That's a cute alliterative title for a topic that I seriously worry about.
I'm not talking "pot shots" as in cheap shots, here. I'm talking about political assassination.
Being of a certain age, I lived through the deaths of John Kennedy, his brother Bobby, and Martin Luther King. Nine year old kids shouldn't experience five-syllable words like "assassination," outside of history and references to Abe Lincoln. Nine year old kids shouldn't watch Jack Ruby gun down Oswald live on TV, in the middle of their lunch, as I did.
We watched loonies take pot shots at Jerry Ford and Ronald Reagan. (Odd how, as hated as he was, nobody ever tried to stop Nixon the same way.)
We now have a man who is running for the presidency who is handsome, black, and charismatic. He evokes memories of the Kennedys and King both in his presence and his speeches of hope. And I pray for a new generation of nine year olds that the past doesn't repeat itself.
We recently saw what happened to Benazir Bhutto. Another charismatic campaigner, carrying a message of hope to a distressed country. The terror lives on in a new century.
Oh, stop. Please, God. stop this.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Oh No, It's The Dreaded "Funny Pets" Post
One of my dearest friends is my cat, Shadow. I inherited Shadow from my mother, who passed away six years ago. Like all cats, he's unique. He's not the lover who is eager to please, nor shy and aloof, as cats are well-known to be, at least among non-cat owners.
He's people. Shadow bitches about the weather, doesn't appreciate unexpected guests, is resentful of his sibling's presence. He likes a good nap, but occasionally delights in a fast romp around the house. He politely tells us when it's time to get up, when it's time to eat, and when it's time to go to bed. I some days think he's channeling my mom and dad.
Come into the bedroom on any afternoon, and he'll crack open an eye from his slumber, give us his patented "murrack" sound (no meow from this fellow) in way of acknowledgement, and go back to sleep. Lay down on the bed, and he'll crawl up on your belly, ask for a good scratching of his ears, and plant himself between your legs to continue his nap. You're left with the dilemma of how to move without disturbing him.
No big demands, No drama. He's just...people. Sometimes the greatest things in life are the most simple. The attentions of an old cat are one of those.
He's people. Shadow bitches about the weather, doesn't appreciate unexpected guests, is resentful of his sibling's presence. He likes a good nap, but occasionally delights in a fast romp around the house. He politely tells us when it's time to get up, when it's time to eat, and when it's time to go to bed. I some days think he's channeling my mom and dad.
Come into the bedroom on any afternoon, and he'll crack open an eye from his slumber, give us his patented "murrack" sound (no meow from this fellow) in way of acknowledgement, and go back to sleep. Lay down on the bed, and he'll crawl up on your belly, ask for a good scratching of his ears, and plant himself between your legs to continue his nap. You're left with the dilemma of how to move without disturbing him.
No big demands, No drama. He's just...people. Sometimes the greatest things in life are the most simple. The attentions of an old cat are one of those.
The Three Most Beautiful Women Ever...
....besides my wife, of course.
#3 -- Audrey Hepburn. What a shame we lost her at age 64. I was reminded of her today when I was cruising the news rack, and LIFE has a retrospective magazine on her life. As beautiful as she was in the movies, the candid photos of her off screen are even more amazing. The ballerina poise, the joy her face so often revealed just caught my breath.
#2 -- Christie Brinkley. Now, everything I've ever learned about her personally hasn't exactly endeared her to me, but since we're just talking "beautiful" here, Christie is just about perfect. From the 1970's til now, she causes me to do a double take: The "wow, she's pretty" followed by the "that can't be real". Amazing.
#1 --(drum roll, please.) Ingrid Bergman. Watch "Casablanca" again, and tell me how anyone could be more beautiful than Ingrid Bergman. She's the definition of natural beauty. Not model thin, no one thing you can point to, but...damn. Combined with that voice... she's number one.
Runners up, in no particular order:
Teresa Wright. If that name doesn't ring a bell, it's because she wasn't in the public eye for many years, and not in a long, long time. She's the one who played Greer Garson's ill-fated daughter-in-law in "Mrs. Miniver." I'll bet her performance sold several million dollars of war bonds. Somebody you'd just want to hug and never let go.
Speaking of which: Greer Garson. A woman every man would love to find waiting for him at home.
Elizabeth Mongomery. TV's favorite witch was always bewitching. Another one who left us too soon.
Beverly Sills. Can you think of anyone who would have been more interesting and fun to be with than Beverly Sills?
I think I was born at the wrong time, looking at this list. Everyone but Christie Brinkley is dead, for one reason. Then again, were I not born when I was, life would have not lead me to where I am now, and who I am with; and for whom I wouldn't trade the entire list.
P.S. (1/12/08) How the hell did I forget Valerie Bertinelli?
#3 -- Audrey Hepburn. What a shame we lost her at age 64. I was reminded of her today when I was cruising the news rack, and LIFE has a retrospective magazine on her life. As beautiful as she was in the movies, the candid photos of her off screen are even more amazing. The ballerina poise, the joy her face so often revealed just caught my breath.
