Now Immediately This Minute

Publishers Clearing House, the old prize contest, has contacted me by email about my potential entry into the current version. They began the letter, "Your decision is immediately requested!", on whether I want to enter this year's contest or not.

Immediately requested, eh? I'm not sure that they haven't requested my answer immediately by having already made the offer. I mean, isn't asking me to respond immediate by its nature? If I ask, say, whether you want to go to a ball game with me which starts in an hour so we need to go, there's kind of an immediacy inherent in that request, isn't there?

Yet that's not half of it. I'm being encouraged to enter the sweepstakes right away, to 'accept or surrender' a bid for $10 million dollars. Accept or surrender are in bold block letters. I'm not at all sure that choosing to simply not participate in a drawing amounts to some kind of surrender. Maybe I just don't want to play. I don't feel like I'm surrendering anything worthwhile.

I entered. But under duress. 

Don't Help

I'm going to say this point blank and out loud: the Olympic organizers fully intended to mock Christianity, and their apology wasn't even half hearted. They went too far yet won't accept their fault. Full stop.

Shame on them for all sorts of reasons, not the least because such ham fisted distractions take away from the celebration of the athletes and their accomplishments. The ceremonies openly mocked Christianity. I will not watch the Games merely because I cannot support that, and there's no other recourse than a boycott.

Don't defend them: this was not Dionysius or Greek bacchanalia. It was so pitifully obvious of an insult that there can be no reasonable denial, no rational defense. Don't even try. And I haven't even mentioned the sick display of a headless Marie Antoinette.

Rant over.

The Upcoming Campaign

The Election of 2024 is gearing up. Ugh. I like the presidential system we have more than the parliamentary one found in most free nations, but at least the parliamentarians can wrap things up in five weeks.

I admit, and those who know me won't be surprised, that beyond an event so bizarre that I cannot begin to imagine what it might be, I know how I'll vote in November. Around ninety percent of the electorate feel similarly. 

I'm going to try to avoid intense discussions on the candidates, and I won't play dueling articles with those who disagree with me. Each side has enough presumed 'experts' who will tell their people what they want to hear, and few of us can actually know what's right. Most articles tend to spin, to be written to their side's view; we ought to be leery of them on that ground alone. So I intend to stick to things which I know from direct personal experience and plain reason. The following are are some of those things.

Gas was much cheaper in 2019 than 2024. So were overall energy costs. 

The liter bottles of water I drink, one a day typically, hit me for 65 cents apiece a few years ago. Now they're a dollar five.

Potato chips have been my gastronomic bane for as long as I remember. In 2019 my local grocery routinely offered family size bags of the salty snacks at two for four dollars. The same size and brand are now two for seven. On sale.

The company I sell for has had three price raises since 2020. Before that it took 15 years for three such hikes.

In short, inflation has been rampant since 2021. I don't care that it's supposedly 'cooling off' lately. It still soared for three years and someone needs to be held accountable for that. Okay, maybe it has slowed down. Too many things still cost me too much more than they should, and a recent slowdown begs questions of who's at fault and only seeks to shield those folks from punishment.

What we are left with is the raw fact that things cost much more than they did four years ago, and that is typically the result of government policy, printing more money and running up debt specifically. And that should weigh heavily on how you cast your ballot three months from now.

Yard Sales by Phil

Me brother Phil has the right attitude towards yard sales. If you have something you think is worth $20, put a 10 dollar price tag on it, be ready to take 5 to 8, and as little as 2 or 3 when it's near closing time. Mark it to move, and throw out or give the Salvation Army what's left. Everybody wins.

I do like how he thinks.

The Calvin

On the Internet yesterday I came across a picture from the 1950s of west Dearborn, Michigan. In the background of the photo was the old Calvin theater. That was a fun place to watch movies. But it was more for the patrons than the matinee.

I suspect that many Calvin theatergoers were regulars, but anyone could get into the act. Samples of what played out at the old movie house are abundant in my memory.

Once an usher came into the main body of the theater and announced (remember this was well before cell phones) "Phone call for Michael Brady! Phone call for Michael Brady!" About one third of the audience rose and started towards the lobby.

