Instantly Soon

We should always be careful with what we read on the Internet or see on late night TV. I'm not saying that everything you read and see is wrong. Just be wary.

A commercial I happened to catch the other morning offered free or low cost medical insurance 'to those who qualify'. Well, of course it would be available to those who qualify, wouldn't it?

Yet there's more than that. In the next instance the voiceover urged the viewer to hurry and make a phone call 'Where in a few minutes you can see if you instantly qualify'.

I don't know about you, but while a few minutes might be very fast it doesn't strike me as instantly. That's why I'd be careful about making that call.

Say What?

So this past Monday I went to the Detroit Medical Center for a hearing test. I SAID I...the results weren't bad, but the ENT will call me in a day or two with more detail after he analyzes it.

My reward to me for being such a good boy at the doctor's office was a visit to the Chick-fil-A at Harper Hospital's food court. 

I love Chick-fil-A. Their chicken sandwiches are absolutely the best you can get. But their drive throughs, although generally ran very well, can be daunting. There tend to be long lines of cars. But in the DMC you just stand in line and they run you through pretty quickly. So there are advantages to aging and having to see more doctors more routinely, aren't there?

And of course, right after my all right hearing test, I had to ask the cashier to repeat herself. Not once, but twice even. I couldn't hear her very well.

Yes, there was background noise, which was part of why I wanted to get my ears checked. I've been having issues hearing folks in crowds. But there I was thinking that I wasn't hearing all that poorly and I can't hear what I'm being asked by someone three feet in front of me. Uh, irony?

 

Introverted Extrovert

I went over to the Detroit Medical Center yesterday for a hearing test.

A hearing test.

Hearing. Test.

I SAID I WENT TO THE MEDICAL CENTER FOR A HEARING TEST.

Okay, we're past that. Anyway, in the parking structure I passed a car with a license which read INTROVERT. And I thought, you can't be much of one with a vanity plate.

HEARING TEST. I WENT TO THE DETROIT MEDICAL CENTER FOR A HEARING TEST.

Stick to the Plan

I have every intention of making this coming week a great week. I will stay on task, working and writing and being productive. Pay attention to schedule, concentrate, and keep a laser focus: that's what I'll do. This is going to be a good, solid week where I accomplish all my...

Hey! It's that episode of Dragnet where they crack down on unethical tow truck drivers. That's a good one.

What was I saying?

Thunderbirds

Thunderbirds. No, not the cars. The TV show from the 1960s which used puppets, specifically something called Supermarionation, in the stories. 

As a kid I loved the show. It's a mix of science fiction and adventure clearly designed for rugrats like I was, well, in the middle 1960s. There were rockets and submarines and good guys and bad. I honestly recall drawing the spaceships back in the day, imagining myself one of the Thunderbirds, the flying wizards who were the heroes of the series.

A few weeks ago I discovered that repeats were being shown on MeTV Sunday mornings at 6. As we should never allow ourselves to outgrow good children's books or entertainment, I decided to watch.

Um, well, yes. What I said applies to the good stuff. Thunderbirds aren't the good stuff. They've clunky and cloying, indeed far too stereotypical in all sorts of manners, and the puppets simply look and move weird. I know they're puppets but these moved in a way which was downright bizarre. Eerie, even. It was disappointing.

I gave it a fair shot: I watched several shows over several weeks. But, alas, some things are probably better left to our childhood memories.

Gourmet Dog Food

Old Chief was a good dog, and I don't mean that as the lead in to a joke. He was a good dog, a beagle we had as the kids were growing up. His ear flaps were so large that when he stood still in a high wind they'd flap. I mean it. They were huge.

I had a dream about Chief last night. I was fixing him his 'favorite' (remember I was dreaming) meal, pork and beans. Pork and beans mixed with sour cream. He was super excited.

Me, now that I'm awake? I about half want to try it.

Tricycle to the Hydrant

Joe Cosgriff could play fair. Not always, maybe, but who of us do? 

When me Pops, his eldest son, was five, his parents gave him a tricycle. He went out the front of the house to ride it one summer day. "Don't go too far," Joe instructed his boy.

"How far is too far?" my then very young Dad asked.

Joe pointed down the street. "Not past that fire hydrant." Young Pops was on his way.

