WHAT'S "NEW"IN A NEW YEAR?

RESOLVE TO ACHIEVE THIS IN 2012

Now, there's a question?  There are many things afloat in the ethersphere these days, but not too many of them are really original.  For me the "NEW" in a new year is the day to day experience of  the passage of time.  Since I was about 32 years old, passage of time has interested me.  It is not a preoccupation with age, it has everything to do with the inner responses that I experience along the course of time.  It is mysterious to me how my reactions, intellectual and emotional vary from day to day and sometimes from hour to hour.  It hasn't been a New Year's thing for me, it has been more a time flow thing.  I have noticed that as time flows, so flow I, if that can pass for comprehensible language construction.  I, for instance, consider myself to be a fairly open-minded person.  Just as I am patting myself on the pat for that virtue, I find myself reacting negatively to a new behavior on the streets of the urban area in which I live.  Or, I find myself being insulted at the idiot who is texting when listening and learning from immediate contact with intelligent people in a sincere conversation.  I doubt that I will change in the coming twelve months.
Milestones are what we make them out to be.  They make it easier for us to comprehend the life we lead.  Nothing really changes rapidly enough for us to really make perceptible changes in ourselves to accommodate the changes that happen on a day to day basis.  Everything stays so much more the same that to change into something different on a day to day basis that it takes a long time for us to realize that we have fallen behind.  I must say that it is nice to have some markers though.  They tend to make life more interesting.
Here, therefore is a list of "sames" for me:
I am not Anglo Saxon and I am proud of it.
I am Catholic, and have stood up for it in some dangerous situations.  I would do it again.
Because of that, I am not leaving just because of some idiot priest(s).
I hate unions.  That hasn't changed and never will.  
I am not a "politician" and I choose not to respect them.  I am convinced that they are all immoral beings.
I am "anti abortion", and I am not pro-life at all costs.
I do not believe that changing "sex" to "gender" makes any sense at all.


I do have a list of changes...I have to be fair, right?
I like the electronic revolution.  Like so many other things, it gets abused.
I like the medical advances.  Imagine, human spare parts.  There too there are huge abuses.
I like the speed of travel.  
I think that the United States as a society is too stupid to admit that it could make things better in many areas, like travel and like in electronics.
Yep, I used to think that we were the BEST.  Now I know different.  Not from the TV.  I've been there.
I have come to the conviction that we have too much easy credit for our own good.
I no longer support capital punishment to the extent that I once did.
I now know that the Latin Language has absolutely no place in the prayer life of the Catholic Church.  


That's enough.  You got the point.  So, we all officially one year older now than we were ten minutes ago.  Some of you reading this are already about 24 hours older than the rest of us at this point.  Oh, well, time marches on, as we used to say.
HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL!
CLICK HERE FOR SOME FUN

A BETTER MOUSE TRAP?

Are you kidding me?  Somebody actually claims to have invented the better mouse trap?  That has to be the height of arrogance!  There is only one measure of the efficacy of a mouse trap.  You can't get any better than quick and irreversible death.  So I cannot imagine that there can be any gradation of good, better and best when it comes to mouse traps. Yet, the other day I was on my way out of Home Depot and right  there by the cash register was a relatively large display of what was being hawked as the best mouse tap.  It got my attention, as you can readily see by the picture on the right of your screen.  This gorgeous pair of shiny white mouse traps set me back 3.29 before tax.  The sales tax in San Diego, California is an astounding .0825.  So you can do the math.  It comes out to somewhere in the neighborhood of $3.60.  I fell for it because I had the immediate thought that I would write to you about it.  Why?  Here's why.
When I was growing older [remember that males never "grow up."] there was a saying that went something like, "If you want to be rich, go invent a better mouse trap."  It was also applied to people who thought that were smarter than anybody and everybody else.  "If you're so smart, why haven't you invented a better mouse trap?"  Just like for everything else that you've ever read here, I am not making this up.  Those of you who were around when this was being said, can vouch for me.  I know you will if the occasion arises.  All this aside, I have these two fetching little mouse traps sitting on my work table.  I have been wanting to take a picture, but I found myself away from my work area with nothing better to do, so I decided to scan the package in which they came and let you figure out the rest.  Besides, if you go to Google, you can see the picture there.

You know what?  I just saved you 15 minutes.  I had to go through 100 pages of Google pictures to find this.  This must be one good mouse trap if even Google doesn't show it right up front.  But here it is.  And you know what?  I have two of these beauts sitting right there on my work desk.  Man, am I blessed or what?
XOXOXOXOXOXOXO
This is almost the last day of the year.  Most of you will be reading this on the last day.  The real milestone here is that this is the 400th time I address you in this environment.  I guess that I can say that this has been a life changing moment for me.  If you take time to read the banner at the head of the page, you'll see the way it all got started.  I started blogging seriously about 6 years ago.  It was serious then, and I guess I might consider that to be the start of a new life.  Maybe I should tell you about it one of these days.  It has been a good time and I intend to make a big deal out of it on my next birthday.  So this will be a rather good year, if I live that long.  If you are curious enough, you can go sniff at the very first serious  blog post I ever published by clicking here.

ARE YOU IN FAVOR OF KEEPING THE USPS

Has the mail come yet?  Just a sec, I'll go look.  No, not yet.  Must be late today.  Maybe a sub doing the route.
I have to make a couple of little remarks about the mail service that we have here in the United States.  I hope you don't hold it against me, but I have to remind you that it is said that mail service was invented by the Chinese, many, many centuries ago.  Now isn't that refreshing news?  Besides aesthetic explosive devices, they have given us the dud that we know as the US Mail...and now we even have fe-mail carriers.  I wonder if the Chinese invented that too.  Those are some jobs that they've outsourced to us!
I call it the dud because it hasn't figured out how to make a profit yet.  You'd think that after all these years that is one little problem that someone could have solved.  Oh, well.  I guess we'll just have to keep knocking on wood and keeping our fingers crossed that the "Forever Stamps" we bought yesterday will outlast the existence of the US Post Office.  Seriously, you have to admit that the last time you bought some of these "Forever Stamps" you swore that you would one day buy 100 of them and keep them for 25 years just to test the system.  You have to admit, it is a tempting thought.
But that's not what I thought about this time.  I found out that there are different rates for international mail, depending on weight, size and country of destination.  Huh?  I found out, for instance that for a first class letter between Brazil and Argentina there is a $0.04 difference in the rate.  Between France and Spain the difference is $0.02.  Can you figure this out?  All this stuff goes on the same plane that takes tons, I repeat, tons of un-weighed baggage and four cents is going to make a make-or-break difference to the USPS?  Who thinks of this stuff?  If anyone of you can give me a common sense, intelligent answer, I'm willing to listen.  [Despite the fact that common sense and intelligence don't necessarily go together.]
I want to end this by one more thought that I expressed in another blog not too long ago.  I think that one way to make a profit at the USPS would be to do nothing but deliver domestic mail for a flat Fifty cents for every single piece of mail, bulk or single family.  No breaks to anyone, not even to senator Dhiepittenstirkhous.
Finally, delivery will be made on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday only.  All of this to be gradually introduced to be finalized by fiscal year 2013.  Take it or leave it America.
"Quid dixi, dixi."

