Chasing Sanborn

I really don't know why, but Chase and Sanborn has become my coffee of choice. Which means of course that it's been getting more difficult to find.

For a couple of years I could rely on Ollie's Discount Stores (Good stuff cheap!) to have it. Perhaps that ought to have served as a warning. Being available in a discount place might have been a bad sign.

Cedarville Foods in Hessel in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula stocks it, enough so that in my trips Up North this year I bought ahead. I should be all right through 2024 as of now. But what about after?

Again, however, I don't actually know how or why I latched onto the stuff. I doubt I could pick it successfully in a blind taste test. Did Chase and Sanborn subconsciously become my Hessel coffee due to association? Maybe. Yet I don't recall where I first discovered it. It wasn't necessarily while in da UP ya know.

I'm not anywhere near sure when I began drinking it. And I know in my mind that I'll just drink something else if I never find C & S (what we mavens call it) again. I will in time forget about it. Yet I would be curious to find out exactly why I became stuck on it in the first place.

Random Friday

Did you know that Darth Vader's mother's name was Ella? 

Sorry, Mom.

Did you know that if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, it does make a sound? Sound is in the waves created by an action, not the receptor of the action.

Did you know, uh, did you know, uh...sorry folks, that's all I got today. But as bloggers are supposed to blog every day, here it is.

Let's see if Saturday is any better.

What Would Heinrich Do?

Heinrich Himmler was the head of the Gestapo during World War II. Most of you know that I'm sure, but I needed to establish the fact just the same.

I peruse many messages boards on subjects of interest to me where questions are asked and experts answer. As a student of history many of the places I frequent address people and events from the past. A favorite is a site about the Second World War.

Most of the questions are rather broad ranged. What were the German aims in the War? Why did they attack Russia? Things like that. Some are speculative. If Hitler hadn't declared war on the United States, how would that have affected the outcome? If the US only fought Japan, how would things have turned out? Some queries are technical: How close were the Nazis to an atomic bomb? What were the fiercest weapons used? Others ask about the specifics in battles. You get the point. There's a wide array of inquiries.

One unusual question the other day stopped me in my mental tracks. It was, What was Heinrich Himmler's management style?

It took me a few minutes to process the query, all of it broken with stilted laughter as I stared at my computer screen. His management style? He was the head of the bloody Gestapo. I suppose it was something along the lines of, you do this or it's the firing squad! 

Was this an honest question or some kind of trolling? I hope it was trolling, high schools seniors being stupid.

There was an attempt at a serious answer by the way. It basically said, Himmler's management style was top down and detail oriented. I label that understatement.

Less Healthy

"You ever had deep fried Twinkies?" me brother Phil asked me the other day.

"Can't say I have."

"I was going into a restaurant one day and there was a sign which said, We have deep fried Twinkies," he explained. "So I bought one."

"Was it any good?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Why'd you try it? Curiosity?" I asked.

"I suppose," Phil answered. "But mainly I wondered, how can they make something unhealthy even more unhealthy?"

Yeah, you do wonder if there was a brainstorming session for that.

Don't Ask Me

Now, before I start I want to establish that I'm not talking about innocuous questions such as what color to paint a room or what I think about an outfit or a sport or a book. Those are generally matters of taste and I'm happy to leave them at that. But with regard to The Great Questions, questions about how to act or what to do in serious situations, that's what I'm addressing here.

Far too many folks these days begin a presumably serious, introspective discussion with something like, "Be honest, because there's no right or wrong answer."

Here's my painfully honest and arguably harsh response. 

Don't bother me with the damn question then. If you aren't trying to find out what's really, truly, actually right or really, truly, hideously wrong with a venture or outlook then we ain't got nothing to talk about. If there really is no 'wrong' answer then it don't matter what we do. And if there is a right answer, the statement is hypocritical nonsense, if not downright Orwellian, dangerous to our growth and well being as persons. It's as simple as that.

People wonder what's wrong with the world. I can tell you that readily. It comes from answering questions as though there's no right or wrong answer.

Pennsylvania Autumn

Driving back from New York City last weekend, I noticed that the trees in Pennsylvania had already begun to turn. There wasn't a ton of color, and most of it was at it or near the tops. But reds and oranges were poking about the green.

