Never forget...

Out of Sync from De Beeldbrigade on Vimeo.

Hard Work

"Whatever women must do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good. Luckily this is not difficult." -- Charlotte Whitton (1896 – 1975),  Canadian feminist and Mayor of Ottawa.

A sociology professor once asked me which person I would hire as a mechanic if I had a man and a woman, both equally qualified, apply for the position.  Initially I replied that I'd hire both and keep the one who did best.  After a moment I amended my answer, saying I'd hire the woman because when the guys saw her kicking butt they would start working a lot harder.

July 27

This has not been a date that I have looked forward to. To summarize briefly for those who do not know, last year on July 24 I attended my high school reunion in New York. That very night my brother was asked by our parents why he never attended HIS reunions. In a characteristically modest fashion my brother answered that it was because he had not accomplished anything, while his brother, Jim, had. This alone was irony enough in that he had that backwards.

Mike was the two-time cancer survivor, with the first cancer being a typically inoperable astrocytoma at the base of the cerebellum. Mike was the paraplegic who willed himself through college when he should have been in physical rehabilitation, and Mike was the one who made it into the Georgetown Law Center, the third most competitive law school in the U.S.A. at the time (it may still be, for all I know). Mike went on to work with Ralph Nader and then an agency called Endependence (a group that searches for careers for the handicapped) until he suffered a cerebral aneurysm on the way to a sign language class. Mike survived even that and went on to work for AARP. Way beyond that I must add that Mike had a delightful and warm soul. He looked for and found the best in people.

What are MY accomplishments? Well, they amount to several jobs at which I performed reasonably well, two failed marriages, and becoming an overnight success in college after some twenty-five years. Clearly Mike was modest to a fault.

Rightfully and thankfully my parents set the record straight for Mike (with additional thanks to them for not mentioning MY shortfalls). Mike went to bed that night feeling justifiably good about himself and for this, among many other things, I am immeasurably grateful because Mike never woke up the next morning. Michael suffered a catastrophic stroke at some point during the night while I was away having a great time with old friends. I was not there to save the person who had saved my life so many years ago. I know I couldn’t have stopped his death, but I’m still dealing with the fact that I was not there.

Later that day I was finally able to retrieve my messages and heard only that Mike was very sick, in the hospital, and asking for me (a white lie my parents told so that I wouldn’t be flipping out while driving from New York back to Virginia). I got to the hospital the next day and learned that Mike was brain dead and that they’d been waiting for me to get back before taking him off of life support.

One year ago this day, July 27, at 3:50 PM they disconnected Mike’s respirator. As we stayed by his side I couldn’t believe the nightmare. After all Mike had been through I had taken it for granted that he would ALWAYS survive. I still can’t believe that someone so strong as my Gentle Giant could slip away from us. I rested my head on his shoulder. At 6:00 PM Mike exhaled his last breath.

So, for the last year there certainly have been ups and downs, but the last few days in particular have been poignant and even surreal. Mom fell yesterday and broke her right foot and her left knee has a hairline fracture, and today I finally received a job offer from a company for which I’ll truly enjoy working. If somebody is trying to tell me something I’m not sure what it is.

One thing that I know for sure is that I want to do something. What? I could list all of Mike’s accomplishments – there are far more than those I have listed. I could wallow in my sadness over his loss. I could allow that sense of guilt to overcome and smother me in that dark night. It came to me this morning in the time of half-sleep. It was at once a moment of fogginess and total clarity. What would Michael want? He'd want us to laugh. Not just a snicker, but a really good laugh. So in honor of my brother I'd like to give you something that made HIM laugh. Corny, maybe, but true to his good nature. Enjoy.

Ancient Kung fu Scrolls

After fierce fighting among the Kung fu masters for it, all were surprised to learn that the secret of the Sheep Scroll is ewe.

Food for Thought

Scientists theorize that the second wave of our human ancestors to emigrate from Africa was intellectually superior to the first because fish had been introduced to the diet. This also explains why dolphins were able to build accurate chronographs millions of years before man invented flying toasters.

Peace

Take comfort in your enemies' hatred -- it means they are not at peace.

Otterly Rediculous - Part Two

Today I tried calling Dial-a-Psychic, but got Dial-a-Psychotic. I don’t mind not knowing the future, but now the otter on my shoulder keeps laughing at me!

Many Growing as One

Look for the worst in people and you’ll be satisfied often,
yet will suffer the disappointment of a game easily won.

Look for the best in people and you’ll be disappointed often,
yet will suffer the satisfaction of a game easily won.

Witches and Birth Control

A humanitarian team visited an impoverished village and concluded that birth control would greatly curb the community’s financial strains. They convinced the village leaders that the use of condoms would help and for the sake of modesty demonstrated their use on a nearby broomstick. One year later the team was discouraged to find a 25% increase in population and a condom on every broomstick…

Sonnet Challenge: Sonnet #18.72

It isn't too late to enter your sonnet for the Sonnet Challenge of Doom! Write a Sonnet and put your name on it! Here is my First Sonnet:


The Dinner Tray, by William Frisenger

Shall I compare thee to a dinner's tray?
Thou art more handy and more comparted:
Rough hands do shake my spilling drinks this way,
And ice’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the pizza of mine is,
And oft' t’is it’s hot oil hath burned this han’d;
And every swear from swear never declines,
By chance or nature's painful curse unscream'd:
But thy infernal dinner’s pain not fade
Nor lose digestion of that food so cursed;
Nor shall Death brag thou standest in his shade,
When on eternal food lines thou waitest:

So long as men can dine, or sup early,
So long lives this, and too brings lunch to thee.

Death by Siphon

Imagine living in a world where missing just one meal could prove fatal. You’re too busy, too distracted, and so you skip lunch. Your body slows down, you take a seat, and you close your eyes. You are completely unaware of the process even as it happens, robbing you of any chance to respond and save yourself. Fade to black.

Welcome to the world of diabetes (Greek for siphon).

I won’t go into too much detail, but among my brother’s medical problems are:

• One astrocytoma (often inoperable) at the base of the cerebellum removed.
• One aneurysm.
• Several strokes.
• Paraplegia.
• Thyroid cancer (resulting in thyroidectomy).

None of these conditions are as dangerous to my brother on a day-to-day basis as is diabetes.

Now, if the first paragraph did not scare you, consider this: you, as happened to a friend of mine, can have diabetes and never know it until you wake up in the hospital, tubes and intravenous lines everywhere, wondering what on earth happened and what that stupid beeping noise is. As for me, I was fortunate enough to be hired by a hospital that runs a fairly complete blood panel on all accepted candidates, so I was diagnosed early and can rely simply on one medication, some mild food restrictions involving portion control more than avoidance, and exercise – the last two of which we should be doing anyway. The problem was that I NEVER had any symptoms to indicate anything was wrong and I felt great!

So, at the risk of sounding like a public service announcement, no matter how old you are or how well you do or don’t feel, have your doctor test you for diabetes. It’s simple, fast, and literally can save life and limbs.

Sinking Ship

I was recently sent the link to the following video and asked what I think of it. I should tell you that, despite the fact that it deals with economics, this video could easily evoke a very emotional response -- even a deeply felt need to hoard as much non-perishable food as you possibly can. Please watch the video, and then read on…




Here's the link for my friends on Facebook, since this doesn't seem to be showing there...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXATSV8S3-M
You'll have to copy and paste since the Glorious FB won't even show the link!


