tuo. (OK, so maybe you have to be Catholic, but it was funny in third grade... and beats the pants off their joke.)  Score: 1-0 USA

Number 9

Theirs: I was adopted at birth and have never met my mum. That makes it very difficult to enjoy any lap dance.
Ours: What songs do cows like to dance to? Any kind of mooosic will do. (A simple kid joke wins again!)  2-0 USA

Number 8

Theirs: The Universe implodes. No matter.
Ours: Chuck Norris counted to infinity--twice! (Cha-ching!) 3-0 USA

Number 7

Theirs: You know you are fat when you hug a child and it gets lost. (No!)
Ours: What does a snail say when he is riding on a turtle's back? Weeeee!! (Another kid joke is all it takes.) 4-0 USA

Number 6

Theirs: The Pope is a lot like Dr. Who. He never dies, just keeps being replaced by white men.
Ours: The Vatican announced it will begin selling its ceremonial incense mixtures that were previously only used in worship services.  The first scent will be Popepourri. (Now that's funny!)
5-0 USA

Number 5

Theirs: I can give you the cause of anaphylactic (sic) shock in a nutshell.
Ours: What happened when the monster ate the electric company? He was in shock for a month. (Kid jokes are better.)  6-0 USA

Number 4

Theirs: My friend told me he was going to a fancy dress party as an Italian island. I said to him "Don't be Sicily." (Their best attempt yet. Awkward but cute.)
Ours: Q: Did you hear about the Italian chef that died? A: He pasta way. (We really would have won but I'm giving them this one for sentimental reasons... I'm Italian.)  6-1 USA

Number 3

Theirs: I'm in a same sex marriage... the sex is always the same.
Ours: Take my wife... please! (Ta dah!)  7-1 USA

Number 2

Theirs: I used to work in a shoe-recycling shop. It was sole-destroying.
Ours: Man finds a shoe repair claim ticket in an old suit he hadn't worn for 12 years. Thinking he would play a joke on the cobbler, he presented his ticket with a straight face. The repairman, showing no emotion, checked in the back room then hollered, "They'll be ready Thursday."  8-1 USA

And the Number 1 British winner

Theirs: I heard a rumour (Britspeak) that Cadbury is bringing out an oriental chocolate bar. Could be a Chinese Wispa. (Really? Is that the best you've got?)
Ours: The doctor sadly tells the patient, "Sorry but you have only one month to live." The patient, crestfallen, grabs the doctor by his lab coat lapels and desperately asks "Isn't there something... anything I can do?!" The doctor pauses, then says, "Well... you could take two mud baths a day... " Hopeful, the distraught patient says, "Oh, thank you doctor... will this cure me?" Doctor shakes his head, "No... but it will get you used to the dirt." (Always save the best for last, right?)

Final score: USA 9, Great Britain 1
The elegant solid gold Knee-Slapper Trophy goes to America for the first year in a row!




Now don't you all go rioting like this is a football (really soccer) game... just be graceful and give us a "Jolly good, old chap" ... and send more episodes of Downton Abbey.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!: Signs of the Apocalypse, Part 3

No, it's NOT all about Marcia (top left),  It's about Jan (middle left), who spoke those catchphrase words in the frustration that only a middle sister could understand.

Note: Signs of the Apocalypse are those seemingly unworldly happenings that run dramatically counter to the real world normal. Could these events be foretelling that the end is near? Nah! Things ARE getting crazier and that's the new normal.

But this time, the last laugh is Jan's (Eve Plumb in real life). It was 1969 and Eve was one year into her most noted role as Jan on The Brady Bunch which lasted on TV until 1974... and then in syndication perhaps forever.

So 11-year-old Eve bought her first house, a little 850 square-footer with a wrap-around deck, for $55,300. She just sold that house for a mere $3.9 million. Not bad appreciation for a starter home. Near that time, I bought my first house, 900-square feet, for $14,900. Then made a killing when I sold it three years later for $16,100. I was rich!

Her secret: Location, location, location. Her house was on the ocean in Malibu Beach. I guess the ocean wasn't there in 1969 which is why she bought it cheap(er). Mine was in Peoria, Illinois which is nowhere near the ocean... or anything else.

The Hermes Bolide 45 Shark

  

Want a new travel bag? This little bugger caught my eye. Saw it in Vanity Fair magazine... a must have. It's the Hermes Bolide 45 Shark " for a weekend get away or an extended sojourn" It's only $12,800, not counting tax, postage and handling and looks to be well worth it. I think the folks at Motel 6 will be green with envy when I check in with this beauty.