It didn't seem normal to me. Last Monday when travelling it was still technically summer. If you were to draw a line directly east from Detroit, I would have been south of it. There's been no sign of fall colors here.

Don't get me wrong. It was nice to see and broke up the journey, which is great when traversing Pennsylvania. It always seems to take an inordinate amount of time to cross, even though it's only 310 miles. I drive just about that far (306 miles) on the freeway going to Hessel in da UP. Why does it feel longer on Interstate 80 through the Keystone State?

The simple answer is that it's Pennsylvania and not Michigan. I'm used to Michigan, so the time doesn't seem the same. But I appreciate Pennsylvania's effort to make the journey more pleasant.

Citi Field

Last Sunday me and me son Frank saw the Cincinnati Reds play the New York Mets at the home of the Mets, Citi Field. It's in Queens in New York City. Yeah, I keep hearing the King of Queens theme too.

It sits right next to where Shea Stadium, the second home of the Mets, had been. The team had played their first two years at the Polo Grounds, which the Giants called home before they high-tailed it to San Francisco. A commemorative home plate is set in the Citi parking lot where Shea's plate had been. So too are the bases and the pitching rubber marked out. It's a nice tribute; we checked them out.

I like the new stadium. The seats everywhere are reasonably close to the field, just like at PNC Park in Pittsburgh and new Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. You can really tell the difference between them and Comerica Park here in the D, where the seats are noticeably farther from the diamond. I realize it was built a few years earlier than those three and that perhaps technology changed in that time, but man, the Detroit Tigers dropped the ball bad on that issue. Watching a game here can feel like the players are in a canyon compared to the others I mention. 

Citi Field is totally enclosed. I like that. No tripe about the wonderful view: I go to a baseball game to see baseball, not aN unrelated vista no matter how grand. The amenities were great; the Mets museum in particular was a joy to behold. When you get chills like I did seeing things from another team's history, you appreciate that the game is more important than the teams.

So I recommend it. If you're in The Big Apple and have the chance, go to Citi Field. New Yankee Stadium I highly recommend too.

9/23

Well, well, well. It's early Saturday morning and I have a blog to write. With no other ideas coming to mind, I'll fall back onto This Day in History.

On September 23, 1779 during the American Revolution ('The Troubles' to you Brits) John Paul Jones uttered his famous "I have not yet begun to fight!" in answer to an English demand that he surrender his ship during a naval engagement. 

For you astronomers, on September 23, 1846, the planet Neptune was first spotted.

Mickey Rooney, Julio Iglesias, Ray Charles, and Bruce Springsteen were all born the 23rd.

St. Pio of Pietrelcina, better as Padre Pio, died September 23, 1968. He had the stigmata, the wounds of Christ, on his body. 

Lewis and Clark returned to St. Louis from their exploration the Louisiana Territory September 23, 1806.

Merkle's Boner, a famous baseball mistake, gave the Chicago Cubs the National League Pennant on this day in 1908. It's one of the most famous plays (or non plays) in the sport's history.

There you have it, friends. September 23 in history!

One Year

Mom has been gone a year today. It went a damned lot quicker than the first without Dad.

You figure you love each parent roughly equally, right? But the grief is different. I don't know why.

Maybe because she went so fast and so suddenly, I'm still shocked even after this much time. 

I haven't lost it over Mom yet. That bothers me. I remember a day in Hessel where I came completely unglued thinking about Dad being gone. Every 'first' without him I was on edge. With Mom, it was more like being in constant disbelief. I'm still stunned.

Life is nothing if not ironic, eh? I dreamed for several years of being on the road all the time with me Pops for work as he would grow into his eighties. I ended up spending more time on the road with Mom, on Sundays but other days, as it were. I actually smile at that thought. Perhaps I needed to appreciate her more. Mysterious ways.

Or not so mysterious. I love you, Mom. Be at peace.

Canadian Form

Americans have a tendency to look at all things government and wonder, "How can I circumvent that?" For me a good example lies in a mere traffic signal.

One afternoon I sat in the left turn lane of an avenue which held me still because of a steady red arrow. That arrow meant that I couldn't turn. I found myself asking impertinent questions. Can I turn now? Will I get away with it? How much would the ticket be if not? Would there be points on my driver's license? There was absolutely no other traffic. I could have done it, I could have turned. In the end I waited for a green arrow. Curse your timidly in the face of tyranny, Marty.

