Blog number 273 **** 30 January 2009
A year or so ago much hoopdedoo was made about a film called, "March of the Penguins. "Groundbreaking, breathtaking" etc.
We went to see it and since I watch a lot of animal programs on the telly, I was able to discern that I had already seen much more interesting, informative and exciting films on penguins already, so as you might assume, I was not impressed with "March of the Penguins." I thought it rather mundane and predictable. Penguins do what they showed the penguins doing. I had already seen all that that film showed, on television, plus some other things the movie didn't show. I think this film had a great PR connection, that's all.
I once saw a film of a species of penguins that were so round and fat and so well protected by their fat that they jumped from cliffs onto sharp rocks, bouncing when they hit. The thick layer of fat acted as a shock absorber, preventing their bodies from receiving any serious injury.
Plop. Plop. Plop. One after the other, bouncing on large sharp boulders. None of them ever hesitated to jump. Walk to the cliff, jump. Fantastic!
This Blog entry was brought to mind because it seems that Disney has produced another great animal movie - not out yet. I forget the name. Sorry. The very best animal movie I ever saw was a Disney one called, "The Living Desert." Produced in late fifties, I think.
I'm pretty sure.
Which doesn't mean all that much.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
WANNA BUY A HOOPTIE?
Blog number 272 **** 29 January 2009
We wonder. We want to know. Fortunately, mysteries abound. I don't know how many times - pretty often actually, I have read a news article in the paper and have been left with more questions than I got answered. Now this phenomena has migrated to reality shows on the telly.
I started watching "Parking Wars" a couple of weeks ago. I like it even better than "Cops." More action. The program starts off with a meter maid giving out tickets, then graduates to cars being "booted" for too many tickets and then to people trying to get their cars back after they've been towed.
One guy was giving out one ticket after another at the same place - a small grocery store that sold Hoagies for two dollars. In front of the store was a sign - "No Parking At Any Time." The reason for the sign was that it was on the corner where a bus comes around, and if a car is parked there, the bus is stuck and very quickly a traffic jam is created.
The customers didn't stay in the store long. I think they had the sandwiches ordered and just went in to pick them up, As soon as they drove away, another car would park there. The meter maid was trying to go on his lunch hour, but before he could get across the street, another car would pull up and he would have to go back and write another ticket.
Most of the ticketees were very put out by the unfairness of it all. They were just in the store "a few minutes."
Two dollars for a sandwich, forty-one dollars for the ticket to get that sandwich. And they came all day long and bitched about it all day long.
The "booters," they had one guy to put on the boot, the other guy would watch his back because some of the bootees would get violent.
In the office where you go to pick up your towed cars, they had no chairs for the clientele. One lady who worked there said they used to have chairs but people would throw them. So they removed them.
The mystery that started this Blog entry concerns the booters. They were booting one car and the owner of an automobile repair shop came out and said it belonged to a client and that the license plate that the booters checked didn't belong on that car. He had put it on so that he could leave it out on the street. The booters seemed to take this in stride, like it happened all the time. In fact, later on they were booting another car and the owner came out and said that was not the license plate that belonged on the car. The booters simply told him to call and explain the problem.
Does this seem odd to anyone? What was the story with the other license plate? Why did it need to be hidden from view? Isn't it illegal in every state to put the wrong plate on a car?
What the hell?
We wonder. We want to know. Fortunately, mysteries abound. I don't know how many times - pretty often actually, I have read a news article in the paper and have been left with more questions than I got answered. Now this phenomena has migrated to reality shows on the telly.
I started watching "Parking Wars" a couple of weeks ago. I like it even better than "Cops." More action. The program starts off with a meter maid giving out tickets, then graduates to cars being "booted" for too many tickets and then to people trying to get their cars back after they've been towed.
One guy was giving out one ticket after another at the same place - a small grocery store that sold Hoagies for two dollars. In front of the store was a sign - "No Parking At Any Time." The reason for the sign was that it was on the corner where a bus comes around, and if a car is parked there, the bus is stuck and very quickly a traffic jam is created.