Medical bills got you up against the wall? I remember in the publishing biz (my life's work), every year, employee medical costs would increase by double digits, year after year. This was a number of years back and I'd always wonder why medical stuff just kept getting more and more expensive.

My nifty back belt

So maybe I shouldn't have been surprised when I had back surgery earlier in the year and I (and my insurance company) had to buy and use this back support for about a month. This is the one my surgeon said was the best and he wanted me to have it. So I did. Later, when the charge came through, I was a teensy bit taken aback. Would you guess it cost $1,550? Amazon had one from the same company that looked vaguely familiar. It went for $250, on Amazon Prime no less, but I'm sure it couldn't possibly match my Cadillac version.

Then there are the medications that suddenly increase in price overnight when the rights to manufacture are sold to another pharmaceutical company. A few of the notable:  

• Cycloserine for tuberculosis, from $500 to $10,800 for 30 pills.

• Ofirmed, an injectable painkiller, from $410 to$1,019.52 for 24 vials.

• Vimovo for symptoms of arthritis, from $160 to $1,678.52 for 60 tablets.

• Edecrin, a duretic, from $470 to $4,600 per vial.

• Benznidizole, treats Chagas disease, a $60,000 per treatment increase.

• EpiPen, for kids with life-threatening allergies, a 400% increase since acquisition.

• But the ignominius topper is Daraprim. The day after purchase by Turing Pharmaceuticals, CEO Martin Shkreli bumped the price of this 62-year-old drug from $18.50 to $750. and bragged about it in the press. The medication is a critical treatment for a parasitic infection that could be fatal to those with compromised immune systems due to conditions like AIDS/HIV and cancer.

These increases are called "I gotcha now pricing," befitting the twisted 'golden rule' of capitalism gone mad: "Those who have the gold, rule."

Is it any wonder medical costs continue to amaze?

BTW, Don't you love the new medication names? The good ones have at least one or two Z's and an X or two and a Q without a U. And that supper time is the best TV time to promote laxatives with live action graphics showing the bowel in action. YUMMY! Makes you want to wear  "I (heart) my Laxative." on a T-shirt.

What Harry Potter looks like dead

Then there's Daniel Radcliffe's soaring acting career after Harry Potter, landing the role of a dead person in Swiss Army Man. really. It's the best dead role since Weekend With Bernie. Danial is dead from the first scene to the last and in it, he farts amazing, miraculous farts, and saves a life! Yep, that's true too in the movie.

Next thing you know, Missouri will pass a law that allows people to carry concealed guns without a permit. See? The apocalypse. (Late news flash... the Gov did not sign the bill into law. We are saved!)

Laugh and the world laughs with you... continued

Remember this Gary Larson cartoon?

His The Far Side syndicated cartoons made us laugh every day with creative humor. His last 'strip' was published on New Year's Day, 1995 though books of his compiled cartoons and newer works continue to sell and fill our shelves. A favorite that made the NYTimes bestseller list: There's a Hair in my Dirt: A Worm's Story.

I always thought he was at his best when he used animals as his subjects. One favorite depicts a family of spiders driving in a car with a "Have a Nice Day" bumper sticker featuring a 'smiley face' with eight eyes.

While visiting my sis in San Francisco a number of years ago, we were driving past the California Academy of Sciences when we saw a current exhibit sign announcing Gary Larson's work. We immediately did a 180 and spent the most enjoyable next hours laughing, tittering, snickering, nodding and smiling. What was amazing, as we and others in the exhibit silently read the 450 captions mounted 16 to a panel, were the shared similar outbursts from all corners of the exhibit room.

Our group of strangers were a truly happy bunch as we nodded and smiled to each other, sometimes sharing a favorite with a pointed finger or nod.  I don't recall a word being spoken but everyone left with a far richer disposition than when we walked in the door.

Without being specific about how humor makes our world a better place, we all have personal evidence that it definitely does.

Take a few minutes now to make your world richer today by enjoying a cartoon slide show of The New Yorker magazine's "reader's favorites," shared graciously by the magazine's cartoon editor, Bob Mankoff. My favorite is the one with the praying mantises.

FYI: The New Yorker publishes weekly and features more really good cartoons in every issue from the best cartoonists... more fun than you can find anywhere else... and it is also rich with topical editorial content. That in itself is worth a look.

Funny is, and I quote:

Always remember, you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else. Margaret Mead

We are all here on earth to help others; what the others are here for I don't know. W.H. Auden

Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please. Mark Twain

People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do. Isaac Asimov

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schitzophrenic and so am I. Oscar Levant

I never said most of the things I said. Yogi Berra

Go to heaven for the climate, go to hell for the company. Mark Twain

A day without sunshine is like, you know, night. Steve Martin

And the piece de resistance quotes by Jack Handey (a real person):

• To me, boxing is like a ballet, except there's no music, no choreography, and the dancers hit each other.

• Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.

• I hope life isn't a big joke, because I don't get it.

 

Be All You Can Be

   





A little background: The respected London Review of Books introduced a 'Personals' category to its classified pages in 1998.

Known to all literati, the well-respected magazine opened its doors to some of the most witty, fun-to-read personal ads from brainy readers, each, in all seriousness (more or less), trying to outdo the other. 

Originally designed to match intelligent people based on their literary interest, readers immediately ganged up on the personals section for their own purposes. "They were instantly very, very silly," said its originator.

This is the fictional back story of one of those ads, as I imagined. The ad is as it appeared below, names and addresses made up, of course:

BE ALL YOU CAN BE

“Female, 54. Own all limbs. Seeks man with low priorities. Contact Box 347, this magazine.”

When you are brand new in town and lonely at night, you get desperate.

“Dear Box 347: Where I came from, limbs were optional. Only priority was to wake up the next morning. I am a used-to-be cowboy, also 54, have three of my four limbs but am passionate for someone who can scratch my elbow. I like that about you. Have you a name? I’m box 1438. I want to know more. Lefty@abc.com”

“Dear Lefty: Easy pardner. Let’s go slow-mail to start. I’m intrigued… and a very good scratcher. You can call me Chase, as in ‘the fun of the...’ I’m blond at the moment but can be any color that suits you, tall-ish for a girl and 32-28-34, though not necessarily in that order. Your turn. More please. Chase”

“Oh Chase: Be still my heart. I truly think we may be on to something. I am also on the tall side, lightly graying but full hair, and trim as a ship under full sail. I wear glasses now and size 12 cowboy boots—no innuendo intended. How am I doing so far? Lefty.”

“None taken, Lefty. You are doing fine. I’m a schoolteacher, 6^th and 7^th grades. I’m molding tomorrow but anxious about today. And you?

“Me too. I’m a cowpoke, ma’am, Was masquerading as a corrections officer one state to the left, as of six days ago, but couldn’t hack the humanity. One-armed cowboys aren’t in great demand these days. My tomorrow is probably a lot less promising than yours. Can we meet?”

“So soon? I thought foreplay lasted longer cowboy.”

“When you are chasin’ a wild mustang, Chase, it lasts as short as it takes. You’re the only thing keeping me here at the moment, and you know cowboys… always looking for the next arroyo.”

“Will 5pm Wednesday at Starbuck fit?”

“Like a rodeo glove. How will I know you?”

“Trust me, you will. And you?”

“Ditto. Can’t wait.”

4:45 p.m: Wednesday, Starbucks: A busy time. Drive-thru filled, line five deep at the counter. Only two open tables, one with a good view. Plunking his cowboy hat on one empty chair, Lefty folds his 6’3 body into the other. With piercing blue eyes centering a weather-chiseled, sun baked face, he watches everyone in the door like a cowpoke checking his herd.

5:15 pm: Cold coffee smells like day-old campfire poison. Late out of the gate means she is a playful tease… I hope. OK, you got me Chase. I’m ready as a bull rider at 3-2-1-let ‘er rip.

5:25 pm: OK Chase… git along little doggie.

5:45 pm: Please, Chase.

6:12 pm: She ain’t comin’. She ain’t comin’. I woulda liked to try. I really… Damn!

6:20 pm: I’m outa here… for good. Hit the road, Jack, one more time.

6:23 p.m Wednesday, same Starbucks: With tears streaming down her cheeks, she watches him walk out of her life. Slowly and with great effort, the gaunt, tall-ish lady holding her two-hour-cold tea, rises from a corner table. She knew in her heart she couldn’t. The imagined, caring romance had gone far beyond her reach, much too soon to be fully savored. The rejection sure to come would be one more blow to an already overwhelmed psyche.

Frightened and feeling even more alone, she adjusts her pink ball cap on the brunette wig that covers her bare head and brushes through the bustling coffee crowd of friends and lovers, all too involved to notice.

A reprise from 2011: "Lions and tigers and bears! Oh my!"

 "Lions and tigers and bears! Oh my!"

 

... A direct quote from Mrs Noah as she watched the animals, two-by-two, board the ark...  NOT!

Actually, Dorothy (Judy Garland) said it in The Wizard of Oz when all she had to contend with was a tornado, the Wizard, the wicked witch of the West, a bunch of Munchkins and her friends, a cowardly lion, a scarecrow without a brain and a tin man without a heart. Sounds like my old bowling team.

