It's so easy to fix a snake

 No, Mungo! Never kill a customer! -from Monty Python's Dirty Fork sketch

Those are certainly words to live by. I have never come close to killing a customer. At least, so far as the police know. But I have snapped at a couple of them.

Several years ago during a period when we were extremely busy and running about one week to ten days behind in repairs (not unlike now quite honestly) a guy walked into the old barn. He had a machine which wasn't running and wanted me to take a look at it. I said I would, but that if it required anything serious he'd have to leave it and I'd get to it as soon as I could.

I followed him out to his van and he produced a little General Sewerooter Junior which had wires hanging out of the motor in a terrible jumble. A real bird's nest, me Pops used to say. It would have taken an hour simply to sort everything out, to get all the wiring back in place so that I might then start diagnosing the real problem. On top of that, his cable was tangled inside the drum. I shook my head and said to the man, "You're going to have to leave that with me."

He began, "Well all you have to do is..."

I cut him off right there. "Then you do it," I replied, admittedly rather harshly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then you do it," I repeated. "If it's all that simple, why are you bringing it to me? Why don't you have it done already?"

"You don't have to get that way, man," he protested.

In me best Grandpa Joe voice I half yelled back, "Yes! Yes I do! Everybody thinks their mess is so easy to fix after they messed it up worse and then expect a miracle from me! I'm not putting you in front of anybody else for this!"

The man left. I didn't kill him, but I haven't seen him since either.

Reality Bites

Is it just me, or is it true? Do most, or at least an awful lot of folks, take reality to be something far different from what reality actually is?

I'm not talking about the particular behaviors which seem to be in vogue these days. Similar things have likely happened all through history and we ought to be careful about giving them too much power over our thoughts and concerns. Perhaps what I'm thinking belongs in that category as well I suppose.

What worries me the most is that too many people seem to think of reality as gritty, gross, and crass. They see reality through a cynical lens, a view which quite naturally makes all things suspect. That's not exactly appealing.

I prefer the reality of Frank Capra. When at the penultimate moment of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington the Vice President recognizes Jimmy Stewart over Claude Rains during debate in the US Senate I want to jump up and scream 'Yes! That's what I'm talking about!' precisely because it's about the good guy, a really good guy, winning. When George Bailey is back at the bridge where he first met Clarence (in It's a Wonderful Life) begging for his life back and the snow starts falling again, I get chills. The good guy overcomes his cynicism and is rewarded. 

Yes, yes, yes. That may not be reality either. The good guys lose an awful lot, too often, really, in this world. I get that. But they do win sometimes. And if my choice is cynicism or inspiration, well, I'll take Capra's reality all day long.

Grant Smoked

Writing is more than basic grammar, no matter how important that may be. Style plays its part too. Then there's the mechanics of the story. There are certain things you want to establish for the sake of the plot. This includes the traits of the main characters. A writer wants you to get to know them, to understand their feelings, their limitations, the forces they may battle internally or externally. Sometimes you simply want a certain trait exposed, to give the reader an almost physical picture of the man, woman, child, or scene.

I just finished reading a trilogy by Newt Gingrich (yes, the former Congressman, but how many other Newts do you know?) and William Forstchen. They wrote an alternate history of our Civil War. Although I wasn't bowled over, it's not a terrible read. It had quite a few grammar issues which, you would think, a book at that level would not have. That's a distraction. Bad grammar only works situationally. 

But I digress. What bugged me more than the lack of proper Oxford commas were two almost innocuous things. One was the incessant presentation of coffee. Now, I love my cup of joe. Having characters drink coffee will certainly help me relate to them, and in a positive way. Yet every single time more than two people got together Newt and William would make it a point to say, in very certain and repetitive terms, that so and so gave someone coffee. So and so served coffee, and so and so took it and blew across the rim of the cup to cool it before sipping. It wasn't long before I was completely exasperated. We, the readers, understand. Coffee is served at meetings, even councils of war. Can't we safely presume that by the third gathering? Does it really need to be pointed out every damn time someone enters Bobbie Lee's tent?

Then there was General Grant. He smoked cigars, pretty much one after another. I know that because I've studied history, but now because every single time someone approached him Newt and William made it a point to say, "The General struck a match on the table and puffed a cigar to life."

"The General struck a match against his boot and brought his cigar to life."