A neighbor happened to be nearby. "You don't think Bill was rude talking to you like that?" he queried.

"What's rude? He needed to know how far was too far," Joe replied.

The perfect answer, I think.

Universal Good and Bad

When some bad thing happens, its often asked why would a good God allow it? That's not an unfair question quite honestly, if you're actually trying to understand what's at work. But too many people who ask it mean for us to infer that the fact of evil in the universe must mean God isn't good.

Well, then, let's try something. Let's remove God from the equation. Let's say, only for the sake of argument, mind you, that He doesn't exist. What would we have? 

A Godless universe which also allows bad things to happen. Are you ready to infer that the universe is evil? 

My point is this. I believe that we've set ourselves up for failure when we say God can't be good if he won't stop evil when we would have evil in a universe left alone anyway. Perhaps the universe as the universe is only neutral; but if the issue is good and bad I can't see neutrality as anything except a benign evil at best. At worst, and I think this the most likely scenario, it would mean we could do anything we wanted for whatever reason we wanted. Or for no reason at all. That doesn't strike me as a moral positive.

So we can have a universe with a God and bad things happen, or a universe without God and bad things happen. I'll take the former. We might at least accomplish something good there.

The Evil That Men Do

I used to be one of 'them'. I would decry the appearance of anything, anything at all, before its proper time on the calendar. But I am no longer one of 'them'. I am my own man.

Yesterday in Wal-Mart I saw Keurig coffee pods. Not just any coffee pods, but flavored coffee. Pumpkin Spice flavor. I bought two 12 packs, anticipating autumn next month when I could properly sip on such a seasonal delight.

Then, today - no! I do not have to wait for fall to enjoy a fall flavor! I will not be made to drink a coffee I like according to another's arbitrary schedule. I bought it: it's mine! I will drink a hot cup of pumpkin spice coffee today. No one can tell me no!

One guess what I'm drinking as I hammer out this blog. I am liberated! I am mad with power!

Thank you Singapore!

This is a shout out to my friends in Singapore. I don't know why, and I welcome it, but this blog has been getting scads of hits from that nation. Several thousand a month in fact, of recent days. I had been averaging around 1500 hits a month, but in the last three months that's been over 15,000, of which around 90% have been from there. Thank you Singapore!

My three best statistical months ever have been the last three. And I started The Sublime to the Ridiculous in 2008. My fourth best month was in 2013. I've nearly flatlined otherwise, so to speak.

I would love to know why, if any of you from that fine Asian nation would like to address that for me. I mean, if it's something I said, I'd love to keep saying it!

But anyway, and again, Thank You Singapore!

Michigan Baseball

Baseball brings people together; it bridges all gaps. 

Just yesterday as I entered the neighborhood supermarket (University Foods on Warren in Detroit; they're good folks) wearing my Lansing Lugnuts cap a voice said, "Hey! You're from Lansing?"

I told the young man, "No, I was at their game last weekend and bought the cap as a souvenir."

"Oh. Well, Lansing's my hometown. Go Lugnuts!" We did a fist bump at his instigation.

It was a cool moment, brought out by baseball. 

Taking a Walk

The older I get, the more I believe we ought to be more charitable towards others. I doubt that we can fully understand the trials and tribulations of people, yet that doesn't mean we shouldn't be as considerate of what forces may or may not have affected their dispositions as reason might allow. It's a trope, yet there is a certain truth about walking a mile in your neighbor's shoes.

Still, I also think a line has to be drawn. Trying to be kind to my neighbor doesn't mean I have to agree with him. I can't see that the reason for walking that mile must be to accept his point of view (the feeling which I fear is typically meant when the line is invoked) but only to be more considerate of the challenges he faces. This can of course mean your changing your own mind. But not of necessity. Your neighbor might be wrong in his opinions and actions just the same.

I think what bugs me is that there's another side to that idea, one which rarely gets expressed. That is, your neighbor also has the responsibility to fit your shoes to his feet too, if the advice is to have any useful value at all. It is not a one way street. 

So, by all means, be considerate. But don't change your opinion unless that's really the right thing to do.

You're Kidding, Right?

Today is Saturday, August 19. 2023. It's 7:48 in the morning. Outside it's 54 degrees.  Inside, my furnace just kicked on.

