jebswebs

Adding Google Analytics to your Blogger account

2012-01-26T16:00:00.000-05:00

Just learned this so I figured I should share:

Assuming you already have a Google Analytics (GA) account, you need to create a new "property" for your account. Call it "Blogger: Name of your blog" or something like that. When you have been assigned a Tracking ID for this new property, you need to add this to your Blogger account.

With the latest version of Blogger adding your GA Tracking Code is very easy. Simply log in to your Blogger blog > go to Dashboard > Select "Settings" (at the bottom left) > Select "Other" > Scroll to the bottom and see the place where you put your Google Analytics code (e.g., UA-xxxxxxx-xx). Put just the Tracking ID number in; no quote marks or any Javascript is needed. > Click "Save Settings" at the top of the page. Google will do the rest.

Check GA in a week or so and see how much traffic is coming to your Blogger account.

Time Warner - Are you listening?

2012-01-26T10:44:00.003-05:00

I am not a big fan of my cable and internet provider, Time Warner. Yes, they are infinitely better than my previous cable supplier, Adelphia; the company whose CEO and president were sent to prison for corruption. And yes, I have been pleased with the rather impressive download speeds (between 20 - 30 Mbps) I have been experiencing since switching over from Fairpoint's DSL about 10 months ago. But I have not been impressed with upload speeds in the neighborhood of 1 Mbps. At least with DSL I was getting uploads around 2 Mbps. I do a lot of uploads in a day and time is money.

With this as a background, I was thrilled to receive an e-mail yesterday that stated this:

Your Internet just got faster!

Time Warner Cable is happy to announce we have increased your Internet speed. Now you'll have even more speed to do what you love on the Internet - at speeds even faster than before - at the same great price!

This increase is already complete, and you didn't have to do a thing. We've already upgraded our equipment, and your modem has been updated.

Your new Broadband Turbo download speed is up to 20 Mbps, and your upload speed is up to 2 Mbps, increases of 33% and 100%!

Excitedly, I immediately checked my speed with Speedtest.net and was gleeful when the meter for download struck around 30 Mbps. But this was tempered when the upload speed was still registering 0.97 Mbps. I checked again, this time using Roadrunner's own speed testing application. Same results. Hmmm.

Ironically, I had called Time Warner just last week because my upload speed was almost nonexistent. A quick "chat" with one of their "analysts" using the Time Warner Support Desk and I had the modem re-booted and re-set and was content and back to my advertised "up to 1 Mbps" upload speed So, from this experience I knew what my upload speeds were a week ago, and clearly, despite the announcement, there was no "100% increase" today.

So I decided to call them on it and within a few minutes was texting away, chatting with "Benjamin" on the Time Warner Support Desk. We checked thing and tested again, re-set the modem, re-booted the modem and each time kept getting the same numbers. Benjamin eventually looked up my account and replied that I was only supposed to be getting "up to 1 Mbps." In response, I sent him the text of the announcement and a link to a web version of the same.

He said he would expedite me to another analyst.

Two analysts later I had now spent over an hour, re-booting, re-setting, and explaining my tale. "Sharam" is not very sympathetic and eventually gives me the same "company line" about my service contract only calling for "up to ONE Mbps" in upload speed.

In disgust I tell him he's not been helpful, then fill out the on-line evaluation giving Time Warner the lowest ratings I can and one more time explaining my plight. Fifteen minutes later, I receive an automated telephone call from Time Warner asking me to again rate my experience with their customer service. Once again, I give them failing grades. By that time I had wasted two hours on the damn thing.

So what should appear last night in my e-mail....? Read the following:

Dear Valued Turbo Internet Customer:

Earlier today you received an email from us announcing increased Broadband Internet speeds.

We apologize to you for sending that email prematurely. While Time Warner Cable plans to increase your Broadband speeds at no additional charge this year, the faster speeds are not yet available in your area. Please disregard the earlier email. We will contact you again when the new speeds are available.

We’re sorry for any inconvenience this has caused, and appreciate your loyalty as a Time Warner Cable Turbo Internet customer.

I'm not sure if I should be happy or sad. But at least they appear to be listening...

Christmas Blog 2011

2011-12-03T13:30:00.001-05:00

It has been a rollercoaster of “weather events” this year: our first northeast hurricane in many years, the Boxing Day Blizzard, the April Fools’ snowstorm, the Halloween snowstorm, the Thanksgiving snowstorm, and even an earthquake. Following the Halloween storm, the temps shot back up and I got to play one more round of golf with and among some piles of the white stuff. One more of the many interesting “hazards” my ball seemed to find this year.