Now, before any of you are tempted to give the same response that Thomas Edison gave when asked what he thought of Einstein's Theory of Relativity ("I don't think anything of it because I don't understand it!"), let me just say this:

“Dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria!” – Ghost Busters

You have to ask why somebody providing a critical, factual assessment of the BDI is showing inflammatory pictures such as children standing in front of empty grocery store shelves and a cargo ship that capsized and/or sank in its harbor. What is the presenter really trying to accomplish? Why can he not accomplish that with the facts alone?

I think it is interesting that the presenter shows a portion of the BDI chart that primarily shows the build up and subsequent drop in the index, but even in what is visible you can see a fairly steady level until mid to late 2003. It then rises, drops a bit, really takes off in 2006, and then drops dramatically late in 2008. Why? I suspect the first clue lies in the announcer’s initial explanation of what the Baltic Dry Index is an index of – the COST of shipping, NOT the volume of shipping.

The announcer goes on to say that the index measures the demand for shipping capacity versus the supply of carriers. Fair enough -- everybody knows that supply and demand affect price. But are those the ONLY things affecting price? We learned that lesson during the 1970’s. Counter to classical economic theory, we saw that due to other influences prices can go up for a given item even when demand drops and supply increases. Thus spoke Stagflation.

The announcer asserts that the BDI cannot be manipulated by speculators. I would say it was – indirectly. We know that speculators ran the prices of future oil contracts up. What would that do to the cost of shipping? A few months ago the oil futures market collapsed, so what would one expect that to do to the cost of shipping? So, what would we see if we overlapped the BDI chart and the oil futures market prices for the same period? A pretty good correlation.

I'll admit that I may be wrong in all this. I may even be right, but for all the wrong reasons. Not to be facetious, but I have to ask; if all shipping is grinding to a halt even as we speak, why is ANYONE worried about the piracy crisis? Exactly what could they be pirating? There's some money in pirating passenger ships and a few have been, but the real and easy money is in huge cargo ships with crews of only six to ten people. The ratio of profit to the effort of overcoming only six people is mind-boggling, but we've just been told that such ships are... no longer sailing!

Even if we were to accept this person's conclusions, we would have to ask this: If this doomsday prediction is accurate, just how effective would a garden or a local food supply be at hedging against this? Such a global collapse would be economically analogous to a global nuclear war -- who can store more than a few weeks or months of food? How would local farmers (because a garden that supplies so much food would actually have to be a farm) get past the current season with no external supplies, including gasoline or diesel? The list of subsequent problems goes on and on. As with a global nuclear war, the real victims, the ones who would suffer most, would be those who survive the initial calamity (in this case, that's virtually everyone). Given all of that, I'd ask again, what is the presenter really trying to accomplish?

Christmas

Christmas seems different this year. That's a good thing, and I'll try to explain why.

We all know or have an idea of what Christmas is about. We also know that it can be about many things to many people all at once. And we know that Christmas, as with many holidays, can have a sad side. That side can be the heightened awareness of the things that, during less festive times, we put into neat little cubbyholes so we can carry on.

My own little Christmas Carol - Christmas of 2001

2001 was an exceptional year for me. What should have been the start of a personal triumph, returning to school, somehow got marred by some minor technical difficulties. In chronological order those would be my wife wanting a divorce, the death of my precious and wonderful grandmother, the theft and vandalizing of my car, having to pay nearly $300 to an impound lot to get the car back, and the theft of thousands of dollar's worth of tools from said automobile. Good times, good times.

Against that backdrop I decided that, although it was a stretch for my budget, I was going to drive from Florida to Virginia for Christmas to be with my family, and then to Long Island to spend New Years day with some old and very dear friends.

I had barely been on the road for an hour when, as I approached an overpass, I made eye contact with a seagull who seemed just as worried about seeing me as I was about seeing him. He tried to swerve. I tried to swerve. Physics and aerodynamics foiled his plan. A tractor-trailer foiled mine. I don't know if that bird survived, but I do know that he lost a lot of feathers and he was not going to have to go to the bathroom for a very long time. The gull rolled from my right headlight all the way along the hood, up the windshield, and hopefully took flight -- I didn't see him land. My new car now had a festive and grossly sticky white feather boa along the hood for the trip to New York. I continued driving, heart in throat, remembering the Ancient Mariner and the albatross...

Actually, the vacation went well. Christmas with the family was wonderful. On New Years day I was up in New York and met my old friends as well as some new ones. The day after that I got an early start and was pleased to find virtually no traffic -- even through the city. I considered surprising my family by stopping by again, but the radio warned of a snow storm coming from the northwest, so I pressed on. By southern Virginia I found myself riding the leading edge of that storm, impressed by the way my little car handled the snow, and noticing that the only accidents along I-95 were single car accidents involving SUV's. Ironic? Not really, but disturbing to see.

The snow kept me fairly occupied, but something kept poking at my heart. The vacation had been wonderful, but now it seemed bittersweet. I almost had too good a time. I was missing those people as I thought of the empty apartment waiting for me. I tucked it back into its cubbyhole and concentrated on driving.

My plan was to get as far south as I could -- out of reach of the snow storm. I had no real equipment to deal with being snowed in. What I didn't expect was having to drive from Suffolk County, NY, to southern Georgia in one shift. I found a place in a nice little town of which I'll never remember the name, but it had no snow, and I was exhausted from adrenalin driving. That night, alone with HBO, that cubbyhole just couldn't hold in the bitter part of the bittersweet. It was a cold, dark night, and sleep was a mercy.

I felt little better in the morning, but the shower was nice and hot, the news-people were patting me on the back for not getting caught in a freak snow storm that hit unusually far south (I later heard that many areas were snowed under for three days), and there was a free continental breakfast! Nobody knew from which continent it was, but it didn't matter.

I went back to my room and started loading my car when I heard the familiar sound of a car that didn't want to get up in the morning. A few minutes later I was all packed and ready to go, but that sleepy Crown Victoria was still there, though almost all the other cars were gone. An elderly woman walked from a room to the elderly man in the driver's seat, and I walked over, too. It seems they had driven as I had, determined to stay out of the storm, but with one minor hitch -- they were on empty when they pulled in the night before and, not surprisingly, were still on empty.

"No problem! I always carry a gas can and there's a station over by the highway. I'll be right back!" Then, as I walked to my car, I realized I was an idiot for not checking on them earlier -- my luggage was neatly stacked on top of the gas can and my toolbox. Sooooo, I loaded my stuff back into the room, hopped over to the station and back. Before the gentleman started to crank the engine I stopped him and hooked up my jumper cables since it was going to take a bit to get the gas to the injectors and I'd already heard the battery getting weak. Soon the engine started up, I put the cables and gas can in my trunk, turned around and suddenly that little old lady was hugging me. She was trembling and crying. Her husband had a Teddy Roosevelt smile going. I hugged her back and said, "Hey, not to worry. Lots of people run out of gas."

She looked up and said, "You don't understand. Nobody would help us! Everybody said they were sorry but couldn't help. They were in too much of a hurry!"

I told her I couldn't believe that -- we were in Georgia. Everybody is friendly and helpful in Georgia! She said that doesn't seem to apply to passersby, and then she tried to give me twenty dollars.

"I'm afraid I'm in too much of a hurry to take that," I said with a smile as I backed away. "It's nothing, really. Besides, you better get going. That was barely a gallon we put in there!"

I waved as they pulled away, loaded my junk back into the car, checked out and had a really nice drive down to South Florida.

It was a minor episode, but I was reminded of it recently when my pastor said, "You can't feel sorry for yourself while you're busy helping others."

Why does Christmas seem different this year? Because I've just been blessed with getting reacquainted with some old friends and making some new ones, too.