HOW MANY FAMILIES DO YOU HAVE?

In this world, we all grow up in a diversity of cultures.  At the very least we find ourselves surrounded by diverse family cultures, if not diverse racial and nationality cultures.  At no time during the year does this truth slam into us more vividly than from Thanksgiving in November to the first week in January.  We begin to live it from the first moments of our socialization process and extends through our entire lives.  For all of us it is brought home to our consciousness early because of the behavior of our parents.  For others it takes some more subtle forms, but it is present in every family.  It doesn't go away.  It is an indelible impression that we bring to the grave.  Belle asked me a question the other day that made me think of this.  She asked why, when I was talking religion, I almost always quoted my maternal grandparents.  When the conversation was more about the secular side of life, the Dion side usually was the source of the stories.  It was not an easy question to answer, frankly.  I never gave it too much thought, if any.  But over the last couple of weeks I have been thinking about it.  In the interest of protecting the guilty parties, most of whom are looking down upon this composition from an exalted eternal abode, I will be careful to remain neutral here.
Our first home is the first place where we learn that there are at least two families to whom we owe allegiance.  It gets more complicated as we grow older and some of our dear, older relatives get married and the population of aunts, uncles and cousins expands.  This is but the first degree of complication.  The second degree of complication is more intimate.  That is when siblings get married and we see our parents torn by the jealousy caused by the need to share the relationship of their children with another family.  This is all the worse than the jealousy of sharing their relationship with the family of their own spouse, who happens to be our father or mother.  That's the source of the whine, "Well you know, he HAS to go to the Bonenfant's first before coming here later."  Oh boy!
In some cases that is all the more complicated when the real cultural change hits and Daughter marries someone from a different language group.  Then Son goes out and marries someone of color.  Then someone has the courage to say, "We're all getting together at "Great Walrus's" house for New Year's Eve."  ["Great Walrus" is my official American Indian name.]  That's when you know that your family has diversified.  That's when you know that you are not alone in this world.  That's when you discover just how much, or how little, of a chameleon that you are.
We all go through it.  It's a very interesting experience.  The stories I could tell from under my own roof are both humorous and sometimes sad.  They are all diverse.  I can tell you safely that my first degree circle is: I, European, [French Canadian], Filipino, American Indian [Southwestern U.S.].  It is always interesting.  Never a dull moment.  I never thought it would ever serve as a topic for an autobiographical sketch.  The nice part about it is that no parents, dead or alive have been injured in the making of this story.

GUYS, KIDS and SISTER MARIE,SERGEY AND LARRY

Notice there is no picture here.  I could not find a picture of a "guy" on Google.  Yep!  Google doesn't know what a "guy" is, at least not in the "images" section. Maybe it's because it does not correspond to an "x"-rated reality.  You're sitting there, I think you're sitting, unless you're on the "T", standing there like an arrogant, cool, indifferent "pro" reading your I-Pad without hanging off a strap.  Wow!  How did I go down that path?  Anyway, no matter what asana you've assumed at the moment, you're wondering why I am talking about "guys."  Simple.  This is an autobiography, remember.  So I have to remind you about stuff that is different now than what it was 'way back then.  You bet, when I was learning the English language in a bi-lingual school, we were taught that "guy" is not an acceptable word to designate a member of the male sex.  Never.  Bad.  And don't you forget it.  So, forget it, I did not.  In fact it still shivers my queevates when I am sitting at a restaurant table with people whom I respect, many times 2 males and two females and the wait-person (J'ou catch that?) says, "Hi, Guys!  I'm Dhieppittenstirkhous and I'm yer waiter today.  I hope yer gonna have a grrreat time."  Oh, Boy!  I'm having a great time already. Sister Marie of the Anti-Left-Handed Angels Guardian is flip-flopping in her grave.  Phew.  So, there is no picture for this part of the "thought."  I couldn't convince Sister Marie... to resurrect for the occasion.

So, I now turn to KIDS.  Do you know how many Humans I had to eliminate before I found a real kid.  Guess.  Come on, exercise the guessing quadrant of your grey matter.  Go ahead, I dare you.  Heeee.  Ain't this fun?  Ole Sister Marie of the Anti-Left-Handed Angels Guardian is having a field day sitting in the garden of Eden, in the shade of the forbidden fruit tree wondering what it's going to take to teach Americans that KIDS are animals...i.e. FOUR legged animals, like in goats.  It took me 4 Google pages and five more pictures on the top row to find one.  113 humans before this one lonely specimen.  Let me tell you, these two boys, Sergey Brin and Larry Page (left to right) have just flunked out of Immaculate Conception Parochial School first grade.

Too bad that their brains got turned to mush by that California School where they studied.  If they couldn't learn the difference between goats and people, aren't you having fun wondering what the football players are learning?
Think about it for a few seconds.  I can't, I've run out of  "Thoughts."

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA CHRISTMAS DAY

This was a typical Southern California Christmas Day.  We arose late because we had been up late.   Then we started to get ready for the celebration that was to be held at another  house starting at somewhere around 5:30 PM.  We had a lot of catching up to do, so I had to do a lot of running around at the last minute  to buy small items for the kitchen crew, led by you already know whom.  When I stepped outside I was blessed by a crystal clear, sunshiny day showering us in 72 degree weather.  I know it is hard to take, but some of us are willing to sacrifice for the rest of you.
My first stop was at the Asian Super Market situated at about one fourth of a mile from our residence.  There were many shoppers there at the midday hour that it was.  I was in there for no more than 20 minutes and I have to tell you that it was some kind of experience.  While there I saw three Vietnamese women dressed in the very expensive signature clothing style of Vietnam.  It is called the Ao Dai [OW DYE].  The ones I saw were stunning and had no place, really, in a super market.  So, on a Christmas day, I was in a crowded super market with stunning ladies sporting $500+ suits.  In passing, let me add that of the three $500+ outfits, two were overshadowed by the $1,000,000 people inside them.  Phew!  enough of that.
The day went on.  A little bit later I had to run another errand.  This one was to deliver my brother and sister - law at the house where the celebration was to be held.  They were the ones who were going to help with the kitchen and the other areas of the house that had to be prepared.  I also brought a short list of groceries that had to be filled on the way home.  So I stopped at the Filipino Market in the area near where I dropped off my passengers.  It was still Christmas day.  The store was nearly empty.  There were more employees there than customers.  Here, where the clientele is predominantly Christian, the store was sparsely populated and those who were there were dressed for the occasion.  They were mostly husbands like yours truly, in sweat pants and baseball caps running through the place to buy three key ingredients for some specialty.  So there you have it.  A big chunk of the world brazenly showing itself off  and creating a learning experience for the astute on-looker.
I am glad that I have lived long enough to see these realities.  I wanted to share this one with you.  It reminds me of  one of EFR Dion's favorite sayings, "When you are in New York, you can see all that there is to see in the world."  I don't live in New York, but today I saw people of at least 10 - 15 different countries buying food grown and processes from at least 10 different countries.  The Christmas mystery sure makes some strange bed-fellows.