The customers didn't stay in the store long. I think they had the sandwiches ordered and just went in to pick them up, As soon as they drove away, another car would park there. The meter maid was trying to go on his lunch hour, but before he could get across the street, another car would pull up and he would have to go back and write another ticket.
Most of the ticketees were very put out by the unfairness of it all. They were just in the store "a few minutes."
Two dollars for a sandwich, forty-one dollars for the ticket to get that sandwich. And they came all day long and bitched about it all day long.
The "booters," they had one guy to put on the boot, the other guy would watch his back because some of the bootees would get violent.
In the office where you go to pick up your towed cars, they had no chairs for the clientele. One lady who worked there said they used to have chairs but people would throw them. So they removed them.
The mystery that started this Blog entry concerns the booters. They were booting one car and the owner of an automobile repair shop came out and said it belonged to a client and that the license plate that the booters checked didn't belong on that car. He had put it on so that he could leave it out on the street. The booters seemed to take this in stride, like it happened all the time. In fact, later on they were booting another car and the owner came out and said that was not the license plate that belonged on the car. The booters simply told him to call and explain the problem.
Does this seem odd to anyone? What was the story with the other license plate? Why did it need to be hidden from view? Isn't it illegal in every state to put the wrong plate on a car?
What the hell?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
BUT SIR!
Blog number 271 **** 27 January 2009
During the Guadalcanal invasion in WW ll, a marine officer came to give the following talk to the men.
"We don't know whether we will be able to hold the [Henderson Field] field or not. There is a Japanese task force of destroyers, cruisers, and troop transports heading our way. We have enough gasoline left for one mission against them. Load your airplanes with bombs and go out with the dive bombers and hit them. After the gas is gone we'll have to let the ground troops take over. Then our officers and men will attach themselves to some infantry outfit. Good luck and good bye."
During the Guadalcanal invasion in WW ll, a marine officer came to give the following talk to the men.
"We don't know whether we will be able to hold the [Henderson Field] field or not. There is a Japanese task force of destroyers, cruisers, and troop transports heading our way. We have enough gasoline left for one mission against them. Load your airplanes with bombs and go out with the dive bombers and hit them. After the gas is gone we'll have to let the ground troops take over. Then our officers and men will attach themselves to some infantry outfit. Good luck and good bye."
WHAT'S A BRAIN FOR IF NOT TO FIGURE THINGS OUT?
Blog number 270 **** 27 January 2009
Every day, without fail, there comes a time when I realize I have something to write in my Blog. If you look through the dates of my entries however, you will notice that I do not write every day, and very often I do not write for several days. Why this diversity of observations? How does it come to be that I don't write every day even though every day I have something to write? Because when I sit down to do it, I don't think my observation interesting or funny enough to write about. I give as an example the following:
I went to get my brain stroke episode of a few weeks ago checked out further. This time they did a scan of my carotid arteries to see if maybe a blockage there would cause it, but the arteries were clear. I wondered to the doctor that I thought when they said it was a blockage of an artery, that they meant a small capillary in the brain, not in the large carotids. She (the doctor) said that they already did a brain scan when I went to emergency room and that showed that the vessels in the brain were clear. She then said that she thought my high blood pressure might have caused it. I asked how that could be. She said that the vessel could have expanded and pressed against a portion of the brain. I said, "Oh."
I didn't buy that.
My take is that I think I had a blockage of a capillary in the brain and the blockage only lasted five minutes. That makes more sense to me than that pressure would cause a thought process problem. Would high blood pressure last only five minutes? No. Could a blockage last only five minutes? Yes.
I have some background for being able to second guess a doctor, but I can't think what that might be right now.
I might have spent years in medical training, you know.
I don't remember.
Every day, without fail, there comes a time when I realize I have something to write in my Blog. If you look through the dates of my entries however, you will notice that I do not write every day, and very often I do not write for several days. Why this diversity of observations? How does it come to be that I don't write every day even though every day I have something to write? Because when I sit down to do it, I don't think my observation interesting or funny enough to write about. I give as an example the following:
I went to get my brain stroke episode of a few weeks ago checked out further. This time they did a scan of my carotid arteries to see if maybe a blockage there would cause it, but the arteries were clear. I wondered to the doctor that I thought when they said it was a blockage of an artery, that they meant a small capillary in the brain, not in the large carotids. She (the doctor) said that they already did a brain scan when I went to emergency room and that showed that the vessels in the brain were clear. She then said that she thought my high blood pressure might have caused it. I asked how that could be. She said that the vessel could have expanded and pressed against a portion of the brain. I said, "Oh."