Why am I writing about this now, on Christmas Eve? To point out a simple, obvious, yet often forgotten truth. I hope you'll share it the next time you hear someone wishing it could be Christmas every day of the year (and this works for Hanuka, or Kwanzaa -- whatever day your beliefs hold sacred). Tell them it can be. Tell them all they have to do is give -- every day of the year.

Love and Peace to All

Australia

Hugh Jackman Flexes His Muscles After a Rough Day of Filming

Yesterday I went to see the movie named Australia. Some friends wanted me to let them know how it was before they spent four hundred dollars to take the family to see a movie. Let me start by saying that I am not a movie critic. I did not attend movie critic school, did not get a movie critic degree, and I am not, nor have I ever been, a member of the movie critic party. That said, I can safely write that Australia is one of those movies that I hate myself for liking.

Why the hate? Someone on TV said that this movie was like “Gone with the Wind”, only set in Australia. That person needs to be left stranded in the outback with nothing but a rabid dingo, a bottle of cheap rum, and a copy of Margaret Mitchell's novel. “Australia” is to “Gone with the Wind” as “Scooby-Doo” is to “Call of the Wild”. Had I not heard such a ridiculous comparison I might have been better able to accept the many elements that I found so disagreeable, such as:

The movie is narrated by and revolves around an aboriginal young boy who is so cute and pretty that, just as you cannot say “bomb” in an airport, it’s a federal crime to say, “Michael Jackson” during this movie. Is this a children’s movie? Well, it has the feel of it - at first...

The first half hour or so has so many instances of Nicole Kidman’s character acting appalled/outraged/offended/mortified that you’re not sure if this is supposed to be a comedy - for children.

(Spoiler Warning - some story details from the movie)

Getting back to the children’s movie conspiracy theory, once you're charmed by the child, he comes face to face with a freshly murdered white man, complete with protruding spear tip. Later the child and his mother hide in a water tank and his mother drowns (never mind that the mother had no reason to hide and did not join him on previous such occasions). A friend is shown before, during, and after he is killed by stampeding cattle. But things lighten up considerably when Japan attacks Australia, one woman is killed by bombs, another friend is shot by the Japanese, and the antagonist, who is actually the boy’s father, shoots at the boy with a rifle. There’s more, but why spread too much good cheer around before the holidays? So, while it has elements your child will find enchanting, you might ask if these other scenes are what you want your child to see.

Clichés and the overused plot devices/twists abound like swarms of Japanese airplanes.

Aborigine magic works and doesn’t work according to when it suits the script.

Reality checks bounce. And bounce. And bounce. Examples? A Chinese family cook in a country and time where Asians were prohibited. The Japanese on land can see a very dark aboriginal man running on the beach and take him down with one shot at night, yet they don’t notice the big white sailboat behind him on which everybody else is escaping. A child under Hugh Jackman’s arm mysteriously turns into a rifle, which also disappears and reappears several times. Japanese planes drop bombs on ships and torpedoes over buildings -- probably just continuity/editing gaffs, but this could explain how the Allies beat the Japanese. In fact, the Japanese never landed on any territory during the raid (unless you count the two to four Japanese aircraft shot down), and didn’t use any torpedoes at all.

So, why did I like it? In my defense I can only point my finger at the cast and say, “THEY started it!” Nicole Kidman is lovely. She’s also quite lovely. And then there’s the fact that Nicole Kidman is lovely. Hugh Jackman is engaging and inspires us to work out -- he now looks like he could kick Wolverine’s butt. In fact, if he’s not careful, Hugh Jackman’s accent is going to switch from Australian to Austrian. Most of all, you want these two crazy kids to get together.

There are some other nice touches, such as Bryan Brown, in exile since “Cocktail”, as the not-entirely-bad bad guy and several other cast members that you know from somewhere but you’re not quite sure from what show. Oh! There’s a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, David Wenham! It’s good - they saved a lot of money in “Australia” by using Australian actors. Of course, there’s the terminally cute little boy, Brandon Walters. No painter, no cartoonist, no anime/animation artist could possibly create such an adorable, sympathetic character. Diabetics beware – your sugar levels will skyrocket. Mothers, bring Ritalin.

So, though I felt emotionally manipulated, the audience actually applauded (Do the projectionists take a bow up there in that little booth when people applaud?). Then everyone rushed for the bathrooms – the movie is two and three-quarter hours long.

Haughty Culture is a Little Punny

I found the following flyer on my windshield during my last visit to Manhattan. I don't know what to think of it, so I'm not.

Gustavo Gaston’s Guide to Way Off Broadway Musicals

Donkey Hotey -- The story of a kidney stone afflicted donkey trader who just can’t let go; features the hit song, “To Pee the Impossible Pee”.

On the Waterfront – The story of an incontinent boxer who always lets go; features the hit song, “I Coulda’ had Gas”.

Raging Mullet – The story of a brave boxer with an even braver hair style; features the hit song, “Smile Though Your Nose is Broken”.

Martha Stewart, the Musical! – The story of a white collar criminal working as a prison cook; features the hit song, “Don’t you Want Some Gravy?”

Annie – The story of a depression era unwed mother whose child suffers from bulimia; features the hit song, “(My Son Will Throw Up) Tomorrow!”

Phantom of the Oprah – The story of a murderous talk show host with the super-human ability to change size and shape; features the hit song, “Music of the Food (Slowly, Deftly, Snack Food Shall Caress You).”

Croak Back Mountain – The story of two frogs who like to sing around the campfire; features the hit songs, “I Left My Tail in San Francisco” and “Get Back”.

Harry Potty and the Chamber Pot of Secrets– The story of a gifted young wizard with potty mouth; features the hit song, “There’s a Bathroom on the Right”.

Harry Potty and the Stoned Sorcerer – The story of how Harry defeated the evil wizard Ganja; features the hit song, “More Than Herbs”.

Harry Potty and the Order of the French Fries – Greasy is the word in this story of how Harry foils the evil machinations of a sinister fry cook; features the hit song, “(Someday We’ll Dismember) Things We Ate Today”.

Gone With the Wind – The story of an antebellum bean farmer who dreams of building a better air freshener; features the hit song, “(Sometimes) All I Need is the Air That I Breathe”.

Cats – The story of an over-weight stray that aspires to be the next Tony the Tiger; features the hit song, “One-Ton Tigger is a Cereal Cat”.

Apocalypse Now, The Musical! – The story of a happy-go-lucky assassin who is sent up the river without a creek (Guest starring Brittany A Spear!); features the hit song, “Mekong Delta Dawn (What’s That Napalm You Have On?).

A Quantum of Solace – The inspirational story of a British secret agent’s struggle to prevent colonoscopy from being used for interrogation purposes; features the hit song, “The Long and Winding Road”.

[Note of no concern: Blogger.com's spellchecker informs me that "colonoscopy" should be replaced with "kaleidoscope". If only that were possible.]

On Killing a Mouse (with apologies to Mr. Orwell)

Killing a mouse and killing an elephant are two different things, aren’t they? Well, not entirely. I don’t see any justification for either unless it is to protect others – human beings, for example.

A nice and wide sticky trap and a lump of peanut butter was what it took. After the exterminator came earlier today and informed us that the mice were getting in through a gap between the wall and the floorboard behind the stove I placed two sticky traps in my room, which is the farthest place in the apartment from the kitchen before you plummet five stories down to the parking lot (for your trouble you’d get internal injuries, various broken bones, and a parking space too small for grown-up cars). One I placed at the entrance, the other by the heater, bookshelf, and storage box area. I ate lunch and took a nap as the wonderful aroma of peanut butter wafted through the room.