"Grant dropped his cigar butt to the ground and ground it out with his heel. Then he struck a match against his leather gloves and brought another cigar to life." It was like, we are going to establish the hell out the fact that Grant smoked.

By halfway through the trilogy I was almost screaming, "I GET IT. Grant chain smoked. Shut up about that now! In the name of all that's good and holy, just let us presume Grant was smoking a cigar whenever he appeared. It's very, very clear, Newt! Insanely, crystally clear in fact.

I haven't even gotten into how verbose Newt and William were. But, the immediate writing lesson. Writing is more than grammar, and you only to need to establish something once. You weren't writing a Dick and Jane book, Mr. Gingrich.

Michael's Story (Shameless Plug)

An Amazon reader had this to say about my book Michael's Story: 

A thrilling dystopian ride with an ending you won't see coming! The story follows Michael, who is taken into a mysterious community divided into factions: the Red, the Purple, and the Green. When the community discovers his knack for numbers, they assign him to keep records and analyze statistics. While Dr. Green helps him acclimate to his new life, the Judge works behind the scenes to secure him a better position. However, Michael soon discovers a dark secret—he was actually part of a sinister experiment until he rebelled. With the help of his friend Nathaniel, Michael finds a safe haven outside the community's walls. But when they are discovered, the community destroys his sanctuary and takes his friend with it. Fueled by grief, Michael decides to fight back and orchestrates a war. It is a war that history notes was not won. You will have to read this book to discover exactly how the war was lost and what ultimately happens to Michael. It features an ending that completely subverts expectations!

Thanks, dear reader! To see if their review is accurate, you can look here and here.

O'Rourke and Dentistry

P. J. O'Rourke was one of my favorite pundits. His missive All the Trouble in the World still leaves me roaring with laughter, even on the fifth read. 

He remarked once that for all the people who wished they had lived at earlier times in our history, he had one word: dentistry. Before modern dental practices, dentistry was painful. Oh, it may not be a walk in the until yet. But at least there are anesthetics and pain killers.

I think he's onto something.

Yellow Sky

We in Michigan and several northern tier states are experiencing yellow skies and poor air quality today, due to wildfires in Canada. It also smells as though everybody has a fire pit going. Not very pleasant.

I have no immediate idea what has caused these wildfires, so I should be careful about assessing blame. Yet neither should the global warming enthusiasts be quick to raise their banner.

Government policy can and has led to wildfires. For environmental reasons, in many western states electric companies aren't allowed to clear brush from the base of power line towers. That effectively allows kindling to develop. Add a bolt of lightning or a transmitter shorting out and sending sparks earthward...and you get a wildfire. A decidedly preventable one. 

I haven't even gotten to the old saw that sometimes things just happen. My overriding point is merely that few if any of us really know what causes problems on a case by case basis. So maybe we should treat them case by case unless and until an actual cause becomes demonstrable. 

In a world which thrives on hype I say, yeah. That'll happen.

Not What I Meant

Where's spell check and grammar check when you need it?

I've took to the habit of sending myself texts when I want to remember something. Then, if I don't forget, I can see them later to remind me of whatever is in question.

Yesterday I took a call from a customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who wanted what's called a drop head fitting for his snake cable. I dutifully texted myself that information and went about my business.

This morning I checked my texts. Rather than one saying, Cloyce drop head, I had sent myself the message, Cloyce drop dead.

I mean, we've had our issues, but nothing that serious...

Red Giants

Science can be interesting. But it can scare you too.

I read an article yesterday which said that our Sun will become a red giant star which will consume the Earth as it expands. I thought it said this would be in five million years.

Then I double checked, and it turns out we have five billions years. Boy, did I breath a sigh of relief.

Yeah, slow news day, Ron.

Cooling Agent

Sometimes at the Shop we have to heat things. Maybe two parts won't come apart, maybe a bolt won't loosen; you get the idea. Consequently we keep a large bucket of water near our work bench in case we need to cool hot metal. You know, for safety's sake. Because we Cosgriffs are all about safety.

So one day Pops was heating something or other while fixing a machine for a customer; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. When Dad finished he dropped the red hot whatever into the bucket of water. Cloyce asked, "Is that water, Cosgriff?"

With a twinkle in his eye Pops answered, "No. It's a special chemical compound called H2O".

"Oh," Cloyce responded with about half a laugh.