Contrast this to the Canadian ideal of simply being nice. As it happened, I was soon after the above related incident driving along a route in Canada with a Canadian friend as a passenger. Caught by a solid red arrow at an intersection where I needed to go left, I asked my buddy if I might ignore the signal. "Oh, bad form," he advised me.

Yanks care about getting away with something. Canadians? Well, you decide.

Yankee Pride

In my blog post yesterday I remarked on how hard it is to wear a Yankees cap. I have one; I buy a team cap when I visit that team's stadium, so when seeing Yankee Stadium I dutifully bought a Yankees cap. I've only worn it that one game day, however.

I posted the blog online, which prompted a Facebook friend (actually a real and honest friend in real and honest life!) remarked, "So you don't want to wear the cap from the best baseball team in history?" Though put forth in some humor (I assume) just as my post was meant to be a bit in jest, it's a good question. So today I'm going to answer the question and then thoroughly overanalyze that answer. It's what I do.

I love Yankee history. That is not snark on my part. The childlike attitude of Babe Ruth which comes though warts and all is fascinating; it makes him a real man, not a simple myth. Whose eyes don't well up at that famous 1948 picture of him the last time in uniform at old Yankee Stadium, weeks before he died? There will never be, in any sport, a Number 3 like him.

Lou Gehrig's stoic resolve in the face of terrible personal tragedy is more than admirable. It's a lesson in how to handle adversity. 

Then there's Yogi Berra. You gotta love him. He's Yogi! When you come to that fork in the road, take it!

The quiet confidence of Joe Dimaggio; the sheer talent of Mickey Mantle; Aaron Judge on the current squad is a monster. I mean that in a good way, seeing how he plays. Yet he maintains a certain humility which is laudable especially in this day and age of athletes waving their own flag (a disease which increasingly turns me from sports). I'm just acknowledging the tip of the iceberg here, that you get the point.

But then, well, they're the Yankees. They've been a powerhouse for most of their history. And that's where the ages old American rooting for the underdog affects the picture. It can be hard to cheer for a team (if you're not from New York, anyway) which so often appears to buy their championships. That's not entirely fair; particularly in years gone by you had to have a good staff to find talent. But that also requires money, which the Yanks always had plenty of. 

My point is there's the dichotomy of the rich versus the poor at work here. You see that in the musical Damn Yankees. It's a great musical by the way, which only uses Yankee dominance as a backdrop to a good moral lesson, a good human story. But it serves my purpose here.

Yankee fans will yell 'jealousy!' and rightly so, so far as it goes. At the end of the day, that's a lot of it. But again, Americans like underdogs. The Yankees aren't.

There's my overindulgent response. Yankee history brings chills. The Yankees as a team? Well, I'm a Detroit Tigers fan first, foremost, and always. Ya dance with the one that brought ya. That surely colors my judgment.

Home

He's back! Marty's back in the D, attending the grindstone after a fitful four days (I love alliteration) in New York City.

I always get a baseball cap as a keepsake when seeing a new baseball stadium. This weekend we were at Citi Field, where the New York Mets play. It was a lot easier to wear a Mets cap than a Yankees one, I'll tell you what.

No offense Yankees fans. It's just, well, it's the Yankees.

NYC Thoughts

I'm trying to make up my mind whether I could live in New York City or its environs. 

There really is a lot to like. Active neighborhoods, sports venues, and large park areas. Interesting stores abound as well. Prices are good enough at stores and restaurants, not more than a tad higher than smaller cities. Rents and houses I can't speak to though.

What's not to like? I think I'm a people person at heart, but there's a lot of people. From my limited experience traffic isn't all that bad, but there is a lot of it just the same. Be ready, as I intimated the other day, for way too many car honking symphonies. There seems to be activity all the time, which can be disconcerting.

I think the lack of ready parking is my biggest turn off. I'm too much of a Midwesterner to want to wait to drive my car; I want to go places when I want to go. I want to walk outside my door, and there's my wheels. They aren't blocks away or lodged in a parking structure.

The judgment? Definitely a great place to visit. The jury is out on making it a home.

A New Day Dawns

Even though we're both in the same time zone, things are different here in New York. 