HOW CAN ANYBODY WORK ON CHRISTMAS DAY?

How many times have you worked on Christmas Day?  Be honest.  You're in safe company.  If you have never worked on Christmas Day in your entire life, it's OK to admit it.  I have to admit that it's  not any easy one to work.  I have done it often.  Those of you who know me, know why, and when.  But besides that, there were other times for other reasons that I worked on Christmas day.  I have to say that it is not as bad as it sounds on the surface.  However, when given the opportunity to exercise my "druthers",  I always "druthered" to take the holiday from work.
I have to say that for me it was always a matter of rearranging the schedule.  This is a later phenomenon, but the practice was nothing knew to me.  I grew up in a family for whom Christmas Day itself was for people who were not of my culture.  (Franco-American.   Some of us did sneak across the border from Canada.  Only, we waited for the river to freeze over so that we could drive across.  I actually came to know children of some people who had done that.)  For our family, (We were, and are, all documented.) Christmas was at its frenetic and most enjoyable moment from about 9:00 PM on 12/24 to about 3:00 AM on 12/25.  Leading up to 9:00 PM was not easy, but then after that it got real crazy.  We had to start getting ready for Midnight Mass (We're Catholic), we had to get all the party stuff organized for the Post Mass celebration, "Reveillon" in French.  Mass was out by about 1:20 or so.  Then home to the partying with what appeared to be 100 people.  That lasted until at least three, and in a good year, 5:00.  Including the one when my uncle lit a match with a Red Ryder BB gun at about 15 feet.  I am NOT making this up.  There are independent witnesses who are still alive and Alzheimer's - free who could attest to it.
I tell you this because I have to make the point that I grew up with a Christmas schedule that was always a mystery to my non Franco-American friends.  So when I grew up and suddenly was confronted with the reality of having to work on holidays, changing the celebratory times around was not a large hurdle for me to clear.  Oh, believe me, it is not as easy as it seems in the telling of it, but it is not the end of the world.
After all, God works on holidays.  I have been told that He even works on Sundays.  I wonder if  He works on Saturdays, too.  My feeling is, if He can do it, I can too, if I have to.
Back when I was growing up in Massachusetts, no one worked on Christmas.  In fact, the only ones who worked on Sunday were police and firemen (no, women were not firemen, and all firefighters were men).  Oh, yes, we had heard that there were some female police officers in case some females happened to get arrested and needed to be searched.  I remember, we did know about that.  But, no business was conducted on Sunday, by anybody except the Church.  These days, everybody BUT the Church does business on Sunday.
One last thing before I leave you.  The way thins are organized these days, I'll bet more people have a grumpier attitude about working 12/26 than on 12/25.  Ya with me on that one?  Ha, I knew you would be.
See you tomorrow.

I'M A LITTLE TEAPOT

LISTEN TO THE SONG IF YOU WANT, JUST CLICK HERE

O)H N(0, I actually forgot the words.  I hate to say it but today when, out of the blue I tried to sing this little song to Belle while we were preparing for our tea time, I forgot the words.  It makes you wonder how many more things you've forgotten.  Of course, you'll never know because if you've forgotten, then you won't think of them anyway.  It is all the more disturbing because is is the first song that I remember learning in the English language.  It makes me think that the one who taught it to me must be really perturbed.  She must be turning over in her box, frustrated that not only could she not teach me to sing, I even forgot the one little ditty that I could do reasonably well with.  Oh yeah,  I can hear it all now.  I don't have to get explicit.  Those of you who knew her, know what I'm up against.  Those of you who didn't know her, just think of the spinster aunt you had and vicariously live this moment with me.  Good.  Just come along for the ride.  I was all the more embarrassed today because I was even making all the gestures that you learn to do when you're a child.  You see, when you get old enough to be alone in the house with your intimate other, you can do a lot of things that you would never do otherwise.  But I blew it because I forgot the words.  So, I'm thinking that the spinster is also having her moment of joy because of my discomfiture.  I'll ask her when I get to the Pearly Gates.

The cap to all of this is that about a month ago I was singing the first song that I learned in my entire life.  I haven't forgotten the words to THAT one.  It must be that you forget a foreign language faster than you forget your native tongue.  Now this is the perfect picture for this second part of the thought.  When I started to look for the "Claire de Lune" I started arguing with myself because I had learned how to sing my siblings to sleep by listening to my mother sing her version of Berceuse by Chopin.  When my eyes fell on this picture, it was a perfect coincidence because both symbols are perfectly joined.  Besides, that baby there is so cute that it must be me.  Somewhere in here, you can check it out.  I'm not going to go fish it out for you.  But actually the song that I was singing last month was "Au Clair de la Lune."  This is a French folk song from the 18th century.  Just a couple of days before I was born.  It is famous because it is one of those "French as a second language" fixtures that everyone learns.  You can hear it here.
Finally, one last dip of the pen.  [Oops, that tells you how old I am.]  The first song that most missionaries who go to the northern part of the Philipines learn is also about the moon.  So of course, I know that one too.  Here it is.  I will tell you that it is not "cute."  So I will spare you the translation.
So there you have it.  Music, music, music.

MAY I ASK A STUPID QUESTION?