#2 -- Christie Brinkley. Now, everything I've ever learned about her personally hasn't exactly endeared her to me, but since we're just talking "beautiful" here, Christie is just about perfect. From the 1970's til now, she causes me to do a double take: The "wow, she's pretty" followed by the "that can't be real". Amazing.
#1 --(drum roll, please.) Ingrid Bergman. Watch "Casablanca" again, and tell me how anyone could be more beautiful than Ingrid Bergman. She's the definition of natural beauty. Not model thin, no one thing you can point to, but...damn. Combined with that voice... she's number one.
Runners up, in no particular order:
Teresa Wright. If that name doesn't ring a bell, it's because she wasn't in the public eye for many years, and not in a long, long time. She's the one who played Greer Garson's ill-fated daughter-in-law in "Mrs. Miniver." I'll bet her performance sold several million dollars of war bonds. Somebody you'd just want to hug and never let go.
Speaking of which: Greer Garson. A woman every man would love to find waiting for him at home.
Elizabeth Mongomery. TV's favorite witch was always bewitching. Another one who left us too soon.
Beverly Sills. Can you think of anyone who would have been more interesting and fun to be with than Beverly Sills?
I think I was born at the wrong time, looking at this list. Everyone but Christie Brinkley is dead, for one reason. Then again, were I not born when I was, life would have not lead me to where I am now, and who I am with; and for whom I wouldn't trade the entire list.
P.S. (1/12/08) How the hell did I forget Valerie Bertinelli?
Friday, January 4, 2008
Cool Site Alert: The Urban Dictionary
From time to time I'll post web sites that have struck my fancy. Here's a good one:
Urban Dictionary: Define Your World
Urban Dictionary: Define Your World
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Old Habits Strike Again...
I've got this habit. It's expensive. It's ultimately fruitless. Yet...
My habit is this:
Stage 1) I discover something that interests me.
Stage 2) I research the shit out of it.
Stage 3) I buy something (usually quite expensive) relating to it.
Stage 4) I use it, and it fails to live up to my lofty expectations.
Stage 5) I move on to next hobby.
It happened again, over the long pause between Christmas and New Year's, and right now, I'm in that euphoric Stage Two phase, where I'm learning everything I can. Ah, the excitement.
What is it this time, you ask, impatiently...
Bicycles.
Bicycles? Aren't you a little old for that, you might ask?
Oh, no, I answer to myself... I could use the exercise. And besides, it's not just any bicycle I'm interested in, it's OLD bicycles. Not the cute 1950's cruisers Schwinn built either, nor the ever popular Stingrays, like the ones we had when we were kids. I wish it were that easy.
No, I've become fascinated with rare, obscure Italian, French, and English racing bikes. You know the kind; the ones that are as lean as greyhounds chasing stuffed rabbits at the track.
The ones that used to fly over the Pyrenees and down cobble-stone roads, their riders battling for position in the Tour de France -- before everyone wore helmets and the bikes were made of aluminum, titanium, and lately, carbon-fiber.
Of all my hobbies, the word OLD always seems to enter into it, someplace. Old race cars. Old cameras. Old rifles. Old furniture. Old motorcycles. Old houses. Usually, that means stuff built back before the war. That's THE war, WWII, for the record, not the mamby-pamby police actions we get into these days and are unable to extract ourselves.
There's something about OLD that never ceases to interest me. In the age before computers, we found a way to build highly complex devices that were durable, attractive, and held their value. A Stickley desk, a Garand rifle, a Hasselblad camera has stood the test of time, and will outlast their modern replacements. Psychological note: maybe it's my way of wishing that what I have to offer will outlast me. Unfortunately, I don't think so...
But back to bikes: The technology change has been so swift in bicycling, that bikes built as little as 20 years ago are considered OLD in ways only someone young can understand. To the rest of us, they look, well, like bicycles should look.
They're made of steel, of course. Good quality Reynolds 531 tubing was the norm. Frames weren't welded together on these war horses, either. They were delicately brazed with a torch and solder, the corners mated with lugged joints that were often ornately carved and decorated by their creators. For a good example of this, Google "Hetchins Bicycles." The company still exists, unlike many of their far-larger English brethren of the period. They still make frames. About twelve a year. They cost a fortune. I just saw two of their less-ornate frames (Not bikes!) auction on Ebay for over $1,500 each. They were 30 years old, scratched and faded.
The Italians, oh, the Italians! What they could do with tubing. What the craftsmen of Torino, Rome, and Milan made for Ferarri and Ducati, they first learned by building fine bicycles.
The French, famous for their idiosyncrasies, offered the same to the bike racing world. Different, beautiful, sometimes odd, but always unique and functional.
And what of America?