I woke up at 6:20 this morning to find it daylight. In Detroit in September, there isn't the same amount of sun until after 7.

At first it seemed that I had slept really late. Then I double checked the time to make sure it was right. Soon enough the obvious truth became obvious. Obviouser? The father east in the eastern time zone, the earlier the Sun rises.

I suppose I should have known that. But science is not my strong suit.

Honk

You know who know how to use their car horns? New Yorkers, that's who.

While walking around New Rochelle and the Bronx yesterday I noticed that when a light turned green the honking began immediately. I mean right now kapow. The cars has no opportunity to move before someone would lean on their horn. That would produce a cacophony of blaring, as though every vehicle were calling out to every other one. It made me realize that I hardly hear car horns in Detroit.

I get that traffic here tends to be heavy. But give them a chance, would ya?

Oh The Humanity

I can take criticism. Oh, I have my days where I don't want to hear it. But I do try to bull through that resistance and accept what critics tell me. I wouldn't be putting my writing 'out there' if I couldn't do that.

Still, reviewers are human, and themselves subject to be wrong. A recent critic of my book The Sublime to the Ridiculous: Family Lore is in that spot.

She gave the book three stars out of five because "It reads more like a blog, which the author indicates is the source material, and would work better as that."

Oh. Kay. First off, I don't 'indicate' that a blog is the source material, I say flat out in the preface that the book is made up of blog posts. That's called a compilation. Many books are compilations. It's a standard practice.

Second, she knocks a blog collection because it's a blog collection? I'm deprived two stars for that?

Sometimes I don't get people. 

Take the Hint

We should listen to our bodies. 

Last yesterday afternoon when I got home from the Shop, I had a few things I wanted to get done. Nothing pressing, just stuff needing doing. But man, was I tired. Wiped out. So I went to bed. That junk could wait.

I woke up around 2:30 this morning and took care of business in about an hour, completely refreshed. None of it felt like a chore at all. And, I believe, because I wasn't the least bit tired.

If your body says sleep, then sleep if you can. It's a good thing.

Getting to Second Base (Not What You Heathens Think)

I'm a traditionalist, conservative by nature. I don't care for change. Yet this doesn't mean that I cannot adapt, that I am incapable of accepting new ideas.

Take baseball, for instance. I love it. Greatest game ever, hands down, absolutely no doubt about it. But I do like that the game has instituted a pitch clock. Things were simply taking too long and something had to be done. Similarly, I like the ban on defensive shifts. It makes the participants be athletic and make plays rather than automatons instructed to do this or that. 

See? I'm open to change.

What I don't like however is placing a runner on second base at the start of extra innings. That, bluntly put, strikes too much at the essence of the game. You're supposed to have to put men on base in order to score, not give them a head start of half way around the diamond. That's a tradition I will fight for. You don't alter the basic point of anything in the name of making it better. Period.

And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my Detroit Tigers lost last night because of the rule. Not one iota.

Well, all right, maybe a little. But my point still stands.

Seeing Red

Tonight I'm going to Comerica Park to see the Detroit Tigers play the Cincinnati Reds. I'm excited because I have actual pasteboard tickets for the game. That's because I went to the stadium box office to buy them. 

I ain't paying no two dollar per ticket convenience fee to purchase them on the Internet when I live barely a mile and a half from the ballpark. Does anything say ripoff or money grab better than charging two bucks (per ticket I remind you) for the convenience of doing something in a manner which makes a process easier for all of us? A manner which sends tickets to our phone rather than printing them and/or mailing them? A manner which involves less handling of merchandise, less real human involvement? I doubt it.

So I have my paper tickets, which it surely cost the Tigers more than if I had went the Internet route. I showed them.

Interestingly enough, it's the start of a six game road trip for Cincinnati. Further interestingly enough, I'm going to New York City this weekend to visit my son and daughter-in-law and see the Mets. We have tickets to the Sunday game. And who are they playing? The Reds.

I got Cincy coming and going. Serendipity.

Saturday Night Stoogery

It's said that you can't beat the classics. I find that true.

Whatever you might say about the Three Stooges, while they are repetitive and childish, they are also timeless. Their shtick just never gets old. I know this because I'm old but they're still fresh.