The screeching of a cassette tape going bad woke me. I hate that sound and that’s one reason why I switched to CD’s. But I think we all know that it wasn’t a cassette making that noise. Apparently my opponent was not as nocturnal as he would have me believe. I slid the boxes out of the way and there he was, all but his left hind leg stuck on the trap. He stopped screeching but I could see him breathing heavily. He was trembling. My heart sank. I looked at the label for the trap and discovered that unlike the sticky traps I’d seen before, this one from the exterminator contained no anesthesia. I got angry. The manufacturer, the exterminator, and I, through my failure to read the label, had all condemned this poor thing to either die of fright or, worse, dehydration -- so not good. Even an animal that is threatening your well-being does not deserve to suffer. Under other circumstances the same animal could be a loved pet.

I looked back at the mouse and thought about trying to get it off the trap, but I knew that was no good. The mouse’s bones would break and it's skin would tear before I got anywhere close to freeing almost all of his lower body from the glue. I’d do even more harm.

The thought of touching him made me think of the disease that mice spread. Suddenly I remembered my mother talking to the exterminator earlier in the day. Her hands were clasped below her throat. Her eyes were wide in fear. She told the man that she’d rather have an elephant in the apartment than a mouse.

I folded the cardboard trap (a brand I will never use again), doubling it over. Then, as I remembered my mother’s trembling, I struck right about even with where the mouse’s neck was. Sorry, mouse.

Terror at Fifty Feet

Two nights ago I was faced with a faceless enemy. I was up until past five in the morning with a case of indigestion; a rare condition for me. And that is when it happened. Something in my bedroom moved… it wasn’t me.

Pray tell, what horror lurks yonder? Alas, this event was foretold when, upon entering my bathroom not two days prior, I observed the tell-tale evidence; what to the untrained eye would appear to be small grains of burned rice on the toilet… mouse droppings.

I subsequently purchased and placed mouse traps and caught… nothing.

Convinced my diagnosis was incorrect I placed the little black plastic jaws of death away in a drawer. As the day wore on I even laughed at myself for entertaining the idea that a mouse would climb all the way up to the fifth floor of an apartment building and run along to the last bathroom in the last apartment to… use the toilet?

Now I had audio evidence. This noise clearly came from my room, not the upstairs neighbor who often has me convinced that we live underneath the set of Bowling for Dollars. So, at around five-thirty in the morning, after signing off Face Book where my friend Lisa had advised me to use peanut butter as bait, I set my traps between some storage boxes and a bookshelf. Not only is that where the noise came from, but I found that familiar style of Rice-a-Roni on the lowest shelf. I did not have the blind ambition to go the length of the apartment at that hour to get peanut butter. I’m a big fan of James Bond, so I used the next best high tech bait I could find without leaving my room… peanuts.

Now, I’m a realist and a pragmatist. I didn’t expect to catch anything that night because:

A. The night was almost over.
B. Mice are usually nocturnal.
C. I was too tired and sick to worry about it.
D. I still wasn’t entirely convinced of the existence of high-altitude, toilet-trained mice.

Well, the next night passed and looking down from above the boxes I could see that neither of the traps had been sprung. This afternoon I finally slid the boxes away and carefully lifted each trap to find… no peanut!

These traps spring just by breathing on them. You have to place them as if they’re loaded with nitroglycerine. How did the mouse steal the peanut not just once, but twice?! What kind of Hitchcock-inspired horror is this? So now I’m dealing with a high altitude, toilet-trained, ghost mouse with… Special Forces training?

Tonight I will use, with Lisa’s words haunting me… peanut butter!

So if you all stop hearing from me I want you to know that whatever happened to me, no matter how much it looks like an accident, it was the mouse that got...

Snow Cones

I went into the kitchen to help put away groceries my father and mother picked up at the nearby Giant Supermarket. My parents had moved to Virginia to help my brother with the day-to-day difficulties a handicapped man with insulin-dependent diabetes will have. They moved in to help him – and then I moved in to help them help him.

My father opened the produce drawer and became quite agitated at the sight of a pint of strawberries gone bad – horror movie bad. Grayish-green fuzz was taking over the world, and only my father and I stood between it and the total annihilation of mankind. Zombie strawberries stood poised for the attack and swift action had to be taken.

Dad took the clear plastic container into the living room and thrust it towards my mother who was sitting on the couch peacefully working on her crossword puzzle. She was waiting for Oprah to come on.

“Don’t ever buy these again!” he yelled, leaning toward her with the intensity of an umpire calling the last play of the World Series. My mother looked at him with the same deadpan look a comedic actor gives his audience. I always refrained from laughing when she gave Dad that look. Well, almost always.

“When did we buy them?” she asked calmly.

“It must have been two weeks ago!” Dad's voice boomed, his deep, commanding voice still powerful even after twenty-five years of retirement.

At this point my brother had the misfortune, or fortitude, to roll his wheelchair into the living room from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

“I didn’t know they were there!” he announced. I didn't know about them either, but my mind was stuck on “two weeks”.

Two weeks ago I had dialed 911. My brother was in bad shape. My father was insisting on taking him to the emergency room by car. My brother is a big guy – he had been a wrestler in high school before a brain tumor at the base of the cerebellum threw his world into a tailspin. Getting a barely responsive ex-wrestler out of bed, into a wheelchair, and then into a car was bad enough, but my brother clearly needed someone to make sure he was stable -- NOW. I pointed out to my father that putting someone with uncontrolled vomiting into a car with cloth seats might yield some less-than-desired results. Cooler heads prevailed. I dialed 911.

One week, two biopsies, several cultures, and hundreds of Jell-O’s later, my brother was discharged from the hospital. The results were not all in, but he would go for outpatient antibiotic infusion treatments for the next week as various results were relayed to us by the doctors. Two weeks.

In 1969 an eight-year-old boy made a Nobel Prize-worthy discovery. He discovered that staying in the swimming pool provided excellent relief from mosquito bites. Once again he had spent much of the night in his non-air conditioned room facing the dilemma of which would be worse; being cooked alive under a makeshift mosquito net of bedsheets, or staying cool above the sheets while being eaten alive by Madrid’s finest mosquitoes. He opted for the mosquito net approach, but in the end he was both cooked and eaten.

The boy was not content, of course, to simply relax in this Olympic-sized calamine surrogate. He was making observations, making mental notes, and exploring his new environment. For instance, he noticed that the “floor” was not nearly as smooth as those in the pools back in the United States. Moreover, since this pool was meant for students of the colegio, the slope of the pool’s floor was not gradual from the shallow to the deep end. So it was that the skinny Americanito started walking through the water in search of that magic point; that elusive yet definitive border between the shallows and the great depths. He found it.

The boy had learned to swim when he was five, and from that time on he would not leave the water until thoroughly and deeply blue, shriveled, shivering, and smiling after each seal-like barking cough. But none of that mattered. The powers that be, mocking man and child alike, had used tile on that steep and narrow slope down to the deep end; a smooth, slippery, light blue tile that offered no purchase whatsoever. Everything the boy knew about swimming, everything the boy knew about water, vanished save one thing: water and lungs mix poorly. He panicked.

Seconds are an eternity to a drowning person. The mind’s timer slows to nearly a stop as the mind races through the records for a previous encounter with the present danger, hoping to find an immediate solution to an immediate problem. Arms flail ineffectively of their own volition even as the mind perceives that it may not get out of this one.

Two huge hands grabbed the boy by the waist and with unfathomable power lifted the boy out of the water and onto the side of the pool in a single movement. The boy coughed uncontrollably for a bit and looked up to his rescuer.

“You okay, Jim?”

I nodded yes.

My big brother, thirteen-years old at the time, gave me a little smile as he patted me on the shoulder, then he swam back to the far corner of the deep end, pulled himself up onto the ledge, and rejoined his quiet talk among friends.