Anyhow, the subject today is animals...  human and the other kind. And if you want to see how it all began, (evolutionists, you can skip this part) take a look at Robert Crumb's illustrated Book of Genesis. It is truly cool.

Crumb, known for his comic book style and some rather "unusual" drawings and underground comic characterizations, stuck right to the book (that is, The Bible) for this one. Actually, his depiction is from the King James Bible and a 2004 translation called The Five Books of Moses... so Catholics, sit this one out unless you go immediately to confession. As an added bonus, you will finally get to see what God, Adam and Eve and that damn snake look like.

Other big news on the animal front... as told by Associated Press writer Jennifer Quinn who reported it so 'Milnesque:'

When we left them, Christopher Robin was going away, and Things were going to be Different. 

Now, more that eight decades later, a rumor is sweeping the Hundred Acre Wood. According to Owl, who heard it from Rabbit, who heard it from Piglet, the adventures are about to resume. It falls to the bear to pass on the news to Eeyore.

"It's Christopher Robin," said Winnie-the-Pooh. "He's coming back. "

And so it is... after 84 years, the first authorized sequel to A.A. Milne's classic tales, Return to the Hundred Acre Wood, is now on sale. Just that thought brings back rich memories of those bed time stories read when my kids were as young as theirs are now.

Alan Alexander Milne, 1882-1956,  was an English novelist and playwright who gained legendary status as the author of the Winnie-the-Poo series of children's tales and poems. As beloved as his characters in the series were to the children, the stories weren't written for his son... or children at all.  They were intended, he said, for the child within us, as simple lessons of life.

And, looking as some of Pooh's quotes, what lessons they are:

When late morning rolls around and you're feeling a bit out of sorts, don't worry; you're probably just a little eleven o'clockish.

When looking at your two paws, as soon as you have decided which of them is the right one, then you can be sure the other one is the left.

To the uneducated, an A is just three sticks.

Those who are clever, who have a Brain, never understand anything.

Owl hasn't exactly got Brain, but he Knows Things.

If you want to make a song more hummy, add a few tiddely poms.

The more it snows (Tiddely pom),
The more it goes (Tiddely pom),
The more it goes (Tiddely pom),
On snowing. And nobody knows (Tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),
How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),
Are growing.

Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering.

Just because an animal is large, it doesn't mean he doesn't want kindness; however big Tigger seems to be, remember that he wants as much kindness as Roo.

If the person you are talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear.

My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.

It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?

I used to believe in forever
But forever's too good to be true.

I've missed you, Pooh Bear... in more ways than you know.

Life has its ups and downs but architecture is forever

You could live here... but if the cost doesn't kill you, the commute might.

Yeah, it could be a touch pricey at $100 mil (plus annual upkeep charges of $150-200,000 per year) but you have to admit, not having to mow the lawn could be worth it. The commute however, is another story.

Mumbai Tower

For people living near the top in tall places--the 80th floor of 111W 57th, overlooking Central Park in NYC or the world's tallest residential structure, the Mumbai World One Tower--your annual elevator rides alone could total 400-plus miles... and not an inch of it is exercise.

You're talking about the equivalent of one full work week of elevator rides, not counting that bratty kid downstairs who runs in and presses all the buttons before you can stop him. And if you have varicose veins, bad feet and/or claustrophobia, you learn money can't buy you everything.

Despite the thought that living high is the exclusive option of the very rich and bold, especially because your building looks like a thin stick high in the air, subject to wind, violent storms and clouds, it is the elevator itself that imposes strict limitations on viability.

111 W 57th St. NYC

Most of today's elevators are limited by how much cable is needed to raise and lower the elevator car and how much will fit at the top by its weight and the space required. If you think 100 floors of fishing line takes a lot of space, imagine if it is thick cable strong enough to support an elevator-full, plus an occasional grand piano and more. Even super piano movers Laurel and Hardy couldn't hack that.

Tall buildings hold their own fascination. Tallest today is the beautiful Burj Kahlifa in Dubai rising about half-mile into the clouds. But that will soon be eclipsed two or three times in the next five years. A building today, because of innovations in elevators and a better understanding of the laws of nature, could be a mile high. How would you like to live on floor 357? What a ride that would be.

Elevators, the biggest drawback to date, will soon be able to travel up, down and sideways at rapid speed, with multiple cars in the same channel, as maglev technology comes into play. These cars will speed along on rails using counter-affecting magnets that allows them to travel on a thin cushion of air... no more cables and lots more control!