Tonight I was preparing the sixth day of the running Christmas Card and I have to admit that I was doing a lot of on-going research.  You know what that means...Go ogle the images on Google.  As I was doing that I asked myself for the Nth time, "What did I do before this?"  Well, I asked questions, for one thing.  Some of them were smart.  Some were dumb.  Some were stupid.  Some were even "smart ass."  You know the kind:  "Do you have have Prince Albert in a can?"
Now that we have the Internet and Google, you can get Smart Ass questions by the dozen.  Except now they call them, "100 questions that you forgot to ask when you were growing up."   But it was really different then.  I remember my grandfather reading the newspaper a lot.  He used to say that the only thing anyone had to really learn in life was how to read.  I believed him then.  Now though I think I would challenge that.  After all if all anyone would learn is how to read, who could write anything for anybody else to read?  Hmmmm?  Never thought of that, did you Joe?  [Yes, that was his name, except in French it was always pronounced "Joseph."]  It's the same kind of question that I was asked when I first got to Italy.  "Why do the 'Federali' [Federal Police] always go around in pairs?"  Now this is a fairly intelligent question, right?  In this case it's the answer that is bent.  The correct answer is, "One knows how to read, one knows how to write."  One of them broke Joe's rule.
Seriously, the amount of information that is immediately available in today's world causes more questions than it gives answers.  It is really a very challenging world.  When a person my age has to wonder who ever needs a pencil any more.  I can't remember the last time I used a pencil.  Of course it goes without saying therefore, that I can't remember the last time that I used an eraser.  Hey, wait!  That's great.  That means that it's been a long time since I make a mistake.  I knew it.  I knew it.  I always did know that I hardly ever made mistakes.  I always knew that I was smarter than to make mistakes.  Maybe I was just using the eraser to keep in shape or something like that.
I really did not have to go far to research anything.  I just used to ask EFR Dion, and he would tell me.  If it was a catechism question, I would ask my grandfather, Joe, I mean, Joseph.  He was a walking encyclopedia about religion.  He had the right answer to everything about the Catholic religion.  I mean it.  I would ask him something I had never heard about before and he would say, "You don't know that?  You should know that, the Pope said so."  End of story.  Period.  No question mark.  If it was really important it had an exclamation point after the word Pope.  So apparently besides reading, you had to learn to hear what the Pope said too.
So all of this to say that I think a lot about how Ol' Larry and Sergei got to know so many things.  Maybe I should not care or worry about them.  All I have to do is to learn how to read the first 10 of the 371,978,466, 001 answers that they say they got when I punched in the question, "Stupid."
See, Grandpa Joe was right.  And I dared to doubt him...He's coming after me tonight, sure as hell.

HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE?

BELIEVE IT OR NOT A REAL PERSON DOES THIS
Click on the purple underline to see more of this.

This is an interesting question, or thought, I guess.  I have had it for a long time.  As I was growing older I thought that I would solve the feeling and the mystery, but I haven't.  I have for years wondered how it feels to do something and not have any immediate feed back.  Like I'm doing now.  Some how, I know that a human being is going to come in contact with this page.   I never thought that I could get faithful or loyal to an audience that is mostly unknown to me.  There only 100 of you out there who get "pinged" for this production.   I have another one that has about 300.  So here I am wondering what is out there.  I sit here at home and produce something that I think is worth consuming, but I never know what the reaction is.  

This started for me when I asked EFR Dion if the people on the radio felt strange because they were all alone in the room.  He said that he thought that maybe they did, but he doubted it.  He said that they were sure that someone was listening and that they were projecting their thoughts and their souls to the people listening.  I didn't have the slightest idea what he was saying, but hey, I was just a young boy, so I made myself comfortable with myself and went on my way.
Then one day,  my brother was a radio personality.  I asked him how it felt.  He just said that you get used to it.  That's true.  I know it now.  But I am still intrigued by the people on television.  That must be weird.  Imagine, they know that they can be seen, but all they get to see is their notes and the microphone.  Yikes.  That has to be strange.  At least, I can't see you and you can't see me.  The feeling that I get that is the most puzzling is that I do a lot of this as an autobiography for my children.   I am an old man.  Yet, I somehow have got accustomed to writing my autobiography in public, so to speak, and I don't even have a pencil and paper to do it with.   Besides, it will never see the light of day on paper.  I think that I can also guarantee that the very ones for whom it is intended won't read one single syllable.
This is getting long, so I'll pipe down now.  But I have to say that this is rather limiting.  I can only be a part of myself here.  There are a couple of other parts that I maintain in other corners of the Internet.  Pretty strange stuff.  If you wonder what I'm talking about, click on some of the stuff over there by your right.  I just got something off my chest about Justin Bieber.  It's on the link that says something about the nasty part of me.  And you saw some of that the other day about the Guts and stuff...I get like that some times.  Talk about guts and balls.  After I turned on those birds, they all disappeared.  See what I mean?  There's no one out there...'cept you 'n me!
Ok, now I am going to leave you with the 5th day of our continuing Christmas card.  The first stop,  Beit She'an is going to be known only to you Bible nerds.  But everyone can enjoy it, because now Mary and Joseph are finally on the road.  I still can't figure out why she's traveling in her state in the first place.
Love ya's all.

YAP DOES NOT EQUAL "YES"

I just want to share a humorous experience with you.  It has brought me to more knowledge of  Micronesia, a protectorate of the US in the area of the Philippines, Indonesia and Japan and Guam, etc.  If you click here you can explore a little bit of the territory in photographic form as well as in some written information.
Here is the exchange that I want to tickle your funny bone with and introduce to you the reason why I am sending you to Micronesia.

Here is what I wrote in an email to you last night:

By the way [2] My friend from Palau [Pacific Islands, near Bikini, believe or not tells me that they answer the telephone with "Kabong", let me hear it."

The natives of this part of the world can't wear bikinis.  You've heard the expression, "Two axe handles across the fantail?"  That's Palauans.  MuuMuu country!

Well, the file has now uploaded, so I'm off to find comfort in the arms of my dear Morpheus.

Well, Justa, from Palau, also an independent country, island protectorate of the US, part of the Micronesian Archipelago makes a comment in reaction to the italicized sentence at the bottom of my email.

You are right  about Palauan attire.  In the earlier centuries, Palauans wore grass-skirts.  From the bell button up can be exposed.  From the bell botton down, not a chance in hell.  Yapese are still doing it.  Palauans wear clothes now. but in the earlier centuries they were almost naked as Adam and Eve.  How was the weather in The Garden of Eden at that time, one wonders.  Ever seen a girl riding a motorcycle with nothing on top and wearing grasskirt?  That would be Yap.  Right now as we speak.  What s that phrase, cant mix old wine with new.  In Yap you can.  HOw 's this for a Sunday Matinee. 

Now, if that didn't make you smile, you must be dead...totally lifeless.

 

When I get these private email responses, I always sit back and really enjoy every syllable.  I have been having a little discussion with another reader that is really interesting as well, but needs to ferment a little more before it is ready for consumption.  In fact, I have watered it a little bit to see if it can keep itself from getting to 140 proof too quickly, if at all.

I got one the other day that looked like this.  I warn you, this is not a quote.  This is an off the wall example of some verisimilitude.

YO! BRO!  DA MOONLIGHT DRIPPIN' ALL OVER YA?

GETCHA SOME NEW GLOB MATERIAL RITE KWIK.  BEST TO DA DOC.

Yep.  No, not YAP.  I wish it were.  I know that my friend who does this to me is going t write me and say, "Hey, why you stealing my material, and my style?  You didn't ask me if I would let you plagiarize me."  

Then there's the other friend of mine with whom I have been having an email relationship for well over six years now, who the other night at the witching hour of 12:45 AM reacted to a response that I had made to a comment  on the ParishWorld.net blog, Burning Question with a rousing, "bravo!"

Boys and girls, I do not make this stuff up.  I just tell the story.  I tell you, I have never had so much fun in all my life.  For free!