The conversation had stopped with the ring of the telephone. My mother picked it up and we listened in:

Doctor…
Biopsy…
Thyroid…
Cancer…

My father returned to the kitchen and I heard the parcel tumble into the waste basket. I entered the kitchen and found him slumped over a bit, staring at the basket. I patted him on the shoulder and silently put the rest of the groceries away.

It came to me as I nestled the softened Italian ices into the freezer: If my brother wanted a snow-cone made of shaved ice from the summit of Mount Everest, I’d get it for him. And right there by my side, if not ahead of me, would be my father with the paper cup in his hand. Yes, he'd be complaining over the howling wind, but he'd be there.

The Monastery

I did not write this, but it is so profound that I had to post it...


The Monastery

A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, "My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?"

The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, and even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound. The next morning he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, "We cannot tell you. You are not a monk."

The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes on his way.

Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery. The monks again accept him, feed him, and even fix his car. That night, he hears the same strange noise that he had heard years earlier.

The next morning, he asks what it is, but the monks reply, "We cannot tell you. You are not a monk."

The man says, "All right, all right. I'm dying to know. If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?"

The monks reply, "You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk."

The man sets about his task. Some forty-five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery. He says, "I have travelled the earth and have found what you have asked for. There are 145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth."

The monks reply, "Congratulations. You are now a monk. We shall now show you the way to the sound."

The monks lead the man to a wooden door where the head monk says, "The sound is right behind that door."

The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He says, "May I please have the key?"

The monks give him the key, and he opens the door. Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone.

The man requests the key to the stone door. The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby.

He asks for another key from the monks, who provide it. Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire.

So it went until the man had gone through doors of emerald, silver, topaz and amethyst.

Finally, the monks say, "This is the last key to the last door."

The man is relieved to no end but retains his humility. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is amazed to find the source of that strange sound.

But I cannot tell you what it is because you are not a monk.

_____________________________

Reflect deeply upon the date of this post.
_____________________________

In Poor Taste

On a recent morning, while eating cereal with lactose-free, fat-free milk, I was reminded of a psychology article I read back in the 1980's. It related findings regarding the points at which children find things too disgusting to eat. The experiments were flawed in that human development, and the evolution of what we humans find disgusting, does not end at so early an age. Therefore, in the interest of science, I have incorporated my own findings with the aforementioned. The results:

Ages 0 - 3: Everything is food.

Ages 3 - 6: Subject will consume food once any offending conditions, such as grasshoppers in the subject's glass of milk, are removed. This phenomenon is closely related to the "Three Second" rule for households and the "Three Minute" rule for restaurants.

Ages 6 - 9: Subject will refuse to eat health food. Junk food is consumed without hesitation.

Ages 9 - 15: Subject will politely ask parents to remove non-health food items.

Ages 15 - 18: Subject will attack parents without provocation. Offering food may or may not appease the subject.

Ages 19 - 45: Subject will eat whatever he/she darned well pleases until child-rearing commences, at which time interest in health food returns for five minutes.

Ages 45 - 65: Subject, due to mid-life crises, health issues, and advertisements, experiences interest in health food yet again. This resurgence is far more vigorous, lasting for as long as an hour.

Ages 65 - 80: Subject, with few exceptions, will only eat food from the Senior Citizens menu. Subject will attack offspring without provocation. Subject will consume food once the offending offspring is/are removed. Subject will consume offspring if he/she can catch them (opportunistic feeding).

Ages 80 and up: Everything soft is food.

Supplemental: Age groups overlap to convey the lack of hard delineation. Health care professionals are advised to be alert for Code Brown conditions for both the 0-3 and the 80 and up age groups.

See Shells

Late afternoon -- more glow than glare. A warm and gentle sea-breeze washed over the beach. In mine was a little hand. It's owner was taking in a lot of nature and sharing the joy as she'd break away, run ahead to catch a seagull or two, and then run back to hold my hand. Not long before I had laughed as my daughter squealed, running from an incoming wave, her red hair dancing about.

She suddenly stopped and tugged at my hand. "Daddy, look!" Her hand pulled mine down farther as she crouched to wrest a seashell from the moist sand. "It's got a hole in it! You know what THAT means?"

My mind raced for explanations of friction and erosion that would make sense to a young mind. Images flashed. Waves pushed sand and shell back and forth. Wind blew dry sand along the dome of the shell. Silica abraded calcium carbonate.

"Necklace!" she exclaimed, triumphantly thrusting the worn ornament up to the sky.

"Yes, Li'l Red," I smiled and gently squeezed her hand, "That's just what I was thinking."

Battlestar Galactica

Those unfortunate few who really know me may be aware that I am a big fan of Battlestar Galactica. No, not the goofy series back in the late 70's and early 80's, though Lorne Greene was a great actor. I'm talking about the revamped and serious version that has brought respect to the name Starbuck.

Serious science fiction fans such as I will still be wondering how the sound of space ships could possibly be heard across the void of space but, hey, we can't all use classical music to such good effect as Stanley Kubrik.

This version has Edward James Olmos playing Lorne Greene, er, Commander Adama. The rest of the cast is quite good, as well. I like Tricia Helfer the most, though I can't for the life of me figure out why...

They're entering the fourth and reportedly final season of this "miniseries" on Friday, April 4, 2008. Think it's too late to join in the fun? Well, here's an eight minute treatment to get you up to speed. Sort of. It's fun, anyway.




Got it? Simple!

Yeah, I know. It was really eight minutes and about seventeen seconds. Don't throw anyone out an air-lock over it.

Not Drunk Enough

Here's a clip from BBCWorldwide's Catherine Tate show...
Is it a mere coincidence that the man's name is the same as mine?
I think not!

Pitiful Pursuit

The following is an email I sent en masse, though it was expurgated in the interest of bandwidth hygiene. It contains responses I wrote to each item in an actual factoid email I received. I did not correct any typos in the original -- they are integral to the charm of factoids (as are the vulgarities), and they serve the greater purpose of distracting readers from my own typos.

Forwarding this will guarantee that Wal-Mart will NOT send you a check for $347.65 for participating in a fictitious worldwide email system test. If this finds its way to the author of the original factoid email I sincerely hope that person will not be offended, but will feel secure in the knowledge that there are only six emails between him and Kevin Bacon...


1.) If you farted continuously for 9 yr. 6 months you would create enough energy to build an atomic bomb.
JPF – Yes, but you’d have been dead for over nine years and five months, so forget it. You won't get that sense of accomplishment you so longed for. (Notice that factoid authors always start with something crass. It gives them a warm feeling inside and really makes the reader want to continue... )

2.) The longest recorded flight of a chicken is 13 seconds.
JPF – Why on Earth was this even being recorded? So, did the crowd go wild? Did the chicken win a prize? Can we ever be sure that the chicken was not on performance enhancing feed?

3.) More people are killed annually by donkeys than die in air crashes.
JPF – And that is precisely why donkeys don't fly. By the way, if you ever happen to come across this Annual Convention of Killer Donkeys, I advise you to NOT attend.

4.) A snail can sleep for 3 years.
JPF – It’s amazing ANYONE can sleep, what with people farting atomic bombs, chickens flapping around in 'roid-rage, and donkeys roaming the killing fields of our airports.

5.) No piece of paper can be folded in half more than 7 times.
JPF – I’m guessing that the folks recording chicken flights are working feverishly on this one, too. Anyway, this CAN be done -- just remember to unfold that paper before you make the next fold...