That poor usher. Another time he called out, "Phone call for Cloyce! Phone call for Cloyce!" From all over the place came many voices. "Cloyce! Phone!" "Better get the phone Cloyce!" "Yo! Cloyce! Phone!" "Cloyce! Yer interruptin' the movie!" In exasperation the usher finally responded, "Aw come on, guys!" which of course only made it worse. They really piled on then.

The feature film did occasionally hold the attention of the crowd. An actress in one less than classic movie was inspecting her house for a strange noise. She crept towards the door of her room, cat like in tread. Reaching it, she slowly turned the knob. At that, the camera cut to the other side of the door. The actress opened it tensely, the creaking sound filling the atmosphere, and carefully stuck her head out of the opening to look into the hall. Through it all the place was stone quiet until someone said, "Hello? Can I help you?" The spell was broken.

A pizzeria was built where the Calvin once sat. The pizza is good, but the entertainment was better at the theater.

Mad Scientist Marty

A couple of plumbers came into the old barn yesterday to pick up a repair one of them had left. I knew that guy of course, but I hadn't met the second fella. The one picking up the repair turned to his buddy and said about me, "This is the man you want to bring your machines to fix. He's the mad scientist of drain snakes!"

I think it was a compliment. I replied simply, "You got the mad part right anyway."

Yet the thought of the mad scientist of drain snakes conjures (a mad scientist ought to conjure, right?) up old B movie cliches. A machine is secured to my workbench. One last wire is carefully and lovingly attached. A thunderstorm is rolling in, lightning flashes jumping outside the Shop windows. "Power! I must have power!" I scream maniacally.

"Yes, Master!" a heretofore unseen hunchback cries from a darkened corner of the old barn. He begins turning a crank, lifting mad scientist Marty and his drain snake monster, a macabre and pathetic bit of metal cobbled together from parts of various and long dead old units, into a heretofore unseen opening in the Shop roof...and I've taken this about far enough, haven't I?

Still, the Mad Scientist of drain snakes. I kinda like it.

 

Out of the Zone

Me Grandpa Joe, he liked to travel. He liked to get out on the open road to see where it would take him. Me Grandma Cosgriff, not so much. A lot of that I'm sure had to do with Joe's driving. And the cheap hotels he'd stay in. And the quality of cars he'd drive. Ok, I suppose there were myriad and varied reasons why she would let him go off on his own. She was quite content to stay home when the wanderlust bug bit Joe.

Joe would of course call home regularly to let her know where he was and that things were okay, even if it was only Joe okay. Early one morning, one very early morning, right around two AM in fact, the telephone rang at the Cosgriff household. Grandma struggled out of bed to answer it.

"Hey, just calling to tell you I'm in California and I'm fine," Joe's gruff voice told her from the other end of the line.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, Joe, but you didn't need to call me at two o'clock in the morning to tell me that," me Grandma said in response, in the quiet way she tended to address Joe.

He had gotten the times mixed up. Calling from California at 11PM, he knew there was a three hour difference from home. But he had it backwards that day and thought it was eight in the evening in the east.

Just another day in the life of Alice Cosgriff I'm sure.

 

Games People Play

If Biden is unable to head a party ticket, and he isn't and we all know the reason why, then by that same reasoning he should not be President. Yet he is, at least at this writing. Why?

Simple. If Vice President Kamala Harris takes office before November the Democrats lose an important campaign slogan. We would not be electing the first female minority to the White House. It would already be done.

The Democrats are gaming the system. It's as simple as that. They want to have and eat their cake. It's nothing new. They've hid frail and infirm Presidents before (Wilson and FDR, if you care to know) so I'm not shocked by that. And the Harris candidacy fits in with 'right side of history' rhetoric. It's how they roll.

I for one will not be gamed. I hope you won't either. 

Farewell Bob

Bob Newhart, perhaps my favorite individual comedian (as opposed to comedy groups) passed away yesterday at 94. As me son Charlie remarked, some people just seem to always be around, so much so that you're shocked when they leave even though you know intellectually that, like us all, they'll be gone some day. 