I didn't buy that.
My take is that I think I had a blockage of a capillary in the brain and the blockage only lasted five minutes. That makes more sense to me than that pressure would cause a thought process problem. Would high blood pressure last only five minutes? No. Could a blockage last only five minutes? Yes.
I have some background for being able to second guess a doctor, but I can't think what that might be right now.
I might have spent years in medical training, you know.
I don't remember.
Monday, January 19, 2009
CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER
Blog number 269 **** 19 January 2009
My wife Teresa and I, and my son Derek and his wife Kiki, and my granddaughter Tara and her husband Joey, all went to a nice restaurant called, "Claim Jumper". The waiters and waitresses wear silver sheriffs' badges on their shirts. Nice place.
After eating, we all head out. I came out last and we were all kind of milling around when a man of about sixty years of age, short, with a short haircut, nice clothes, came up from my right side and asked me if I liked this restaurant. Right away I pegged him for the manager or an owner or something like that making a survey. I told him I liked the restaurant and since he never said anything else, I said we came from Casa Grande, I'd been there five or six times - trying to give him an idea of how we looked at the restaurant. Since he never said anything after that, I turned away and followed my friends and relatives.
I told them what the man had asked me, because it all seemed kind of weird. All of them then said they didn't see me talking to anybody. They were, at the time of the conversation, not more than four or five feet from me.
We all kind of joked around about my "hallucination," but I got a sense of maybe they weren't joking all that much. I did have a "brain malfunction" a few weeks ago, nobody saw me talking to anybody, and the conversation was pretty off-the-wall. Why would anyone care whether or not I liked that restaurant? And if it was the manager or owner and was making a survey, where did he go to? Why didn't he introduce himself? Why didn't he ask more questions? Why pick me?
I can't prove I was talking to anybody, and I already have a pretty tenuous belief on any reality that depends upon remembered experiences.
It's all very strange, with a slight chance it was even stranger than I think it was. One of my favorite authors claimed once that magic happens around us all the time, but we never notice because we aren't paying attention. I have already seen frogs on a frozen creek, a face lifting up and away from a person, and a wasp that seemed to be in telepathic communication with me. So who's to say what?
It's a strange place in which we exist, that's fer shore.
My wife Teresa and I, and my son Derek and his wife Kiki, and my granddaughter Tara and her husband Joey, all went to a nice restaurant called, "Claim Jumper". The waiters and waitresses wear silver sheriffs' badges on their shirts. Nice place.
After eating, we all head out. I came out last and we were all kind of milling around when a man of about sixty years of age, short, with a short haircut, nice clothes, came up from my right side and asked me if I liked this restaurant. Right away I pegged him for the manager or an owner or something like that making a survey. I told him I liked the restaurant and since he never said anything else, I said we came from Casa Grande, I'd been there five or six times - trying to give him an idea of how we looked at the restaurant. Since he never said anything after that, I turned away and followed my friends and relatives.
I told them what the man had asked me, because it all seemed kind of weird. All of them then said they didn't see me talking to anybody. They were, at the time of the conversation, not more than four or five feet from me.
We all kind of joked around about my "hallucination," but I got a sense of maybe they weren't joking all that much. I did have a "brain malfunction" a few weeks ago, nobody saw me talking to anybody, and the conversation was pretty off-the-wall. Why would anyone care whether or not I liked that restaurant? And if it was the manager or owner and was making a survey, where did he go to? Why didn't he introduce himself? Why didn't he ask more questions? Why pick me?
I can't prove I was talking to anybody, and I already have a pretty tenuous belief on any reality that depends upon remembered experiences.
It's all very strange, with a slight chance it was even stranger than I think it was. One of my favorite authors claimed once that magic happens around us all the time, but we never notice because we aren't paying attention. I have already seen frogs on a frozen creek, a face lifting up and away from a person, and a wasp that seemed to be in telepathic communication with me. So who's to say what?