6.) The king of hearts is the only king without a moustache.
JPF – Oh, thank you! I’ve lost countless hours of sleep worrying over that one. My guess would have been the King of Spain. Juan Carlos, you have failed me for the LAST TIME! (But you're still my hero for telling Juan Chavez to shut up!)

7.) The only 15 letter word that can be spelled without repeating a letter is 'uncopyrightable'.
JPF – That’s nothing. I know at least three words that cannot be copyrighted without spelling them. Tragically, "uncopyrightable" is not among them. It's not a real word, at least not according to any English dictionary I've seen, which may be why this factoid is not copyrightable.

8.) All porcupines float in water.
JPF – So why not throw a few of the prickly critters into the bath water for your kids to enjoy?! Seriously, porcupines are LAND animals, so who is this sick puppy throwing them into the water?!

9.) Certain frogs can be frozen solid, then thawed, and survive.
JPF – Great. Now I have to freeze and thaw every frog I find just to find out WHICH frogs will survive. (Who IS this Nazi performing these experiments?)

10.) Only one person in two billion will live to be 116 or older.
JPF – So all I have to do is wipe out 1,999,999,999 people and eternal life will be mine?

11.) Dentists have recommended that a toothbrush be kept at least 6 feet away from a toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush.
JPF – Brilliant. Next they’ll recommend not using the toilet water to rinse your toothbrush. I’ll try it, but I don't see how a toothbrush 6 feet away is going to protect my backside when I flush.

12.) Winston Churchill was born in a ladies' room during a dance.
JPF – Oh, THAT explains EVERYTHING! Let’s hope the toothbrushes were a safe distance away.

13.) A cockroach will live nine days without its head, before it starves to death.
JPF – Now, pay attention! THAT is why roaches, unlike humans, will never be able to fart atomic bombs.

14.) The Bible has been translated into Klingon.
JPF – Cool. That explains why I've been seeing more Klingons in church these days.

15.) The word "samba" means, "to rub navels together”.
JPF – Good heavens, then what does “mamba” mean? What about “La Bamba”? Disgusting.

16.) Everyday more money is printed for Monopoly than than US treasury.
JPF – And yet, defying the laws of classical economics, Monopoly money is worth MORE than the US dollar! Okay, never mind the repeated words, that that can happen happen to anybodybody, but the sentence reminds me of the eternal question, “Is it hotter in the summer than in the city?” So, just how much money is being printed and how much US Treasury is being printed?

17.) If you keep a Goldfish in the dark room, it will eventually turn white.
JPF – If that doesn't annoy white supremacists, what will? And who is keeping goldfish in the dark room? Photography has truly taken a bizarre turn.

18.) Every time you lick a stamp, you\'re consuming 1/10 of a calorie.
JPF – So, if you lick that stamp 35,000 times, it’s just like eating fast food. I went on a binge once and mailed over 90,000 letters at Burger King (Oh, as if YOU haven't strayed from your diet during the holidays?).

19.) Windmills always turn counter-clockwise. Except for the windmills in Ireland.
JPF – Similarly, (and I know this goes against all of that which we believe to be true) when you get drunk in an Irish pub, the room will spin clockwise.

20.) Ancient Egyptians shaved their eyebrows to mourn the loss of their cat.
JPF – What did they shave when the dog died? The insides of their nostrils?

21.) The average blue whale's tongue weighs the same as an elephant.
JPF – And the average blue elephant’s tongue weighs the same as a flying donkey.

22.) A duck's quack doesn't echo, and no one knows why.
JPF – No one knows why because it isn’t true. A duck’s quack would echo, but most people haven’t heard it because ducks are not inclined to stand at the edges of canyons going, “Quack! Hey, there’s an echo in here! QUACK, Quack, quack!”

23.) A 'jiffy' is an actual unit of time for 1/100th of a second.
JPF – Jiffy Lube says they'll get back to me on that one. I asked for a refund since my last oil change took considerably longer.

24.) Armadillos are the only animals besides humans that can get leprosy.
JPF – And, as always happens, the humans blame it on the armadillos while the armadillos blame the humans…

25.) It's impossible to lick your elbow.
JPF – Not true. (Hint: Just snap the humurus in half and bend.) Go ahead and try – it tastes like chicken!

26.) An ostrich's eye is bigger that it's brain.
JPF – This phenomenon is also seen in humans who text on cell phones while driving.

27.) "I am." is the shortest complete sentence in the English language.
JPF – Oh? (I know that’s not a complete sentence, but I couldn’t resist.)

28.) Clinophobia is the fear of beds.
JPF – So, if you’re Bill Clinton, and you develop a fear of beds…

29.) Your stomach has to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks otherwise it will digest itself.
JPF – Cool! Only three more days ‘til I get my new stomach! Actually, that's only true of non-union stomachs. Unionized stomachs can take up to six weeks, but have to pay union dues monthly. It's hard to get your stomach into the union, but it's worth it.

30.) According to a British law passed in 1845, attempting to commit suicide was a capital offence. Offenders could be hanged for trying.
JPF – Who wants a bunch of suicidal Brits hanging around, anyway?

31.) A Boeing 747s wingspan is longer than the Wright brothers’ first flight.
JPF – But Orville had far more serious complaints about that first flight, such as no meal, no alcohol, and no movie. He swore he’d never fly coach again, but then found out how much a 747 costs.

32.) Barbie's full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts.
JPF – Wow, where’d they come up with a funny name like that? Ha, ha! Barbara! That’s SO weird! Jeez. Well, at least we won’t have to sit on the edge of our seats worrying about THAT one, anymore. With this and the “king of hearts” crisis out of the way we can all relax.

33.) Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise.
JPF – Proving, once and for all, that Venus is part of Ireland.

34.) All of the clocks in the movie "Pulp Fiction" are stuck on 4:20.
JPF – Ahhh, NOW the movie makes sense.

35.) The most common name in the world is Mohammed.
JPF – In this world, yes, but when you're on Venus it’s Sean, with Patrick coming in a close second. Gomer, oddly enough, failed to make the top 10 on either world.

36.) In England, the Speaker of the House is not allowed to speak.
JPF – Because he was the genius who let Ireland have Venus.

37.) Cat\'s urine glows under UV light.
JPF – That’s why I love sneaking cats into dance clubs.

38.) The average person falls asleep in seven minutes.
JPF - …while driving in Florida.

39.) 111,111,111 x 111,111,111 = 12,345,678,987,654,321
JPF – And if you farted continuously for 12,345,678,987,654,321 minutes, how many atomic bombs would you have? While we’re into the important stuff, how many flights could a chicken get in during that time? A normal chicken, not a roid-rage chicken.

40.) Elephants are the only animals that can't jump.
JPF – But they can, when provoked, make a donkey fly. Really, has anyone seen an amoeba or a snail jump? Seen any jumping barnacles? If you have, please send video to:

The Porcupine/Frog Nazi,
2B Happy Street
New South Dublin, Venus

Please make a copy as we are unable to return submissions. And, please, no postage due.

41.) One in every 4 Americans has appeared on the television!
JPF – And three in every four of them fell off and landed on the coffee table, spilling drinks and splattering the other guests with onion dip.

42.) Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.
JPF – Just the same, it’s barbaric for tigers to be walking around in fur when there are so many attractive substitutes.

43.) Rubber Bands last longer when refrigerated.
JPF – And they’ll taste better, too, but don't rubber bands lose elasticity and break more easily when cold?

44.) Blueberry Jelly Bellies were created especially for Ronald Regan.
JPF – Now, I admit that I’m not the most accomplished person who ever lived, but I don’t want to be that guy with a grandchild on his knee, saying, “Yessiree, Sonny! I invented the Blueberry Jelly Belly!”