A few months later Cloyce was back, this time with a friend. Pops was heating something up again, and dropped the part in the water as he finished. Cloyce said to his buddy, "I bet you think that's water, don't you?"

"Uhh, yeah," the guy answered uncertainly.

"Nope. That's a special chemical compound called H2O," Cloyce responded. Dad said you tell that Cloyce was proud of that faux scientific factoid because he clearly did not realize that H2O was water.

"Really?" the man in turn responded, giving a curious eye towards Pops, who simply but mildly shrugged his shoulders. The man himself clearly knew H2O was water, but left it at that.

I believe Dad was happy that he did. After all, he was only cracking a joke however many months ago. He was not out to embarrass old Cloyce. 

Say Cheese

Me Pops had a good friend who hailed from Alabama, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who asked Dad for help driving his family down for a visit one summer. As this was in the days before the Interstate Highway system, it helped on long trips to have two drivers alternate in order to keep moving.

They left on a Friday a bit before Noon. I should add that this also was in the days where Catholics couldn't eat meat on any Friday of the year. Dad was a serious Catholic, even at 20 years old.

Anyway, they made great time, and found themselves approaching an all night diner well after dark. Cloyce gave Mrs. Cloyce some money and told her to buy him, her, and their kids some hamburgers. "But don't get Bill nothing with meat, he can't eat it today," were his final instructions.

Mrs. Cloyce returned a few minutes later with hamburgers. And a cheeseburger for me Pops.

When she realized the brain cramp Mrs. Cloyce apologized profusely. "Don't worry," Dad assured her, "It's about 11:30. Leave it on the dash and I can eat it in a half hour."

No harm, no foul, right?

Let's Get Ready to Rumble

We're all familiar, all too familiar, I might add, with road construction and repair. When those signs appear - left lane closed, two miles and what have you - our hearts sink.

Yet I get it. They want to warn you. They want to give you a heads up. Fair enough.

Then they, that famous they, decided it wasn't enough. Someone developed rumble strips, rubber lines glued to the roadbed to make your car, well, rumble as it sped along. They are placed increasingly closer together as work approaches, to remind you that you need to be considerate, slow down, and change lanes. All right, I get that too.

But now, to go along with the construction advisories and rumble strips, there's a new sign.

The other day as I came upon road work, I was informed that there were rumble strips ahead. So I was being warned of the upcoming warning.

It's actually kind of laughable. Still, things may be getting out of hand.

Bean with Bacon

They say you can't go home again, and there's a great truth to that. But you can get a taste of the old homestead.

Campbell's Bean with Bacon soup. I hadn't had it in years. Of course, I haven't actually been looking. It had fell off my radar. Then I noticed a few cans of it in a Dollar General, and was so tickled that I bought four.

I've already ate two. Just like I used to do as a kid when Mom would serve it up for lunch, I made a big bowl and absolutely inundated it with saltines. That first taste sure brought back memories. It actually seemed as though I were sitting in the kitchen as a boy, Dad at the head of the table, back to the cabinets, Mom to his right, and all us siblings piled around wherever we'd fit.

I can't eat two bowls in one sitting as I could then. Well, I could, but it's not a good idea. It probably wasn't then, either. Yet, well, it tasted like home.

Marty and the Art World

It is said that art is to the artist, by which is meant that art is whatever the artist says it is. I disagree.

I have a very simple yet realistic definition of what makes something art: if I can do it, it ain't art. I'll give you an example: Orange Brown . I can do that. Therefore, it's not art. Yet it actually belongs to the Detroit Institute of Arts, potentially (I haven't looked it up) on the taxpayer's dime.

What is art, then? The Mona Lisa. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Stuart's portrait of Washington which is replicated on the dollar bill. Things like that. Fuzzy orange brown squares and rectangles? I'm going to argue no.

In short, art isn't necessarily what the self proclaimed artist or supposed art experts say it is. The kind of standard applies across the board too. If you think Zinn's Bad History is good history simply because Howard Zinn purports to be an historian, then you ought to rethink the subject. You should certainly rethink Zinn.

Art is what art is, according to rational standards of beauty, talent, and whatever other reasonable standards apply to analyzing art, exactly as history is what it is according to rational standards of history no matter what any given person, even an historian, might say it is. Look beyond the experts, question them, challenge them. If they can't give you good answers, doubt them. Never let them rest on their own word.