Newhart was that guy for me. From the early 1960s with The Grace L Ferguson Airline and Storm Door Company (which is eerily interesting lately) to a Chicago psychologist to a Vermont inn owner, his understated humor and fish out of water demeanor always struck a chord with me. I even have a soft spot for George and Leo, a late Nineties sitcom (with him, Judd Hirsch and Jason Bateman) which had promise but I don't think was given a fair chance. Bateman, as Newhart's son, could play his TV dad's stammer quite well.

The Bob Newhart Show or Newhart for his best series? I lean towards the latter, yet both were excellent. Part of his comic timing and personal humility was playing off his co-stars, letting them have the spotlight when it suited the episode. 

As a lifelong rooter of the Chicago Cubs (Newhart was born in Chicago) I'm happy that he was able to see his team win a World Series even though it knocked the charm off of being a Cubs fan.

I only saw him as Professor Proton on The Big Bang Theory once, but I'm glad he got an Emmy for his portrayal of Sheldon's science hero. He deserved more.

Farewell and, um, er, ah, Godspeed Bob. God Bless You.

Disunion

Unions are another area where I can't find myself to answer whether I am for or against them. The best answer to "Are Unions Good?" really is, "Why and under what circumstances?"

Can they be good, even necessary? Yes, of course. Can they be counterproductive? Yes they can. That's why I can't say that I'm particularly pro-union in the same way that I can't say flat out assert that I'm for peace or education or tolerance. I need to know what's going on in a particular case to know if a union is a good fit for those circumstances.

I've known family and friends who needed to organize due to poor treatment; it fit their bill. And I've known people who have been harmed by union affiliation: it can promote an unfair sameness when it comes to pay, for example. At least three folks I know couldn't get raises which management told them they deserved and wanted to give them but their union wouldn't allow it. So union protection isn't automatically the answer either.

Until I know the background of a given situation I'm not willing to say that I'm pro or anti-union. There's simply no blanket answer.

What Doesn't Kill You

Me Mom and me Pops were out on a road trip one day. They found a nice little diner in a tiny little town and decided to have breakfast. Mom for some reason asked for decaf coffee. Pops wanted the full strength stuff.

About half way through their meal the waitress came around with a coffee pot, as waitresses often will. But all she had with her was a pot of decaf. "You had decaf, right, honey?" she asked Mom. When mom nodded yes, she got her mug filled.

Turning to look at me Pops the waitress said, "But you had regular coffee?"

"That's right," Dad confirmed.

The waitress stared at him for a moment, then responded, "Well, it won't kill ya," and filled his cup with decaf. 

Small town diners. Even Pops got a laugh at that. 

Ballpark Absurdity

My Detroit Tigers beat the Los Angeles Dodgers yesterday, 11 - 9. Hooray. They're playing well lately and I hope it continues. 

What I hope does not continue is the overuse of pitchers. The teams combined employed 13 arms yesterday in a 10 inning game. It's made worse when you consider that each side's starter went five innings. That means it took 11 guys to pitch the other 5 frames.

That's stupid. Surely 8 hitters weren't injured? No; the numbers just say all those arms were needed. And now, for today's game, I bet each manager will lament that their respective bullpens are tired because of it.

I'm at the point that I'm willing to, by rule, limit the number of pitchers used every game. Four per nine innings out to be enough. Even that's at least one, and maybe two, too many. But it might limit the insanity.

Oh well. At least the right guys won.

Saved Yet Amazed

My Shop Keurig died suddenly Wednesday. It couldn't have been from overuse, could it?

As I can indeed be taught, I spent a few minutes Thursday morning trolling Amazon to see what replacements might cost. That website gave me the same price I was finding on the websites of the brick and mortar stores around Detroit, and promised me free delivery between 2 and 6 yesterday afternoon. Identical pricing and free delivery that very day? It's tough to pass.

Yet pass I did. I had running around for work to do, and thought I might see what I could find while out and about. And indeed I stumbled upon a single serve Keurig for ten bucks lower than the Amazon price. I bought it. Serendipity.

Still, the idea that I could get delivery six hours or so later for what would have been an order at 9 in the morning impressed me. Yet it was also nice to save ten dollars through simply refusing to break old habits. 

Is there a lesson here? I don't know. I'm just filling blog space.