45.) The youngest pope was 11 years old.
JPF – You can bet he would have blasphemed to get his holy little hands on some Blueberry Jelly Bellies! Think this one through. The oldest pope was 11 years old, too.

46.) The Hummingbird is the only bird that can fly backwards.
JPF – Perhaps the hummingbird is not the smartest bird of flight. Think about it: it’s hard enough to walk backwards, dangerous to run backwards, and these wacky flyboys want to FLY backwards? To be fair, hummingbirds usually fly backwards only to escape 'roid-rage chickens.

47.) Women blink nearly twice as much as men.
JPF – Hmmm. They say people blink more when telling a lie… (Oh, no he di-n’t!)

48.) No piece of square dry paper can be folded more than 7 times in half.
JPF – In half of what? I thought I settled this in #5, but now it has to be a SQUARE, DRY paper! Now I feel silly for spending the whole weekend folding ROUND, WET papers.

49.) Almonds are members of the peach family.
JPF – How awkward that must be at family reunions.

50.) Internationally, Baywatch is the most popular TV show in history.
JPF - This proves only that idiocy knows no religion, no race, and no borders. Of course, if watching pretty women bounce around in skimpy bathing suits will bring world peace, I’d be willing to take a few hits on my IQ score.

51.) Coca-Cola was originally green.
JPF – No, it just looked green because of the bottle. You see, the original Coke bottle had to produce a new layer of mucus every two weeks, otherwise it would digest itself.

52.) The first CD pressed in the USA was Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA."
JPF – Unremarkable except for the fact that they are now probably made in China.

53.) A mole can dig a tunnel 300 feet long in just one night.
JPF – Talk about a hot date! So, how many nights must a New Jersey mole tunnel to get a Bruce Springsteen CD hot off the presses in China?

54.) It is impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.
JPF – This is an excellent example of nature protecting us. After all, who wants to see their mucus fly through the air and land in somebody’s Coke?

55.) The first product to have a bar code was Wrigley’s gum.
JPF – And chewing gum has never been the same since that great day in history. I can’t bear to see the tears in my grandkid’s eyes when I tell him that this great honor didn’t go to my Blueberry Jelly Bellies.

56.) A hedgehog's heart beats 300 times a minute on average.
JPF – … and THAT means that for every hedgehog heartbeat a mole gets one foot closer to a Bruce Springsteen CD!

57.) Ancient Egyptians slept on pillows made of stone.
JPF – Obviously, pillow fights were serious affairs back then. Hence the old Egyptian saying, “Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw pillows.”

58.) A crocodile always grows new teeth to replace the old teeth.
JPF – Well, DUH!!! That's how it's done! What animal grows OLD teeth to replace the NEW teeth?

59.) Canada is an Indian word meaning "Big Village".
JPF – This is only a partial translation. The full meaning in Inuit is “Big Village with Intelligent Birds that Fly Forward”.

60.) "Dreamt" is the only English word that ends in the letters "mt".
JPF – Do not panic! We have the world’s greatest minds working on a solution to this great injustice imposed upon the people of all English-speaking nations. A tax rebate is in the works.

61.) John Lennon's first girlfriend was named Thelma Pickles.
JPF – Okay, if you know ANYTHING about John Lennon, you know that nothing can be said about this that John hasn't already said. Lennon is the patron saint of Sarcasm.

62.) There are 336 dimples on a regulation golf ball.
JPF – This is annoying. The author completely ignored the “Why” of the issue. Nobody cares how many dimples there are, but, for those who don’t already know, it MIGHT be interesting to learn WHAT the dimples do -- create an aerodynamic effect that increases the distance, or “flight”, of the ball. THEN we could have enjoyed another flying donkey crack. But, noooOOOooo!

63.) Why do pipers march when they are playing? It's harder to hit a moving target!
JPF – Stupidity incarnate. The piper marches because he’s ordered to. Why else would anyone march into a battlefield armed only with a wind instrument? Now, a piano? Yes, pianos provide great cover and can pulverize any opponent. I’d be proud to go into battle playing a piano.

64.) Babies are born without kneecaps. They don't appear until the child reaches 2-6 years of age.
JPF – Yeah, sure. The kneecaps arrive by FedEx, guaranteed by your sixth birthday or delivery is free. Well, no, but this “factoid” is so ridiculous that you just want to break the author’s kneecaps. Kneecaps usually form during the fourth month of fetal life, but very often they don’t show well in x-rays even after birth because they’re mostly cartilage then.

65.) Many hamsters only blink one eye at a time.
JPF – That’s called winking, Einstein. If you listen closely you’ll hear the little fellah say, “Here’s lookin’ at YOU, kid!”

66.) A pregnant goldfish is called a twit.
JPF – True, but a pregnant twit is not necessarily white, though she may turn white if left in the dark room… (See #17)(Actually, don't bother).

67.) Emus and kangaroos cannot walk backwards, and are on the Australian coat of arms for that reason.
JPF – See? You don’t see any hummingbirds on a coat of arms, do you? Stupid hummingbirds…

68.) The average person falls asleep in seven minutes.
JPF – Didn’t we cover this in #38? So, how long does it take for ABOVE average people to fall asleep? Five minutes? I figure a genius should be out like a light in two minutes, flat, unless traffic is really heavy.

69.) No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver and purple.
JPF – Again, please do not panic! We have those very same Great Minds working on this one, too. Their preliminary findings report that the author of this “factoid” clearly never received a “purple nurple”. Equally disturbing is the fact that no single word could possibly rhyme with all four of those words.

70.) Birds need gravity to swallow.
JPF – So, would a hummingbird in space starve to death? Hey! I’m just asking! It’s not like I was going to TRY it or anything. Just the same, this supports Einstein's theory that a bird on a black hole can eat more than a bird on Earth can in t times ten and eleven to the first power, where t = time in Newton-meters per angstrom.

71.) Starfishes have no brains.
JPF – And yet they write no factoids. They also know that the plural of starfish is really starfici (pronounced STARRRR - fish - eye), as in the sentence, "We can learn a lot from the lowly starfici of the seases."

US Irate Over UK

World politics and current events have overshadowed an ever-increasing source of stress on diplomatic relations between the United States and England. Physical hostilities are not expected, but experts fear that it is only a matter of time before tensions reach the breaking point with serious consequences.

As recently as Thursday, January 19, 1911, the debate has been raging fiercely over the use of the letters u and k in words such as color (colour) and public (publick). In a letter to the New York Times on that date, one A.G. Baker, citing the preface to Webster’s first edition, admonishes Dr. Funk and refutes his assertion that “nine-tenths of the best speakers and writers was in favor of their retention.”

This rebuke struck a grievous blow to the British, who responded by refusing to refrigerate beer. America countered by strictly enforcing the “drive to the right” law, written and sponsored by the right senator Frank “Roid” Wright to flush out Britons hiding in the United States.

The ramifications of these events cannot be understated: this undoubtedly caused the delay of America’s entry into The Great War, allowing the loss of countless French trees and rutabagas to the Germans.

A respite offered hope during the last quarter of the twentieth century and tensions seemed to lessen when one American high school student, Ms Eller, who, speaking to the press under conditions of strict anonymity, offered a peaceful solution: “Why don’t we just use whichever way offers the highest score in Scrabble?” This edict, known as the “Eller Speller” in places as far as Swaziland, was widely accepted for thirty minutes in coffee houses throughout the world, but the end loomed ominously when Starbucks Coffee grew in popularity, causing Americans to suspect that the “Eller Speller” favored the Brits.