Every Saturday night they're on MEtv from 6 to 8, and I rarely miss them. They aren't exactly high comedy. In fact, they don't even sniff at that. Yet there's something about their lowbrow slapstick which just appeals to the masses. 

Bread and Circuses? How about Stooges and Saturday? What say ye?

The Detroit Lions, 2023 Style

All right, I've been good. I've waited four whole days before becoming the wet blanket, the stick in the mud. But all the ballyhoo over a season opening win is quite a bit over the top, friends.

I will freely admit that things do indeed feel different with these Detroit Lions. Coach Campbell is daring and almost too aggressive. I like that. Sort of.

However, I've seen too many games like last Thursday's upset of the Chiefs to be too confident in the Lions just yet. They blasted the New England Patriots not that long ago in what was supposed to be a statement game for Matt Patricia. Nothing came of it.

They blasted Dallas 30 years ago in their only playoff win since 1957. Nothing came of it.

I've seen in my life the Lions lose playoff games by absurd scores like 5-0 and 58-31. I've seen them lose playoff games where a normally reliable kicker (Eddie Murray) missed a field goal which set the Lions in a free fall for a half decade. 

I've seen too many things beyond their control go against them. I'm looking at you, on field officials. You miss as much as a WWE referee. Dumb NFL rules have hurt Detroit too. And one of these days that Campbell aggression will become foolhardy and burn the team. Bad.

In short, one win at the start of the regular season means diddly. To be fair, the coach and players themselves appear to realize that and seem to be acting accordingly. There were no over the top celebrations in the locker room.

That's the right attitude, because that's all there is right now. Again, I feel good about these Lions myself. But I've felt that way before. I can't be too excited about this one game.

We'll talk again after a home playoff win in January. If it comes, because there's still a long way to go.

A Blog Before I Walk on a Saturday

We're now a few days past Labor Day. This time of year it's hard to believe that it's still summer; psychologically, Labor Day seems to end it.

Things must really feel different for the schoolkids. Here in Michigan public schools by law can't start until after the holiday. It's the state's way of trying to wrest a final tourist weekend out the populace. Kind of cruel to the children though, isn't? Have a great weekend kiddies! Start school immediately after! At least for us adults (although I wonder at times how many of us actually qualify as that) it's simply more of our adult world going on on Tuesday like it did the Friday before.

I don't miss school one lick, and I went back when we were expected to learn real stuff with real value. But that rant is for another time. 

Have a great weekend! It's the second to last of Summer, you know. Even if it feels like Fall.

Radio Voice

A customer told me yesterday that I have a great voice, one that would be good for voiceovers. He said he meant it, that it was a compliment. I'm willing to take it on that level. I do have one voiceover artist job to my credit. Indeed he wasn't the first to remark that I had such a quality. But I always felt my voice sounded kind of whiny for such. Quiet, Ron.

I don't really know how complimented I ought to be though. A waitress once told me I sounded like Disney's Jiminy Cricket while Bally Sports Detroit's John Keating remarked that my voice was odd enough for Cartoon Network. So there's that.

As I don't believe any of us hear ourselves the way other folks do I don't think I can comment accurately on what exactly I sound like. On top of that of course, I'm trying to establish myself as a writer. That strikes me as ironic in some vague sense. Perhaps I can produce my own audiobooks when the time comes.

He Can Be Taught

Many of us were taught while growing up that if you're carrying a sharp object and you drop it, let it fall. It's great practical advice, you know.

Among the accessories available (I adore alliteration) for the drain snakes I sell are retrieving tools. They are sharp and typically pointed objects. They have to be, so that they may puncture and burrow into a blockage in a drain and retrieve it. 

A year or so back I was carrying not one but two of them into a customer's office. And I dropped both. And I tried to catch them. 

It was like a juggling act which had gone off the rails. There I was trying to corral those two retrievers, each bouncing off my hands one to the other, and each time digging a barb into my palms. "Oh, ah, oh, ow," I repeated many times over trying desperately to grab them. Of course, they ended up hitting the floor anyway.

Why I had two handkerchiefs I don't know (usually only having one) but it was fortunate that day. I had to wrap them around my hands driving home, hoping the bleeding would stop by the time I got there. Tiny puncture wounds take awhile to seal.