Are you kidding me? I can't remember my furnace ever, ever being on in August. I don't think it's even happened in September. Typically, May to September, nothing. Rarely in April even.

It took me a few minutes to identify that odd sound. I honestly didn't realize what it was. Then I sat down my breakfast bowl and went to stand on a heater grating, to feel the warm air.

I suppose I could have turned down the thermostat for summer. But I never had to do that before. And, truth be told, it actually feels nice. 

Still, the furnace on, in August. Just. Plain. Weird.

Self Rule

G. K. Chesterton was once asked what was wrong with the world. He famously answered, "Me."

P. J. O'Rourke, an Irishman of some note, wrote a delightful little book called What's Wrong With the World. His answer? Every one of us.

What do we make of this? Yes, they were being a trifle sarcastic. But were they on to a truth?

My answer is yes. We are what is wrong with the world. We are stupid. We are wasteful. We are selfish and rude and, well, all about us. Why should we expect the world to be better than we are?

We should not, of course. Yet somehow we expect that it will be. Why is that? 

I think it's because we know that the world can be better than what it is. And, that we can make it better than that despite ourselves. That's why Dr. Jordan Peterson says begin by changing yourself, by getting your own house in order. You can't rule the world. But you can rule yourself. Maybe, just maybe, we should start there.

46

In 1984, on the World Champion Detroit Tigers baseball team, Dan Petry was the second starting pitcher after Jack Morris. Peaches, Dan's nickname, was solid behind the Hall of Famer Morris.

While watching the Stanley Cup Finals in July 2021 in Hessel in da U.P. in 2021, which was weird (thank you COVID) I noticed a Montreal Canadiens player named Jeff Petry. An odd surname, methinks. So I looks it up. And lo and behold, he's the son of that same Peaches. 

Then here we go this past Tuesday, August 15, and the hometown Detroit Red Wings hockey squad acquire by trade Jeff Petry, who asks to wear number 46, the jersey number of his Pops. And I think, serendipity. 

All right, not so much. But Jeff wearing his old man's number on a team from the D, maybe it is. Surely it's a wink at the past. A very much appreciated wink.

Athletic Pulse

Doctors. They all presumably have, if not the same then similar training, and access to pretty much the same information. Yet they draw different conclusions. What's up with that?

My pulse has always been on the low side, hovering around 48, 49, 50 beats per minute. It's been that way all my life, so far as I recall. My old doctor was okay with that, but out of curiously I asked when we should be concerned. "If it's regularly at 40 or below," he explained. So, all right. I'm all right.

Yet that physician retired, and I transferred to a doctor he recommended. He seems like a good guy too. But when my heartbeat was 48 last month he did the old slow head shake tsk tsk. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, 48, that's too low. Unless you're an athlete?" He queried.

Even I laughed out loud at that, as did most of you. Don't deny it. "Well, are you?" He persisted.

"No. I walk 45 - 50 minutes most days, a brisk walk mind you, but I'm no athlete."

The Doc har-umphed. "We must keep an eye on that." He assured me I'm in no danger, yet he let slip the word 'pacemaker'. "If this keeps up, at some point we'll have to consider it."

Be all that as it may, why is one physician unconcerned with a pulse of 48 and the next one, a colleague of the one who retired, tsk tsking me?

I don't get it. But I'm not a doctor. I'm also not an athlete.

And Another Reason

There are plenty of reasons to be against government. High on that list is, or at least should be, education.

Government runs most all education in this country today. And I don't think I have to say much about what product we get from that. To put it as simply as possible, we get schools telling us blue is green. On our dime to boot.

It's another reason I'm conservative. They take our money for what is ostensibly a good cause, turn that cause inside out, and then we're the ones against education when we complain. It's nothing more than evil dressed as compassion. The wolf in sheep's clothing.

There's your mini rant this morning. Have a good one.

Just Stay Away

Years ago I remarked to a curling friend that I didn't know how I could ever quit curling. "That's easy. Just don't go into a curling club," he responded. When you want stop doing something, simply quit going where it is.

What he said makes sense. In fact, I find it generally true. In recent years I've found that even things I truly love like baseball, I don't miss when I stop paying attention. Then, like yesterday, I go to a baseball game, and all the old feelings and anticipation are right back in front of me. All I want to do is enjoy the game. Immediately at the end all I want is to go to another game.