It's a strange place in which we exist, that's fer shore.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
BE THANKFUL FOR SMALL FAVORS
Blog number 268 **** 18 January 2009
I read a lot of "war books" written by historians and by actual participants. One of the things I come away with from reading first person experiences of those in war zones is a deep appreciation and gratitude that my life is "different" from the life these people describe.
For instance, this :
"It's a little better when you can lie down, even in the mud. Rocks are better than mud because you can curl yourself around the big rocks, even if you wake up with sore bruises where the little rocks dug into you. When you wake up in the mud your cigarettes are all wet and you have an ache in your joints and a rattle in your chest."
Writings like this - from someone who has obviously experienced a wide variety of sleeping arrangements, give me "peace of mind" when I find myself unable to fall asleep at night for instance - or if I have to wait in line or have a flat or a dead battery or any one of the thousands of little irritations one encounters through life's travels.. I think of how comfortable my bed is, I am not hungry, I am clean, I have no fear of a sudden attack by a murderous foe while asleep.
These realizations give me a great sense of gratitude and thankfulness. "Insomnia! Phooey!" "Dead battery ten miles from a phone. Phooey!" Lighten up, Mister Don.
I read a lot of "war books" written by historians and by actual participants. One of the things I come away with from reading first person experiences of those in war zones is a deep appreciation and gratitude that my life is "different" from the life these people describe.
For instance, this :
"It's a little better when you can lie down, even in the mud. Rocks are better than mud because you can curl yourself around the big rocks, even if you wake up with sore bruises where the little rocks dug into you. When you wake up in the mud your cigarettes are all wet and you have an ache in your joints and a rattle in your chest."
Writings like this - from someone who has obviously experienced a wide variety of sleeping arrangements, give me "peace of mind" when I find myself unable to fall asleep at night for instance - or if I have to wait in line or have a flat or a dead battery or any one of the thousands of little irritations one encounters through life's travels.. I think of how comfortable my bed is, I am not hungry, I am clean, I have no fear of a sudden attack by a murderous foe while asleep.
These realizations give me a great sense of gratitude and thankfulness. "Insomnia! Phooey!" "Dead battery ten miles from a phone. Phooey!" Lighten up, Mister Don.
YOU CAN CALL IT JUXTAPOSITION IF YOU WANT
Blog number 267 **** 18 January 2009
SETUP FOR JUXTAPOSITION:
In Blog entry number 261 on 20 December, 2008, I went on a rant about what is wrong with a great many movie directors' code of ethics concerning breaking the forth wall willy nilly. I am referring specifically right now, to the growling and howling of attacking predators. I said, in that entry, that is much more scary to have a silent predator come at you than a howling growling one.
ACTUAL JUXTAPOSITION:
I am currently reading a book on The Good War and I found this quote that points up perfectly the position of my emphasization of the situation.
"In action, the Americans attacked silently, not singing as did the British or shouting as did the French.... There were German prisoners who testified to the fear of these silent soldiers moving remorselessly forward that grew in the ranks of the German divisions."
SETUP FOR JUXTAPOSITION:
In Blog entry number 261 on 20 December, 2008, I went on a rant about what is wrong with a great many movie directors' code of ethics concerning breaking the forth wall willy nilly. I am referring specifically right now, to the growling and howling of attacking predators. I said, in that entry, that is much more scary to have a silent predator come at you than a howling growling one.
ACTUAL JUXTAPOSITION:
I am currently reading a book on The Good War and I found this quote that points up perfectly the position of my emphasization of the situation.
"In action, the Americans attacked silently, not singing as did the British or shouting as did the French.... There were German prisoners who testified to the fear of these silent soldiers moving remorselessly forward that grew in the ranks of the German divisions."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
THEY CAN BE UNREASONABLY CRUEL
Blog number 265 **** 06 January 2009
"I was the first comic in history to pick fights with children. People didn't know what an unmanageable baby might do to get even - I got sympathy." -- W.C. Fields
"I was the first comic in history to pick fights with children. People didn't know what an unmanageable baby might do to get even - I got sympathy." -- W.C. Fields
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