You all think that this is all I do all day.  Actually, that's not true.  But I can't get into that right now because I try to keep myself alive by getting a little bit of sleep now and then.  So that's next on the agenda.  

I'm debating with myself as to whether or not I should be serious for you tomorrow.

I hope you are enjoying the PowerPoint stuff.  You have to admit that it is not too bad.

MY BIRTH DEFECT -- ANKYLOGLOSSIA

Yep.  That's what I was born with.  There are a couple of things that have to be said about this condition.  
Ankyloglossia can affect feeding, speech and oral hygiene as well as have mechanical/social effects.  Yeah, more about some of this stuff later.  Keep your eye on the "mechanical/social effects."  
Actually, the first social effect that it had on me was that I was plunged into the morass of doubt that is caused by a hospital nursery switcheroo.  Oh, yeah.  It happened to me.  I found out when I was about 16 or so.  I knew that I had been born with an abnormality, you know, the "Ankylo..." thing, but never thought that it was the trigger that gave away the "baby swapping caper."  It was at a baseball game that all of this came to light.  My parents, EFR and MJT Dion were taking a Saturday off from their busy schedule to watch the baseball team that I was part play a strong competitor from across town.  In the course of comparing one another's faces, it came to light that the women sitting next to one another in the bleachers had indeed been acquainted in the past, not only occasionally as single maidens, but also in the hospital where they had delivered their prized baby boys.  It was then that they discovered that during the ignominious sojourn in the hospital, their babies had been switched by the nursery staff.  There they sat watching us play baseball on the same team.  We remained completely oblivious that we were each other since birth.  They told us after the game.  I met my temporary surrogate "Mom."  You have to imagine the jokes that knowing this caused.  Not just between us principals, but among our teammates, of course.  It was a good thing that this was late in the Summer, so the fun did not last long.  In a way, it is too bad.  I haven't seen that boy since then.  I would not recognize him, not even if we were sharing the same crib. Fat chance, right?  
My mother knew right away that something was not right.  She had noticed my handicap right away.  When she didn't see it in the baby she was given to hold per the feeding schedule, she called the nurse and told her.  According to MJT there was some mean language used, but the situation did get resolved, and I found my way back to my mother's...ummm...arms.
Good thing too, because as a matter of fact my "Ankyloglossia" thingy's effect was that the "mechanical/social effect" had kicked in early.  I didn't have the mechanics needed to ... ummm ... feed properly.  Now, that can be a problem.  In my case, a big problem.  Anyone who knew MJT can attest to that.  After this last clue, you have to know what my physical disorder was.  My lingual frenulum was too short and too thick.  Big problem!  
fortunately, there was a handy, dandy tool laying around the O.R. that was used to solve the problem.  You got it, they excised the problem in the attic and decided to spare the little guy in the cellar.  Therefore, friends and neighbors, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, aunts and uncles and everyone else in between, I quickly overcame my handicap.  So I escaped the hell of the mechanical problems but developed the one that developed from the "social effects" to an exceedingly astounding degree.  You can tell.
How else would I be able to weave a story this long about being born tongue-tied?  
Now are you sure that I am who I say I am?  Am I sure that I am who my mother said that I am?  If "Chevy" Chevalier is still alive, is he sure who he is?  There is perhaps no way that neither he, nor you, nor I will know until we meet someday in the Garden of Eden.  I will be glad to be there because by then my tongue will be in shape for one of those low hanging apples.
This a true story.  We attest under penalty of perjury that not one single tongue-tied little fact was permanently harmed in the production of this narrative documentary.  We also attest that there is not one single plagiaristic syllable contained herein.

"AMATEUR" SPORTS IN COLLEGE & UNIVERSITY

This article got started because of a simple little thought that I once had in my younger years. In fact, I had this thought when I was 18 years old.  I was one year away from college level education while my best friend had already moved on to Holy Cross College in Worcester, Massachusetts. [say that fast 3 times in a row]
He was what I considered to be a good basketball player.  When I saw him during Christmas break I asked him if he had gone out for the basketball team at Holy Cross.  The look of disgust on his face was a surprise to me. He just simply said that it wasn't that easy in college.  The conversation went on to other things and I remained in my state of total, I mean total ignorance about how to get on the team in college.  In fact, truth to tell, I'll bet that most of my ignorance about this subject is what falls into the category of invincible ignorance.  I am in real deep trouble when I find myself thinking about college and sports.  I am sure that most people would call my situation innocence, but I am not innocent, just invincibly ignorant.  I can't figure out why athletes have to lie about the fact that they are in a school with an A-1 law department when all they are being taught is how to play a given sport.  Why does the school lie about it.  Just say, these people are here being taught how to play "xyz" sport on the professional level.  We cover their expenses while they are here as remuneration for their ability to attract big money through their athletic prowess.  Am I wrong in thinking that honesty at this level is more morally acceptable than what we have now?  If we just said that openly, it would explain why people who attended "xyz university" still can't speak grammatical English in an interview.  I'll bet the real reason is that if it were said that way the IRS would get involved. Oh-Oh!
I guess my invincible ignorance revolves around the unshakable conviction that I have that participating in sports is integral to achieving a completely well-rounded education.  You know, the age-old axiom "mens sana in corpore sano." [A healthy mind in a healthy body]  That's what sports in school is intended to do.  I am convinced that better doctors are made if they are given the opportunity to bash heads on the athletic field before boring holes in the crania of trusting patients.  Of course, these people will not support the billion dollar business of Notre Dame Football by cavorting around the athletic field for a couple hours after Mass on a Sunday afternoon.  So, that's my take on this whole thing.   
Right about now, you are saying to yourself, "This old man is not only invincibly ignorant, he is completely MAD, and it isn't even March yet!"
So, get even with me by not crying at my funeral.

FORWARD THIS JOKE, I DARE YA

the author, I don't need guts, I got balls

I got this email today [12/14/2011]  In Blue.

We read all the jokes and forward the good ones but I just wonder who will pass this one on.  How about you sending it on and back to me if you got the guts to do so.  I am and just wonder how many I will get back? AND very happy to be of the 1%.


Someone please tell me what the HELL's wrong with all the people that run this country! Both Republicans & Democrats We're "broke" & can't help our own Seniors, Veterans, Orphans, Homeless, etc.,?
In the last years we have provided aid to Haiti, Chile, Pakistan, Lybia, Egypt and Turkey, and Japan [Did you willingly forget Germany, France, Belgium, South Korea, Philippine Republic, Mexico, Italy, India,  Afghanistan, Iraq, Greece and not to mention Israel.]
Still, foreign aid makes up about 2% of the total federal budget.
Literally,BILLIONS of DOLLARS!!!
Our retired seniors living on a 'fixed income' receive no aid nor do they get any breaks while our government and religious organizations pour Hundreds of Billions of $$$$$$'s and Tons of Food to Foreign Countries!
Food?  Americans spent 25 billion dollars on pet food last year  
Make stew out of your pet and use the money you save to buy your aspirin.
I pay $100 per month for medical insurance as a senior. Can you beat that?
The rest of the cost of my medical care as a senior is aid.  