I haven't swung a club since before COVID and, although I do intend to golf again at some point, I can't say I miss it. Yet I don't doubt that the first time back I'll feel exactly like I did yesterday when I walked into that baseball stadium in Lansing. I don't doubt that when I hit the ice this fall in the curling league I've committed to all the old curling vibes will be right back, front and center, although I haven't played regularly in several years.

We humans are, I think, fickle beings. Sometimes it reaches the point where we even forget what we like until we are reminded by sights and smells and remembrance of things past. But if you ever do want to stop doing something, just stop. It seems to work.

The Whisper of God

I like Sunday's First Reading today, from Elijah on Mount Horeb. The Prophet Elijah waits for the Lord on Mount Horeb.

There was a great wind, but the wind was not the Lord.

There was a terrible earthquake, but it was not the Lord.

Then there was fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.

Finally there was a tiny, whispering sound, and Elijah went and stood at the entrance of the cave.

All that power and might came from the whisper of God. It's one of the most powerful images in Scripture, I believe.

Righteous Indignation

An old friend of me Pops, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, once threw a guy out of his house. But, I think, with good reason.

Cloyce had answered an ad about an insurance policy. An appointment was made and an agent came by.

After the initial pleasantries they sat down at the kitchen table. The agent began, "My cost for giving you an analysis of your insurance needs will be the names and phone numbers of eight friends and family."

Cloyce stared at the man and growled, "Get out of my house."

"But sir," the agent began.

"But nothing," Cloyce responded. "I asked you here to talk about insurance for me, not for you get a down line of potential other customers. I ain't recommending anybody if I don't know if they can do anything for me."

"But..."

"No buts. Get out. There's the door."

The agent left on a huff, but I'm with Cloyce. You have to show me what you can do for me before I can let anyone else know that your product is good.

Thinking about 1968

This past Monday Jim Price, the backup catcher on the 1968 World Series champion Detroit Tigers, passed away at 81. Godspeed, Mr. Price.

Naturally enough I find myself thinking about that summer, when I was the happiest 8 year old boy on the face of the Earth. So many of those men on that edition of the Detroit Tigers became my heroes; so many are gone now. But what would you expect, 55 years afterwards?

Al Kaline died, not of but during COVID, and never got the send off he deserved. Willie Horton, a product of Detroit's sandlots and whose outfield assist turned the 68 Series around (Brock is still out!), continues to work for the team. Denny McLain, Mickey Lolich, Mickey Stanley, John Hiller, Don Wert; those mainstays are still with us. Dick Tracewski, a player in 68 and uniformed coach with the 1984 World Champs (he and Gates Brown are the only two in uniform for both teams, as the Gator played in 68 and was hitting coach in 84) is 88. A few minor players are still around, but that's about it for the crux of the squad.

The days gone by. Wistful memories. But that's part of life, and life is good, isn't it?

Phil and Mom

I wasn't the only one who took Mom for long drives. Me brother Phil did the most often, truth be told.

He recalls that Mom had her little sayings, catchphrases which would come up while they were tooling about.

There was one regular phrase whenever someone would speed past them on the freeway. Phil would be doing maybe five miles over the limit when a car would shoot by clearly way faster than the posted speeds. "Shoulda left earlier," Mom would always remark.

Indeed.

But Could You take it on a Plane?

Regular patrons of this here blog know well that me Grandpa Joe rented arc welding machines, and that he trained as a welder. I've too lamented how he hated tangled welding cable, hated it with a passion. So it was quite a surprise one day when he told me that if he ever took a ride on an airplane, he'd take a length of welding cable wrapped around him.

Completely perplexed, I stammered, "Why would you do that?"

"Cause if I fell out of that plane it would save me. Welding cable always snags on something."

Who says Joe didn't have a sense of humor? 

Works of Fiction

MJ on Amazon says this about my book David Gideon:

One thing to note is that the story is very political and leans conservative or libertarian. Which is certainly not a bad thing in itself, however, the format of the dialog, which often takes the form of debate, does not reliably present the other side, so it all feels like a kind of paper tiger argument where the protagonist will always provide the right, which is politically conservative, answer to any question or controversy. I would hope that a literary novel, which this declares itself to be, would present more of the push and pull of characters, the conflict of political debate, and the very real potential outcomes of the decision from both sides. Unfortunately, we don’t get that. On a certain level, David Gideon doesn’t feel very real, but rather, the personification of an idealized concept.