In understandable indignation, Ms Eller has now threatened to return from her self-imposed exile and force Americans to say “aluminium” and write “cheques.” Political analysts in America worry that this will spell the end for the bi-partisan system, which in turn would induce widespread public urination among small boys in many Mediterranean countries. Let us hope we can put our differences aside -- it is only a matter of time before Britons and Americans alike shall have to face the musick.

Submitted by James P. Freyczevski, political correspondent for The Slightly Behind the Times Semi-Centennial.

Blind Ambition

I'm thinking of adding Google's Adsense to this blog. This is not a financial decision -- only about two-and-a-half people actually read this blog, and I'm roughly three-fifths of them, so this won't replace my retirement fund. Actually, I don't think I'll get lunch money. The truth is I'm curious to see what these "relevant" advertisements could possibly be. What could they sell that relates to what I write? I've compiled a short list of items that might sell in case Google needs my help:

• Psychosis inducing drugs (only the legal over-the-counter ones such as Preparation H)


• Rejected Dr. Seuss manuscripts (in the original Sanskrit)


• Richard Nixon's mountain climbing gear (never used, never opened)


• Parachutes with minor blood stains (used once, never opened)

My reader(s) agree(s): The possibilities are underwhelming!

Why, oh, why?

I've been asked why I named this bastion of not-so-deep thoughts "JimsBookshelf." The short answer: because I can.

More accurately: because my bookshelf is where I store ideas. Similarly, or not, the title, "Not In Our Stars," goes back to the Middle Ages when I was an assistant mangler for WaldenBooks (a job and company that I enjoyed immensely). Whenever a book was not where it was supposed to have been displayed I would often misquote Shakespeare by saying, "The fault lies not in our stars, but on our shelves."

That may sound trivial, but imagine the horror in finding "The Yeast Connection: A Medical Breakthrough" (a book about yeast infections) among the cookbooks. And although I am a longtime fan of the band, I bristled upon finding "Hammers of the Gods: The Led Zeppelin Saga" in the "Romance" section. Undoubtedly the most disturbing was finding an excellent book on dinosaurs sitting comfortably in the "Pets" section. It took every ounce of my willpower (I struggled with every fiber of my being!), but in the end I resisted the urge to flip to the chapter on house training.

"Tales from the Backside"? Well, I'm sure that's self-explanatory...

So, hopefully this all makes as little sense as it did before.

Oh, I was also told that I should have pictures in my blog to make it more "sexy". Tantalizing. A picture DOES say a thousand words, but I'm not sure I want to write that much. Oh, what the hay. Here's a horse...

Oh, the drama!

60 Gazans Killed

The following is a copy of a comment I posted to The Washington Post in response to an article on Sunday, March 3, 2008:

I'll be blunt. There have been times when I thought that my Jewish friends were just a little paranoid, just a little quick on the draw in perceiving anti-Israel or anti-Jewish threats. Yet, The Washington Post has finally done what none of my Jewish friends were able to do -- convince me that I was wrong. In fact, this article raises a very important question: When did Hamas purchase a controlling interest in The Washington Post?

I'm a Christian who has Palestinian, Israeli, and Muslim friends of various nationalities. I'm embarrassed by Bush and even more embarrassed that his absurd administration duped the American people. I think there should have been better provisions for the Palestinians from the start, though I recognize that Israel welcomed Palestinians to participate in the Israeli state and many Palestinians have. The surrounding Arab states offered the Palestinians "refuge" and then proceeded to treat the Palestinians like refugee trash.

I find it interesting, though, that this article has neglected to include the fact that Hamas has been firing rockets without provocation at Israeli towns such as Sderot for seven years. I can’t imagine any country in the world that would have put up with that.

It's also amazing that the authors include "human interest" elements regarding Gazans only. Where are the accounts of the mangled children in Sderot? How did these "fair" reporters manage to not include interviews of the family members of innocent Israeli citizens killed by Hamas’ rockets. There are seven years' worth of them; you can not say there are none to be found.

I have yet to see Israel attack anyone without a previous actual or impending attack against Israel, with the only thing close to an exception being Israel’s attack on an American spy ship years ago. Israel is far more careful with its resources than the Bush administration is – it cannot and will not afford such wastefulness.

It is terrible that ANYONE is being hurt, but if my son were to willfully provoke another child, I would have to say, "Don't hit somebody and then complain when he hits you back, and if you then hide behind your brother it’s YOUR fault if he gets hit." Israel has been taking these particular punches for seven years. Is the Israeli government partly to blame? Maybe yes, because their failure to stop this years ago has emboldened Hamas, so now even more innocent Gazans and Israelites suffer for it. Hamas finally pushed too far, and now they’re crying about having to answer for it and they are attempting to manipulate the press. Well, they need not have bothered with The Washington Post. It was a done deal.

God bless and good luck to President Abbas and Prime Minister Olmert, for with Hamas deliberately messing things up they obviously have one heck of a challenge.

Don't Mind If I Do

The current issue of National Geographic (March, 2008) contains an article that stunned me.

National Geographic is arguably one of the most important magazines in publication; so important that it is said that Americans save National Geographic the most of all periodicals -- even more than Playboy, which comes in at second place. Edward Bernays, the Austrian-born publicist, is reported to have said that he read Playboy for the same reason that he read National Geographic -- so that he could see places that he couldn't go to anymore. Presumably he said this before his death (shortly before, if his wife was within earshot).

The article in question, "Minds of their Own -- Animals are smarter than you think," compares animal intelligence to that of humans. For example:

"New Caledonian Crow [clearly an improvement over the Old Caledonian Crow] solves problems and creates and uses tools..."

"Marmoset -- Learns from and imitates others."

"Western Scrub Jay -- Recalls the past, plans for the future."

I didn't know humans could do all that!

When did THIS happen?

I thought I was on top of human development. I've watched "2001, A Space Odyssey" several times. I've watched CNN and MSNBC. I've driven on I-95 from Florida to Massachusetts and back. What did I see? Flying bones and single-computer spaceships killing people, rappers killing people, and motorists killing people. Should I have been watching the animals? I'd go to the zoo, but the tigers have recently proven the point of this article...

So, what do you call animals that take a beautiful carnivore, place it in a poorly contained environment, and then allow other humans the opportunity to taunt that carnivore? Waiters? No, the waiters and waitresses I've known were far more intelligent than that.

Arthur C. Clarke, where were you when we needed you most?

Missing Statement

Yes, the title should read, "Mission Statement", and it would, had I a mission. And that IS a problem for results-oriented people, but how does one convey an inner desire to poke fun at almost everything? Pan-sarcasmosia?

I must warn you that there's nothing particularly deep, nothing particularly clever, and not, heaven forbid, anything of any consequence here! Forgive me if I've just defined blogging, but this IS the first willing testament of a confirmed anti-daily journalist. I never felt the need to record my thoughts, feelings, or deeds.

An acute awareness of history is part of the problem here, too. How many, of all the writers who ever writered, are remembered? What works of theirs do we actually remember(ed)? I'm not talking about people like Aristophanes, or the great novelist, George Pierre Burmesdorffenberger. I'm talking about the millions of average, day-to-day nameless scribes who labored all day long, century after century. All too few, if any, are recorded in the anal of history. So, are we to believe that blogging, though divine when compared to yellow journalism, is anything other than contributing to the honorable tradition of obliviated literature?

Well, maybe it IS something other. Is playing a musical instrument for one's self and friends futile? Is painting a landscape that nobody else will see a waste? Maybe there is something to be said for this blogging thing, after all. (insert raspberry sound here)

Jim's Disclaimer: The arthur offers no reasonabel explanations for misspellings missed punctuation or misconduct hereof and thereforth, by way of protesting the propagation of spell checkers and other encroachments upon our sybil libertrees.