Medical aid to US residents makes up about 13% of the total federal budget.
If you add prescription drugs to the total, it is more.



We have hundreds of adoptable children who are shoved aside to make room for the adoption of foreign orphans.  Are you sure that they are "shoved aside?" 
AMERICA: a country where we have homeless without shelter,  children going to bed hungry, elderly going without 'needed' meds, and mentally ill without treatment -etc, etc.
YET... They have a 'Benefit' for the people of Haiti on 12 TV stations, ships and planes lining up with food, water, tents clothes, bedding, doctors and medical supplies.  Imagine if the *GOVERNMENT* gave 'US' the same support they give to other countries.
Sad isn't it?  
Why is it so sad?  The people of this country spent $3.6 billion in 2011 at PetSmart!  I wouldn't support them either.  
99% of people won't have the guts to forward this. I'm one of the 1% -- 
>               I Just Did
>               GOD BLESS AMERICA
>               IN GOD WE TRUST
I did not have the "guts" to forward this.  Instead I responded to the sender and to the members on the email list.  Every now and then I take the time to do such things.  It mostly happens to me in the Theology area of life, but now and then I stop lurking and come out of the dark corners.
I incorporated some of my responses into the body of the emailed text.  the rest of my response follows, in black, of course.
>
Hello:
My senior citizen brother-in-law is now recovering from about $600,000.00 worth of open heart surgery and all related services, all paid for by a combination of MediCare and Medi-Cal.  I have another brother-in-law who lives in a third world country.  He is in the hospital.  It won't be long now.  
Let say that facts are facts, no matter what we think about them.

I know that our government is composed of people who are vicious, inhumane, lying, avaricious, vindictive, murdering, disrespectful of the sovereignty of other nations, discriminatory against many classes of human beings, etc.
This is also a country that allows us, as citizens to congregate freely, to travel when and to whichever place we desire, to speak the language that we wish, that provides information in many languages because this is a country that has no "officially mandated national language", where the citizens eat well, where people who come into it illegally do not get thrown in jail pending a $25,000 "fine" be paid for their release.  In fact many of them find sustainable work and in fact are protected from abuse by law.  This is a country where I or anyone else can write any opinion we have without fear of official reprisal, where I or anyone else can legally possess an entire arsenal of lethal weapons, where the people are entirely free to worship, or not, without coercion and where the people get to vote freely, or even abstain from voting freely without reprisal.  Finally, this is a country that does not restrict the freedom of its residents to send unlimited amounts of money out of this country to a foreign one.  I know for a fact that the amount of private money going to Mexico from the U.S. averages $ one
billion every month.  This month it will be "down" from the usual Christmas to about 2.2 billion.
Yes, I am very aware of the immorality of the people who are a part of the official government, and I am also very aware of the immorality of those who influence these same official government people and finally, I am very aware of the immorality and ignorance of the of the voting public.  Yes, it is partially our fault as a country for the suffering that we bring upon ourselves by the fact that we elect those who make up the government against which we rail constantly.  In a democracy like we like to think that we are, we deserve the government that we elect.  Read your email over again to yourself and try to calculate the average IQ of those who voted for the politicians who hold the lives of the people in their hands.
Finally I want to make the point that human history teaches us that democracies rarely "live" for more than 400 years.  We are about half way there.  So if we want, we can hang around to watch it happen or start doing something to reverse the tide of human history.  The choice is yours, and mine.

PS  Write to everyone in the government and tell them that you have a plan to cut expenses.  Just two simple simple decrees:
1. Bring all military and independent contractors home from Afghjanistan, Iraq, Germany and others that I can't think of right now.
2. Cut the Postal service deliveries to M-W-F and cut out all junk mail.
Problem solved.

Now you all know that not a d...d one of you will be crying at my funeral.

ANSWER THE PHONE, WILL YA!

Add caption

I don't know what got into me this morning, but I could not help but think of the different ways that people of different cultures answer the telephone.  I will disclose to you up front that I am not totally sure of every single one I have listed here.  Those I do know for sure, I have colored and made bold in black.
Those that I learned from Google are in blue and not bold.
USA                                                      HELLO
ENGLAND                                         HELLO
CANADA                                            HELLO
CANADA                                            ALLO
FRANCE                                             ALLO
ITALY                                                  PRONTO
SPAIN                                                  DIGA [TALK TO ME]
MEXICO                                              BUENO
JAPAN                                                  MOSHI-MOSHI  [?]
GERMANY                                          SIMPLY SAY YOUR SURNAME "MUELLER"
SWEDEN/DENMARK                   SAY YOUR FULL NAME "LEIF JONSSEN"
RUSSIA                                                 SLUSHAYU VAS [I AM LISTENING TO YOU]
HOLLAND                                    MET + FIRST NAME, SURNAME "MET"= "WITH"
ZIMBABWE                                        555-7777 HELLO
PHILIPPINES                                     HELLO
ISRAEL                                                 SHALOM
TURKEY                                               ALO [LIKE "ALLO"]
KOREA                                                  YOBOSAYOH  [Yo, bo, say, yo]
CHINA                                                    WEI [YES]
CUBA                                                       OIGO [I HEAR]
GREECE                                                 PARAKALO [PLEASE]
Please realize that these are the culturally common ways of answering an incoming call.  There are variants to each and every one of these.  People develop their own style.  I have a variety of styles, depending on my mood.  I also depend on my ability to assuage the surprise of the caller if I realize that this is someone to whom I owe a little more respect.  Even our cell phones let us down sometimes.  Like today, Belle called me from a telephone in her work office and the name on it was that of a gorgeous young lady, close friend to both of us.  So, I really turned it on with a schmoozie "Heeeyyy, Fancy you wanted my attention!"  Then the response, "Hey, I forgot my phone at home and I'm going to need it.  Please bring it by."  Well, that's not too bad of a mistake.  At least the "Voice from the Kitchen" got some free lovin', even if only by mistake.
My friend who just died always answered the phone with the same tone of voice, with great authority, "Woodworth."  I fairly often use what I used to use in business, "Paul here."  I never got the "wise ass" come back, "Oh, sorry I'm looking for Paul Dion."  Imagine, in thirty years, not a single soul ever did that to me.  Someone should have so that I would have something to write about.
I answered the telephone a lot during the meal times in the residence where I was staying in Rome, Italy.  It took me quite a while to get used to the formal, cultural exchange.  It goes like this,
Paul:     "Pronto." [Ready]
Caller:  "Con chi parlo?" [With whom am I speaking?"
Paul:     "Con la residencia official dei Missionarii di Nostra Signora di La Salette." [With the official residence of the La Salette Missionaries.]
Caller:  "Voglio parlare con il padre Giuseppe." [I want to speak to father Joseph.]
Paul:     "OK, I'll get him for you."
Wasn't that sweet?  Boom, boom.  Doesn't sound like the "That's amore" people at all, does it?
I have no idea how all of these telephone answering behaviors ever happened to work their way into the culture of the people around the world.  But that's what it is.  
Now, to be fair to all you Anglo Saxons out there, the hands-down, no questions asked, no doubt about it, majority of the world's people who own telephones, answer with a sound that is, or closely resembles "Hello."
So now, maybe you know something that you didn't know when you woke up this morning.