I don't actually disagree with a lot of that. Yet my friend MJ apparently means it as a criticism. I'm not sure how to respond on those grounds.

To start with, the book is not 'very' political. It's a personal story with the political world as an incidental driving force, a plot device. Very philosophical, maybe. But very political? No.

Yes, David Gideon is libertarian-conservative. He was meant to be. He is indeed 'the personification of an idealized concept'. As such, David argues, when he does argue politics and philosophy (which really isn't that much, and typically more the latter than the former) he's going to come across that way. It's part of his character; it's his story. Of course his point of view is paramount. Why am I obliged to present the other side? 

To demonstrate 'the push and pull' of characters? But there's constant push and pull during the course of the story in fact, and on far more than just the political aspects. That's what novels are all about. Characters with different outlooks interact, and the story moves along. The charge that it doesn't happen in David Gideon is simply hogwash.

Because it's a literary novel? I'm not sure that I understand what MJ means there. Works of literature can't take a point of view and endorse it? If that's their intention then we have a very serious disagreement. I can't see where a novel writer must offer any particular support to any and all to positions. Sherlock Holmes doesn't allow his adversary Professor Moriarty to justify his actions, and there is no Fairness Doctrine for any work of fiction. It would be interesting to know whether MJ would apply that litmus test against a more liberal tome.

And that's the rub, for me anyway. MJ I believe is criticizing the book on partisan rather than literary grounds, despite what they say. MJ wants me to make David Gideon into something he's not: namely, someone MJ agrees with. That I will not do. If they want a book with a different character and different outlook, then they may write it. But leave David alone.

Soccer Penalty

I've said this before, possibly until you're sick of it. But I'll say it again, because soccer (football, which is a more proper term, to you non Yanks) needs to hear it. You need a better way to break ties.

The latest example is the US women's national team losing to Sweden in the Women's World Cup. By all measures I've read they dominated the game, yet lost on penalty kicks. Without getting into all the details, the process involves too much dumb luck. Single players line up against a goalie and try to 'score' by slipping the ball past the netminder. Kicker guesses right? Goal. Kicker guesses wrong? No goal. Goalie guesses wrong?  Goal. Guesses right? You go home. It's stupid.

There's things I like about soccer. The teams have no say about the clock, which is how it should be in timed games. That clock keeps going, which I also like. But guessing games to determine championships? Oh, come on. 

Take an equal number of players off the field in extra time. Remove the goalie in extra time. Make the goal wider and higher to increase scoring during normal play to make ties less likely. Take turns with corner kicks even, until one team scores. Base tiebreakers on game stats such has shots on goal. Something, soccer. I'm ready to say anything, because anything has to be better than the current nonsense.

Win the game on the entire field, not the last 12 yards where they set up the penalty kicks. That's just a travesty against sportsmanship and integrity.

Rainy Sunday

It's raining here in the D this morning. It's only 68 and it's humid. Amazing how a relative chill can feel so uncomfortable. I'd rather it be 85 with dry air.

Ah well. There are worse things than lazy Sundays like the one which awaits us. Some days you just gotta be happy to be here.

I seem to have a bit of writer's block too. Does it show?

Dragnet Ageism

So yesterday I spoke about the old TV show Dragnet, right? But I didn't say anything about the episode which was on, only commenting on the intro. Yet I did watch the show, and I was not pleased.

During the course of an investigation Friday and Gannon found themselves in a home where a murder occurred. They questioned a young woman who lived there. "Does anyone else live here?" Joe Friday asked.

"Only my frail old mother," he was told.

"I'd like to question her."

"Well, all right, but be considerate. She's old and frail. She's 62," the daughter explained.

At hearing that I thought, old and frail? 62 is old and frail? What kind of ageism is this? 

It didn't help that the actress playing the mom actually looked about 85. Still, what did they think of seniors in 1968 that 62 was old and frail? 

My being 63 has absolutely nothing to do with my indignation either.

Dragnet Hockey

I was just watching the intro to a Dragnet episode. You know, the one where Jack Webb tells us all about how great Los Angeles is. He liked to give short tours of the city as he lead into that day's program. 