Architects have also come to understand that putting counter-weights at the top of such buildings reduces sway and a feeling of "seasickness" and unease... but maybe not for me. Fortunately, being 'much less than rich' has its benefits. Counter weights can be anywhere from 300 to 800 tons apiece. That's the equivalent of 100 African elephants or 20 tractor-trailers or 20 humpback whales or 6 Boeing 787's. How's that for wow factor?

So you like high? How's this for someone who builds those tall things. (Photo from NYTimes weekly magazine.)

 

Tall and ultra-tall buildings are majestic and awesome but good architecture at any level is like a symphony. All one has to do to enjoy is visit Columbus, Indiana. This city of 45,000 just south of Indianapolis has many attributes but perhaps the greatest is that it is the home of the Cummins Engine Company. Its Chairman of many years ago, the late J. Irwin Miller, launched a charitable foundation that helped subsidize a large number of building projects in the city... churches, homes, office buildings, parks and the like, by-up-and coming engineers and architects. Columbus is visited annually by architectural students and tourists for its wealth of beautiful structures throughout. It is designated a National Historic Landmark by The National Park Service and is well worth the trip.

Every great architect is--necessarily--a poet. He (she) must be 

a great interpreter of his time, his day, his age.

Frank Lloyd Wright

We shape our buildings; thereafter, they shape us.

Winston Churchill

The mother of art is architecture. Without an architecture 

of our own we have no soul of our own civilization. 

Frank Lloyd Wright

Wanna hear a good story? Listen...

Paul had lost his precious heirloom pocket watch... the family treasure his father gave him; the one his dad got from his father; the one that would go to his son someday... now lost.

Paul had been working all day in the barn, sweaty and tired when he reached in his pocket in hopes suppertime was near.

BUT IT WAS GONE! He quickly searched all his other pockets. His watch was gone, lost somewhere in the barn, sometime during the day.

The whole family was called to the search. They scrambled, they raised dust, they searched and shouted back and forth.  "Where do you THINK you may have lost it?" they asked.

"If you THINK I know that, wouldn't you THINK I would be looking there?" he hollered back in sarcastic desperation.

Anxious panic was the order of the search as everything that wasn't attached was moved, turned over or rolled away in hopes the watch was waiting there. Pitchforks cautiously turned over every shock of hay. Animals were moved here, then there, to great discord. Hens' nests were examined but only turned up eggs.

After what seemed like hours, mom called a stop. "Let's quit for the day. It's past suppertime and we are all dirty, tired, frustrated and hungry. We'll look again tomorrow."

At the table, Paul moaned, "It's gone. I know it is."

"Now Paul, it's somewhere. We'll find it," mom promised in a hopeful tone. "Where is Mary?"

The screen door banged shut and Paul turned to admonish his 5-year-old daughter.

"Mary, how many times have I told you not to slam... " But Paul stopped short.

With a big smile on her face, Mary was dangling the precious watch on its chain.

Everyone rose and cheered. "But where," Paul asked, "and how did you find it?"

"After everyone left," Mary explained, "the dust settled and the animals quieted, I sat on that hay bale in the center of the barn and listened real hard. Then I heard a tiny tick-tocking near the chicken feed. You know that space beside the post...  the one that drops into that split in the floor? That's where it was hiding."

Mary listened, because she could. She just listened.

Don't you sometimes wonder what we might learn if we just listened more instead of thinking about what we are going to say when it is our turn to talk? We might actually remember the name of the person we were just introduced to.

In today's world, everyone talks all the time. Social media demands it and we all have something vitally important to say it seems.  We are bombarded by commercials telling us things we choose to tune out. Ordinary conversations carry on with one response overlapping the other. Politicians incite us with no chance to respond other than "Well that's for sure," or "Gimmie a break!" Forced listening creates a habit of accepting coercion without thought.

Where is the intelligence in all of that? Well programed robots are ruling the world... and we are becoming them.

I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. 

Most people never listen. 

Ernest Hemingway

One advantage in talking to yourself is that you know

 at least somebody's listening.

Franklin P. Jones

One of the most sincere forms of respect is 

actually listening to what another has to say.

Bryant H. McGill

Listening is a positive act: you have to put yourself out to do it.

David Hockney

Congress is so strange. A man gets up to speak and says nothing, 
nobody listens then everybody disagrees. 
Will Rogers

A good listener is a good talker with a sore throat. 
Katherine Whitehorn 

Make sure you have finished speaking
 before your audience has finished listening. 
Dorothy Sarnoff

History repeats itself because no one listened the first time. 
Anonymous

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, 

does it make a noise?

Nothing happens if we don't listen