GENDER SELLS

The other day I was in another town [the "big city" actually] and I picked up one of the "alternative press" weeklies.  This is the one that is second in circulation in the city.  I like them both because they are both free.  Imagine a city that can support two major weeklies that are distributed to the public at large at no cost to the reader.  EFR Dion didn't live long enough to enjoy this.  The more prosperous one has a fabulous crossword puzzle too.  I suppose that I should have a "thought" about that phenomenon but actually I don't.  It is because I know exactly how they do it.  I didn't say I can do it, I only said that I know HOW they do it.  I am sure that I told you that old man Socrates said that knowledge of moral good does not insure that the person with the intellectual knowledge of it will act on it and be a righteous person.  So, the same is true for me.  I know how they do it, but That's their "gig" and I have mine.  Period.
There is a point to this article.  Yeah, really.  So I better get to it, right?  So I picked up this newspaper and on page three I saw the picture that you see in the upper left corner.  I figured that they were selling ... No, it couldn't be that.  Besides the heading says Sunglass Optical.  "Oh," says I,  "Now I get it.  It's her eyes I'm supposed to be looking at."  Hmmm.  "Nah, I wanna see about the gift cards."  So, I'm still checking out the gift cards.  I still don't know what the gift is.  I'm afraid that they're going to take the picture away from me and give me a gift card for sunglasses.  I'm saying, "No way."
I have this "thought" now because I am an adult and I have lived long enough that I can remember my mother, yep, good ole MJT Dion herself, asking why they had these shameless women sitting on automobile hoods in the ads.  She always wondered if the gender connection had anything to do with the quality of the internal combustion engine or some other such essential thing.  I remember this even though it was in the 1940's.  There are some of you whose eyes are traveling the electronic images here who weren't even born yet.  I guess I have to write it because things haven't really changed too much.  Yes there are all kinds of crusades about not objectifying women, but there are still ads out there, few but still out there, that do just that.  Frankly, I think I know what happened.  In the passing of time, the fabric that was supposed to be hiding the essential parts of the star of the ad shrunk and the paint on the cars was suffering from human skin contact.  So they had to back off from doing that.  Probably better.  I sure would never buy a car that had female skin hormones all over the hood.  Would you?   Hmmmm.  I figured.
                                 [0][0][0][0][0][0][0][0]
Now, this is a thought.  Human beings, dogs, cats, horses, cows, ducks, song birds, snakes, honey bees, monkeys and yes, even the TASMANIAN DEVIL do not have "gender." All we animals are either of the "male" or "female" sex.  That's the joke in the title and in other places in the post.
There is not an individual or group of individuals on this planet who is ever going to be able to change that.  The other day someone made the mistake of asking me what my gender is.  I told the idiot to go look me up in the grammar book.  
No, I'm not interested in your 21st century philosophy about the matter.  

SCIENTIFIC QUESTION I HAD AT 10 YEARS OLD OR SO

You're not going to believe the simplicity of this question.  I discovered that it is possible to remove a hard object, such as a glass of water or a glass bottle from a hard surface, silently,  without too much of a problem.  The reverse though, I found, was nearly impossible.  Every time I tried to put a glass down on the sink or the coffee table or the night table in my room, there was always a noise that came out of the action.  I practiced.  Every chance I got, I tried to make a silent landing of a hard object on to a hard surface.  I tried everything.  I tried money, everything from silver dollars to aluminum pennies.  I tried drinking glasses, coffee cups, plates on the table, utensils like knives and forks, all to no avail.  There was always a sound that was produced when I placed a hard object on to a hard surface.  My question went deeper than that.  I wondered why it was noisy in one direction and silent in the other.  I was still too young to figure it out.  I was trying to figure out why it was that Dagwood Bumstead would remove his shoes when he came home very late, yet Blondie would always discover him.  Not only that, when he got up in the middle of night and went to the kitchen to raid the icebox, she would catch him at that too.  In my very young mind, I would always go back to the conviction that it was impossible to be noiseless when you walk because you have to keep putting at lease one foot down on the floor.   Since I had been incapable to solve the question on my own, I asked EFR Dion and what he said helped, but at the same time, did not put me at ease.  He said that it was a law of nature.  He said something about friction, but I knew about friction being a phenomenon that explained rubbing one thing against another, but in fancy language.
Now the kicker...I still have my moments with this law of nature.  I still practice putting something down on a hard surface without causing a sound.  It is wasted mental and physical effort these days because I don't have as much hand/eye, fine detail coordination as I used to.  You can also tell that I haven't matured much either.  You know, Men!  They grow old but they don't grow up.  Oh well, I be one.

SEARS AND ROEBUCK -- HA --- 60 YEARS LATER

This the story of a one man crusade against a giant in corporate America.  That one man is none other that yours truly.  As you can see, Sears Roebuck & Co. is not  young.  Neither am I.  Of course,  I was not born in 1897.  My divorce from Sears Roebuck and Co. took place when I was about 15.  Since then I haven't spent a penny in favor of that company, no matter what its name is.  Even if Old Man Roebuck is no longer in the name.   
When I was 12 years old, EFR Dion kept his promise to me and bought me a bicycle.  It was a beauty.   It cost a lot of money.  It was in the mid $50 range.

I was very proud of it.  It was not lost on me that it cost more than the other bicycles that my friends had.  It was better "decked out" too, what with the headlight, horns and knapsack carrier over the back wheel.  
That bike got used and abused a lot.  I had permission to ride on a set network of streets for a while.  When summer came, the range was extended because I would have to travel the the baseball fields where we played our games in the TT League that I talked about the other day.  So, naturally small repairs had to be made.  Inner tubes, tires, axle nuts, master links for broken chains and things of a bicycle nature.  It seemed that every time I went to Sears Roebuck & Co. for these small parts they would not have them, but would offer to order them for me.  I would then go to the generic bicycle shop for the parts.  They would not fit properly.  Even axle nuts were different.  So, slowly but surely my JC Higgins, Sears and Roebuck @ Co. vehicle was no longer what it had been three years before.  Finally, I needed a new chain, that's all there was to it because the gear ratios required it.  I went to the store and got the same story as usual.  I looked at the employee and told him, "I will never patronize this store again."  I left, found a way to save tobacco farm earnings and turned my JC Higgins into a generic two-wheeler.  
Today, something happened to make me think of this.  I needed something for the garden.  I went to the nearest Target but did not find what I needed.  I left and decided I would go to Home Depot, three miles away.  On the way, only one half mile from Target, righ there, where K-Mart used to be,  I saw a Sears store with a garden department.  Everything and more swirled around in my head for about three or four minutes as I continued on my way to Home Depot.  One of the things that was very clear was this: in about six or seven months it will be 60 years since I made that promise.  Today, on my way to Home Depot I renewed it for another 60.  Maybe by then, the women's underwear section will be a lot more brazen than what it was when I was still perusing the catalogue.  Maybe.