Mirror Image

A buddy of mine, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, is the grandfather of two year old twins. Now I've never seen the toddlers, but in recent conversation I asked how they were doing. "Fine, just great. Mrs. Cloyce and I baby sit them all the time."

"Cool. Is it hard to tell them apart?"

Cloyce grinned. "Not at all. One's a boy and one's a girl."

It didn't occur to me they might be paternal twins. Cloyce got a laugh out of it though. 

A Sign

Yesterday, I was heading home from Hessel, in Michigan's Glorious Upper Peninsula. I was intending to come home Monday but consciously took an extra day because, why not? There was nothing all that pressing and I had no appointments. Indeed Monday itself was a profitable business day even though I was out of town. I took several calls, one of which was for a very significant machine and cable order (enough to pay for my long weekend and then some in fact) which the customer requested a delivery of the next Tuesday, something I could accommodate quite readily. So I didn't need to be home to work. Work found me, for which in this case I was quite grateful.

Still, the daily bread must be baked. I rose this morning, opened the old barn around 6:30 and set to work, in part to take care of a few things I couldn't do yesterday because I had played hooky. Hey, I'm a responsible adult. Sometimes.

The Shop lights flickered once, at about 7:15, yet stayed on. Not so a few minutes later. They went off and stayed off. I took out my cell phone to report the outage (who would have thought thirty years ago that such a thing could be done?) and was soon told that my power would be restored by about 5 this afternoon. 

Dang. I coulda stayed north an extra day. Ah well. Be happy with what you got, right?

Beryling Down on Detroit

For the record, the first word in the headline above is a pun of sorts. Things can 'barrel down' on us, just like Hurricane Beryl is barreling down on Detroit. The Local Beryl Tracker on my weather app assures me of this.

Look, we're not going to have anything like a hurricane in the D. That's simply nonsense. Yes, we'll have heavy rain (maybe; I do not, as you know, have much faith in the weather prognosticators) this Wednesday as the remnants (if that's what they really are) of what was Hurricane Beryl move through the area. But to in any way, shape, or form identify that as in any way, shape, or form part of a hurricane is hyperbole. Overwrought non-news.

The steady winds are expected to be nine miles per hour when the rain drops hit us. Oh, but the gusts will be up to twelve. Horrors. Git into the cellar, Maw, right quick. I expect the store shelves will be decimated after the rush to stock up Tuesday. 

Just more over hype in an overhyped world I guess.

Just This

I went to Mackinac Island yesterday. That's all I'm going to tell you, because Facebook isn't going to let me post this blog anyway.

Hey Facebook

Hey Facebook! I'm still here. Are you going to delete this from my news feed with no input as to why?

Of course you are. It is, apparently, how you roll.

Just tell me something concrete, will ya? That's all I really ask.

July 5th

Well, the second half of the year begins. I don't know about you, but for me the first half of the year builds towards Independence Day while the second part rises until Christmas. It's not the worst way to approach time. 

I don't know how many days until Christmas; I'm not into it that much. It's simply the macro way I see the year. Works for me.

Day Glo

A few weeks ago while in Heath, Ohio, the place of 'my' Rural King store (at least according to their website) I bought some pocketed tees which were on sale. I chose a gray one, a dark green one, and a royal blue tee. Oh, and a day glo lime green shirt. 

At the time, I bought that last one because I thought it looked cool. Now, I'm thinking I made a mistake. The fit is all right, and I do like that it's wicking. But it may find its life carried on in the local Salvation Army resale shop just the same, because, with my body shape, I look like a phosphorescent tomato when I wear the dang thing.

Happy Independence Day, July 2

Today is our actual Independence Day, though few realize it. The Second Continental Congress passed the resolution for Independence on July 2,1776; it's attached to the end of the Declaration. It's known as the Lee Resolution, introduced to Congress by Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, and reads: 

Resolved, That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.

It has a ringing quality all it's own, don't you think?

When John Adams wrote of the 'fireworks, pomp and parade' which he foresaw as future celebrations of our independence, he presumed they would occur on future July 2nds. Yet the Declaration of Thomas Jefferson took hold, and precedence deemed that July 4th should forever be the anniversary of American Independence.

There is today's history lesson for you, on this most, if forgotten, historic day.