This morning he was talking about the sports scene. There was a shot of the sports arena where the Los Angeles Kings played at the time. Webb explained that they played ice hockey. My question: is that a dated reference? Does anyone say 'ice hockey' anymore?

That's what I got for you today. Enjoy your Friday.

Roiled Cloyce

We rented a cabin in Hessel, MI in the Upper Peninsula for years, and for years this one fella rented almost at the same time. I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. The thing is, his rental and ours offset by one week, meaning Cloyce and his family left during the middle of our two week stay.

The cabins rented Saturday to Saturday. On Cloyce's second Saturday one year the family which was renting his place next arrived, rudely, at 7 AM. They knocked on his door and basically demanded to know when he was leaving. Cloyce, properly annoyed, answered, "Checkout time is 11." He thought for a moment and then made it a point to explain further, "And check in time is 2."

They didn't like that. Yet they were the ones being insensitive. They figured if they sat nearby staring it might hurry Cloyce up.

They were barking up a tree, and those of us who knew Cloyce knew that.

He quite understandably took his breakfast: at around nine. He then took one suitcase to his van. Then he took one article of clothing out the cabin, folding it at the van door and putting it in the suitcase. Filling the case one piece of clothing at a time took about a half hour. Then he filled, in the same way, a second suitcase. Then he took about 15 minutes finishing the last cup of coffee from the kitchen, sipping it on his porch as he watched the watercraft go by. Then he emptied the fridge one item at a time, after bringing out the cooler empty. Lastly he packed his fishing gear one piece by one. Finally he took the folding chairs from the porch and tied them to the roof of his van.

The he sat on the stoop of the porch and stared back at the early arrivals. Eventually he looked at his watch and called to his wife, "Okay hon, let's go. It's 10:59, just about checkout time." And they were on their way home.

My guess is that it was actually about 10:59 and fifty-five seconds. I'm surprised he didn't pack the loaf of bread one slice at a time, because I wouldn't have blamed him if he did.

Orwell and Vonnegut

Michael's Story has a feel of the true dystopia, not the trendy dystopia fiction we've been seeing. This novel is satirical, cautionary, and reminded me of George Orwell's "1984" and Kurt Vonnegut's "Harrison Bergeron." In that regard I found the writing brilliant!

It's a good story, deep, dark, and full of twists and turns.

Well, hard not to like that. It's from a recent review of my book Michael's Story. Comparisons to 1984 and Harrison Bergeron?  Thank you very much. I've read both and must wonder whether my own efforts deserve to be mentioned along with those classics of modern literature. Yet it's gratifying to hear.

But the reviewer makes a point which I think calls for a bit more reflection. He uses the term 'trendy dystopia' as a criticism, presumably anyway, of what often passes for dystopian. I think he's on to something.

An awful lot of the futuristic worlds we see or read about fail to get at the root of what dystopian actually represents. They merely seek to frighten the audience without a true understanding of where and why the fear may gestate. They're no better than horror movies. To be sure, there are some good movies and books in that genre. And that's okay. But they aren't dystopian. Dystopias examine the causes of evil rather than just try to scare the bejeezus out of us. I think that's what makes them more scary than monsters in the mirror.

Anyway, thank you, dear reviewer, for the good words! BTW Michael's Story can be found  here and here. Thank you for your support!

By Its Cover

I really am happy to be getting so many positive reviews for my books. I really am. The response has been far better than I had hoped. Yet sometimes I get a review which puzzles me.

As a courtesy I won't name names or even identify which book. But a certain reviewer absolutely raved about how great my book was. Great characters, great writing, great background; they seemed very ecstatic about it. So much so that I was confused at only being given four starts out of five. 

Then at the end of the review they said all that makes them give it only four stars was the dull and uninviting cover. I must admit I did a wait, what? This is a spectacular book which you demote one star because of the cover? But I thought you couldn't judge books by their cover, as me brother Phil pointed out. 

Reviewer, you sure didn't seem to mind the story as it was by the way you heaped praise on it. But I'm debited a star because of the graphics? Such things have never stopped me from enjoying a book or not. I never once said or thought, great book even with that lackluster cover. Even if I were to concede that a better cover would be nice, and perhaps so (other critics have expressed the same thought), I just don't get that at all.