THESE ARE THOUGHTS?

I do not know how I get these things running through my mind.  Today I was driving down to San Diego from where I live, 90 miles away and on the way I remembered my feelings when I first saw a flat iron that had a chamber for charcoal.  Now, that was a really new one on me.  You know, you go through nearly 30 years of life before you realize that the electric appliance to which you have become so accustomed is actually the parvenu.  I was in the Philippines when I first saw my first charcoal iron in action.  The lady using it was only about 24 years old.  Imagine, being that "old" and not ever having used an electric flat iron.  That aside, I have come to know that there are still people using the charcoal iron because they are convinced that it does a better job than the electric one that they have been given by their children who live in the 1st world.  Today, I was shocked that I was remembering that.  This evening, when I was looking for a photo that would show you what I am talking about, I found the picture of the Chinese women using a copper pan full of charcoal to take the wrinkles out of a piece of cloth back in the "BC" days.  Now that is a long time.  Of course, if it is old, more than likely it was found by the Chinese.  The one I am talking about looks somewhat like this, on the whole.  I have seen some that are more aesthetically designed, but essentially they are all the same.
They all had the same weakness.  If the charcoal happened to contain a hard knot, it could pop because of the air pocket that could for between the soft wood and the harder knot.  That could, and would on several occasions, cause a spark to fly on to the expensive shirt, dress or pants and burn a hole in the material, and that would ruin the whole thing.  That happened to some of my clothes while I lived in the Philippines.  It is a way of life and because it is science, you can't blame the maid.  The tradition is that you blame the vendor, who, it is presumed, was careless in choosing the wood.  Besides, he is also presumed to be more economically able to bear the burden of blame than the maid.
We here in the United States have moved along the road of technological improvement.  I often wonder what our children will remember as being "primitive."

UNSPORTSMANLIKE CONDUCT --- YELLOW FLAG --- TEAM GOES HOME

I have to report on this story because there is something in my memory that has never gone away.  I have been told many a time to let go, but even if I let go, the thought doesn't leave.  I don't get upset about it any more, but I did for a long time.  Several decades ago I was able to leave the emotional reaction aside, but the memory comes back, with or without prodding.  I was having a good Summer in baseball.  I was playing on two winning teams with two groups of guys who were really fun to be with.  I don't know if they were fun because we were winning or if they were fun, period.  I do know that I am still close to one of two of them, so there is still something left.  Then came the round robin playoffs.  We actually beat a pitcher who was way above our capabilities, but on this one evening, we prevailed.  Then it on to the second round.  We got to the venue and our shortstop did not show.  Some of us had to play out of position.  Our pitcher was not on his game, but he was fancy footing it and doing all right.  We actually headed into the last inning ahead.  Then it happened.  I made the ereror that opened the flood gates and we were out of the round robin.   The story that brings all this back is the one that underlines this photo.   You can find it here.  The kid did something that he knows he should not do according to high school rules.  So he got whistled and did not get the score that would have won the game for his team.
This fellow will live it down.  He will go on to a productive life.  He will do all the things that other people do, and do them well.  Quarterbacks, even in high school are generally intelligent as well as agile.  He'll do all right, but I will assure you of one thing.  He will never outlive the memory.

3D STEREOGRAMS -- CAR STEREOS

Now I am here to confuse you all.  This is my day. I am going to wring it out of you all.  This is going to be so terribly convoluted that you won't recover for a few days, at least.  It is all about growing up and while you're on the way along the road of life, all these new things are presented to you and you have to decide whether or not to like them.  Sometimes, just as you are so accustomed to the "new" realities that they become a part of your life.  Something happens that makes you think of what I am doing now.  Having fun ambling down memory lane.
How many of you remember the introduction of the FM radio?  Oh, it was a big deal at first, even if no one really knew what it was.  I remember EFR Dion saying, "It's just a different radio."  OK.  We all knew AM and we knew short wave.  We didn't know FM.  Then as it grew, as young people we were not interested in listening, not even despite the fact that they had no commercials.  That's right.   All they had on was music for old people.  The technology was so young that they couldn't get anyone to buy air time.  As we all know, it grew and then the miracle happened.  Just as we thought that the only stereophonic instrument was the phonograph, along came stereophonic FM.  WOW!  Then, in cars too.  Be honest now, when is the last time you thought about the "Miracle" of stereophonic radio in your car?  For me it was yesterday.  Know why?  I was listening to the classical radio station as I always do.  It so happened that Wynton Marsalis was on his horn huffing and puffing and I was half enthralled and half driving.  I'm at a light on a multi lane access to the freeway.  I'm to the right and there is no one yet on my left.  Green.  Go!  I'm holding my line when all of a sudden I here this low wail in my left (good) ear.  "OOhhh, stercus," I say, and I break out in an instantaneous sweat and look to my right for an escape.  In the 1.5 seconds that it took for all of this to happen, Marsalis starts coming out of both speakers at the same time.  Let me tell you, it's a good thing that I have a sense of humor.  I haven't marveled at the "miracle" of FM stereophonic sound in decades.  So do you think that someone was trying to tell me something?  
This stereo business has come a long way.  If you want to have some fun, click the link below and see stereo on a flat page without having to wear 3d glasses.  This link will bring you to a set of pictures that have embedded other pictures floating in them.  When I first saw this, I was saying to myself that this would never make any money for anyone...but then I remembered FM and now I am not so sure any more.  I don't know how anyone makes money from it, except by making them and selling the books, but I suppose that that is an honest way to make a living.  So, anyway, here is the link.  Go have fun.  
3D STEREOGRAMS | Sphere:
'via Blog this'

I suppose that there are many things like this in life.  I am on to this one today.  The others are out there somewhere.  You can be sure that the 3rd world kids we talked about yesterday don't know much about them.  But then, neither do we.  Hey, ya know who I just thought of?  Buck Rodgers!  Lemme go look it up for ya.  Oh Boy!  Look what I found.  # 2, July 1941.  I'll bet we could have fun finding out how many technical things we take for granted now that Buck never even thought would exist before January 2,500.  I'll bet he never thought of stereographic photos.
I remember Dick Tracy with the wrist radio.  It didn't even have pictures on it!  Boy, are we ever spoiled.  Hey, I'm going to bed.  There's a lot here for you to play with.  Enjoy.

Buck Rogers #2 (Eastern Color, July 1941)