Well, by God, we didn't do half bad, up until the late 70's, anyway. Schwinn, yes, good old bombproof, balloon-tire Schwinn made a true world-class bike for almost twenty years. Their Schwinn race bike took most all its parts from Europe, it is true, but it was torched together in the USA and is still very much in demand. In the days when you could buy a regular Schwinn 10-speed for a hundred and thirty bucks, a Schwinn race bike would have set you back five hundred. The were so expensive, the dealers had to pay for them in advance, not FOB as was the norm for the rest of their extensive line of products.
There are still boutique builders out there. One little company, with the silly name of "Vanilla" makes frames so desirable the current waiting list is five years long. Guys all over the world are still gassing-together bikes like in the "old days," using Reynolds 531 or newer, lighter steels, and charging big bucks for it. Reminds me of the car hobby. There's always somebody who'll pay for quality and exclusivity.
So, if you want to get in on the ground floor to supplement your retirement nest egg, start scrounging the local Starvation Army for old bikes with weird names. Ebay awaits. Or, better yet, call me. I haven't reached Stage Three yet. But hurry.
My habit is this:
Stage 1) I discover something that interests me.
Stage 2) I research the shit out of it.
Stage 3) I buy something (usually quite expensive) relating to it.
Stage 4) I use it, and it fails to live up to my lofty expectations.
Stage 5) I move on to next hobby.
It happened again, over the long pause between Christmas and New Year's, and right now, I'm in that euphoric Stage Two phase, where I'm learning everything I can. Ah, the excitement.
What is it this time, you ask, impatiently...
Bicycles.
Bicycles? Aren't you a little old for that, you might ask?
Oh, no, I answer to myself... I could use the exercise. And besides, it's not just any bicycle I'm interested in, it's OLD bicycles. Not the cute 1950's cruisers Schwinn built either, nor the ever popular Stingrays, like the ones we had when we were kids. I wish it were that easy.
No, I've become fascinated with rare, obscure Italian, French, and English racing bikes. You know the kind; the ones that are as lean as greyhounds chasing stuffed rabbits at the track.
The ones that used to fly over the Pyrenees and down cobble-stone roads, their riders battling for position in the Tour de France -- before everyone wore helmets and the bikes were made of aluminum, titanium, and lately, carbon-fiber.
Of all my hobbies, the word OLD always seems to enter into it, someplace. Old race cars. Old cameras. Old rifles. Old furniture. Old motorcycles. Old houses. Usually, that means stuff built back before the war. That's THE war, WWII, for the record, not the mamby-pamby police actions we get into these days and are unable to extract ourselves.
There's something about OLD that never ceases to interest me. In the age before computers, we found a way to build highly complex devices that were durable, attractive, and held their value. A Stickley desk, a Garand rifle, a Hasselblad camera has stood the test of time, and will outlast their modern replacements. Psychological note: maybe it's my way of wishing that what I have to offer will outlast me. Unfortunately, I don't think so...
But back to bikes: The technology change has been so swift in bicycling, that bikes built as little as 20 years ago are considered OLD in ways only someone young can understand. To the rest of us, they look, well, like bicycles should look.
They're made of steel, of course. Good quality Reynolds 531 tubing was the norm. Frames weren't welded together on these war horses, either. They were delicately brazed with a torch and solder, the corners mated with lugged joints that were often ornately carved and decorated by their creators. For a good example of this, Google "Hetchins Bicycles." The company still exists, unlike many of their far-larger English brethren of the period. They still make frames. About twelve a year. They cost a fortune. I just saw two of their less-ornate frames (Not bikes!) auction on Ebay for over $1,500 each. They were 30 years old, scratched and faded.
The Italians, oh, the Italians! What they could do with tubing. What the craftsmen of Torino, Rome, and Milan made for Ferarri and Ducati, they first learned by building fine bicycles.
The French, famous for their idiosyncrasies, offered the same to the bike racing world. Different, beautiful, sometimes odd, but always unique and functional.
And what of America?
Well, by God, we didn't do half bad, up until the late 70's, anyway. Schwinn, yes, good old bombproof, balloon-tire Schwinn made a true world-class bike for almost twenty years. Their Schwinn race bike took most all its parts from Europe, it is true, but it was torched together in the USA and is still very much in demand. In the days when you could buy a regular Schwinn 10-speed for a hundred and thirty bucks, a Schwinn race bike would have set you back five hundred. The were so expensive, the dealers had to pay for them in advance, not FOB as was the norm for the rest of their extensive line of products.
There are still boutique builders out there. One little company, with the silly name of "Vanilla" makes frames so desirable the current waiting list is five years long. Guys all over the world are still gassing-together bikes like in the "old days," using Reynolds 531 or newer, lighter steels, and charging big bucks for it. Reminds me of the car hobby. There's always somebody who'll pay for quality and exclusivity.
So, if you want to get in on the ground floor to supplement your retirement nest egg, start scrounging the local Starvation Army for old bikes with weird names. Ebay awaits. Or, better yet, call me. I haven't reached Stage Three yet. But hurry.
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