The moral of the story, in case you - as I - didn't get the lesson originally: if you drop a sharp object, let it fall.

West Virginia Cans

As I finished my can of Vernors yesterday I noticed for about the umpteenth time in my life an outline of the state of West Virginia on top of it. The symbol was next to the pull tab and after the litany of how many states have deposit laws along with what the deposit is in each. I've seen this for years and always wondered what it meant.

Fear not, dear readers, as I shall not leave you hanging as I have figuratively swayed in the breeze for decades. There's a very simple explanation: it shows that the manufacturer of the beverage has paid the tax on soda pop levied by that state.

It's true! It must be, for I found it on the Internet here: West Virginia Tax 

Until next time in the search for knowledge you didn't know you needed, farewell!

Last Sale

Mom used to have regular yard sales. When I was a preteen and through high school, she would have two or three a year. With seven kids I imagine it was more necessary than I appreciated back then. But she seemed to enjoy them too.

I didn't. I didn't like helping to make the signs, nor going around hanging them on light poles through the neighborhood. I didn't care to put the stuff out or put it back afterwards. And I was certainly too much of a youngster to have any interest in dealing with the people who came by. Yard sales just weren't for me. But I did my part because, well, a son is supposed to help his Mom. Even if he's a tad surly about it.

This past Labor Day was our neighborhood wide yard sale, on a Sunday for whatever reason. My brothers decided to participate, and I helped them a little. At one point, standing to the side and seeing various knick knacks and furniture of Mom's sitting across the front yard of her house, it hit me that that would be the last yard sale there. And I thought, damn. Just, damn.

Happy Labor Day

Happy Labor Day! Enjoy the holiday! Walk the Mighty Mackinac Bridge if can! Don't eat too many burgers and hot dogs.

Yeah, right, to that last one.

Lack of Planning

I'm not the only one who walks. Me brother Phil affords himself regular constitutionals. Yet unlike me he tends to hike in the late afternoon or early evening. 

One Sunday afternoon a bit after 4, he went out. While getting his exercise he figured to check out the Shop, the old barn where we work, just to see it was secure. 

He was just a bit surprised to see a plumber waiting by the door. "Man, I'm glad to see you Cosgriff. I need my machine worked on."

"Well, you're really lucky to find me. We normally aren't here this time of the week," Phil explained.

The man said, "Oh, I know. I just hoped someone might come around eventually."

So you came late on a Sunday? Did you intend to wait outside my door until Monday? Still, me brother offered, "Well, since I'm here, let's open up and take a quick look at your snake."

The plumber stammered, "Uh, I don't have it with me."

So you came to the Shop at a time when you didn't think that anyone would be there, and you didn't bring your machine, thought Phil. And, you didn't see a flaw in that plan?

Yet he said, "We'll be here tomorrow morning at 8 then sir."

I don't think we ever actually saw him though. That may he just as well.

Fire Good?

As if there aren't enough things to fret about, how's this? Pistachios can spontaneously combust.

It's true, at least according to this source: Pistachios catch fire

Nuclear war is always a threat. Crime and violence seem on the rise. Hurricane season is upon us. And now the pistachios in your kitchen cabinet may catch fire on their own. Is there no end to the cruelty of this world?

But that won't happen once I've eaten them right? No chance of pistachios mixing with stomach acids and - bam - I'm on Ripley's Believe It Or Not?

I'm only passing this along so that you can be as paranoid about it as I am. Have a great three day weekend.

Convenient Drivel

Look at this! Just click that link and see the good news!

Family Lore

Charles Martin Cosgriff's, that is, my new book, is now available on Amazon. It's only on Kindle right now, but I hope to have a paperback edition soon.

It's a collection of favorite family tales from this very blog, The Sublime to the Ridiculous. I'm thinking of you, dear reader. Why read it for free one tale at a time one day at a time, which can be pure drudgery (Quiet, Ron) when you can pay 99 cents (not even a whole dollar!) and kill a couple hours reading several at a time. You're welcome. 

A shout out to my daughter in law Tarina Cosgriff for the cover. She stays in the will. Seriously, I love the cover and really appreciate her work!

Next up: STTR II: Cloyce Encounters. Thanks to my old friend Mark Koldys for the title. Guess who it features? It'll be up and running by October, just in time for Christmas!