Right Turns (Not Political)

I do love Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula. But there are things about it which take adjustment, such as turn signals. You can trust them.

In Detroit, a great big nope goes out to that. A driver may have a signal engaged but it means diddly squat. Maybe they're turning, maybe not, and there's no sense trying to determine which it is. From what I've seen of other major towns, Indianapolis, Columbus, New York City, Dryden (especially Dryden) you simply cannot believe them. The driver is going to do whatever they please. A turn signal if anything means, I haven't decided yet, but you better not cross me.

Yet in the UP, they cast disparaging looks at you when you don't turn right in front of them when their right signal is clearly flashing as you wait to turn yourself. I had one guy noticeably staring me down when I failed to do that. You should have went, his expression said clearly. You must have seen my flasher.

Well, yeah, I did. But from where I live that lacks meaning. It takes me awhile to believe people are actually going to do what their actions indicate. Sorry, UP.

Ten Steps to Huh?

The Smithsonian Channel (everybody has a channel these days) offers some interesting programs. The issues they cover include history, archaeology, and current events. They carry a very interesting British show called Inside the Factory about how foods are made. But there is one program which gets that vein of sophomoric humor in me going. It's called Ten Steps To Disaster.

I'm not sure that's a good idea. I mean, instructing us on how to create disaster? Humanity seems pretty good at that already.

I know that's not what it's about. It's about ten steps that have led to actual disasters, analyzing real historical events. But where's the humor in that?

Cool Ghoul Cloyce

As he sat on the front porch with a cup of coffee one warm summer morning me Pops heard an old friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, coming down the street. "George!" Cloyce was yelling. "Here George! Come here, George!"

Eventually he came into sight. "What's going on, Cloyce?" Pops asked as his friend.

"The dog ran off," his buddy explained. "I'm trying to find him."

"Well, good luck," Dad offered. Then he asked what you would think an obvious question. "The dog's name is George?"

Cloyce bristled just a bit. "Nah, the kids named him Cool Ghoul."  He gave a quick, dismissive wave to me Pops unspoken question, then continued, "But I ain't going around the neighborhood yelling, Cool Ghoul! Here Cool Ghoul!" 

Pops laughed. Eventually Cloyce found George. Er, Cool Ghoul.

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.

July 4, 2026

We're still a great nation which has done great things. While we have our flaws, and who isn't flawed, we exist as a beacon of hope for many. And we are certainly not nearly as bad as even too many Americans seem to think. But hubris, like all error, is endemic to the human condition.

So, I'll grill today and then go see fireworks tonight and be thankful for the blessings of being an American.

God Bless the USA. Happy Independence Day everyone.

Oil's Well That Ends Well

I had a moment of panic yesterday morning. As I went to check the fluids in my new old van, I discovered that the oil cap was gone. There was a one-inch hole in the valve cover where it should have been.

I have no idea what happened exactly. Within reason, I neglected to put it back on the last time I checked the oil. Luckily, I was only about a quart and a half down, and the local auto parts had a new cap for fifteen bucks. So I made sure all the other fluids were good, and you better believe I made certain that every cap was on tight. You know what I did next?

Drove 320 miles to Hessel, in Michigan's glorious Upper Peninsula.

But Marty, shouldn't you have driven around town for a few days to make sure everything was okay?

Aw hell, as me Grandpa Joe would have said. I was otherwise set to go, and it had been driving just fine. What's to wait for?

Indeed. 

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 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 (he did include the resolution within it by the way), and an evolving 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.

Keeping Time

Yesterday I railed against penalty kicks in soccer, and I suppose against the game in general. Yes, I'm that typical American who thinks it's boring, and not the least because it is. But there are things about soccer I like.

You do have to be in excellent shape to play. It can, too, be athletic. Bicycle kick passes and goals are impressive. Soccer is easy and inexpensive, which is great for kids and weekend athletes. 

But what I like most about it is that the referee and the referee only controls the clock. Teams can't simply call time out when game management gets away from them, or merely to make the other squad wait (I'm looking at you, American football). No one with a direct interest in the outcome of a game should control something as integral to fair play as the time. Too many games are, I will argue, won artificially by simply stopping play because it benefits one side to do it. That's aimed at you again, American football.

So yes, soccer has its good points. Particularly that last one.