Facebook and the web continue to provide some interesting connections with things and people from the past. Digging through elementary school memorabilia has been “interesting.” It is fascinating to see what our in common Catholic School educational experience has wrought.

This has been a year which brought more in the way of family reunions: a wonderful wedding in Vermont (which occurred in synch with that April snowstorm), and a wild birthday/anniversary party in Connecticut that reconnected distant cousins. This was a year for some family becoming first-time grandparents as more of the younger relatives acquired new additions to their families. I even attended my first Mets game in 40 years. This was in honor of sister Sigrid’s 60th b-day; and the Mets won.

The year 2011 also included loss and hardship. My prayers are with those in need and those closest to the departed, may they live with only cherished memories.

I continue to be gainfully self-employed (jebswebs.com) but understand more and more what that healthcare insurance thing is all about. Again, it’s been an okay business year; “could have been better.” Need a web presence? – give me a shout jeb@jebswebs.com

Finally, the container garden on my porch produced mixed results this summer. The green peppers and the basil were rather blah, but the tomatoes were grand. We are trying to grow indoor basil this winter; we’ll see.

I close by wishing you the Merriest of Christmases and Happiest of New Year’s. May you and yours be filled with the Spirit of the Season!

~john

Occupy iTunes

2011-11-30T12:00:00.001-05:00

I made a quick perusal of the "holiday" apps available in the Apple iTunes App Store today. Over the past few years I have downloaded a few of the free holiday apps to amuse my family on the holidays. My sister got a particular kick out of one that made my iPod sound like jingle bells when I shook it.

I am always interested in the free apps since most of the ones I have accumulated over the past few years remain unused on my various i-devices.

So what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a list of 50 apps listed under "holidays" with only eleven of which were free. Most of the free ones were pretty simple but one of them just seems so wrong. You be the judge - here's the description:

Welcome to Millionaire City, where you can become a powerhouse CEO and watch the money roll in all from the convenience of your iPad.

Build your monopoly from the ground up by creating luxurious houses, crowded commercial skyscrapers, gorgeous decorations and unique world wonders. Use Facebook Connect to start playing with ease. The more friends you have playing the more money you will get! Make smart investments, take risks, care for your properties, and watch your company grow!

Features:
Earn your riches as you build your company from the ground up as the CEO
Purchase property, build houses, and sign contracts to help your company grow
Complete missions to earn more and get hours of entertainment
Discover a wide range of luxurious items in the marketplace
Fun and easy iPad controls
Count your money as you listen to golden music

Here is the link if you absolutely need to have this app!

Happy Turkey Day

2011-11-23T11:29:00.001-05:00

Woke up to the sounds of plows and snow-blowers. Looks to be about a foot in Augusta. Ho, ho, gobble, gobble....

~j

Recycling

2011-10-27T22:18:00.000-04:00

Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain's sudden rise in the polls has been rather fascinating. But I finally figured out why he's so hot.

You know how the Republicans are always talking about being "fiscally conservative" - you know, that code phrase for being cheapskates? Well, I'm guessing that the Republicans figure that they can save a lot of money on campaign advertising by being creative.

And whoever said the Republicans were not into recycling...?

This says it all...

2011-10-06T11:33:00.000-04:00

Thanks, Steve.

Wine Glasses

2011-09-16T20:23:00.001-04:00

I’ve moved a number of times over the years and, during the years 1990 to 1996, I managed to cover two states, four homes and a many hundreds of miles. Perhaps it was all that packing and unpacking that caused me to get so lazy that when I finally settled in Augusta, Maine I ended up just stacking boxes in closets and cabinets, never opening and displaying the contents.

Sixteen years later, I am settled and not considering any new moving ventures. So, when I broke a wine glass tonight, I figured it was safe to finally open a dusty box of wine glasses that I had stored on the shelf of a cabinet I have in the dining area.

My first surprise was the fact that behind the dusty box of medium sized wine glasses there was another box containing six smaller desert-wine glasses. These were sealed with masking tape that I think may have been last used when I lived in New Hampshire. That would make the sealing job be circa 1983; I washed the glasses very thoroughly.

The box containing the medium size wine glasses that I was replacing had only three left. This means that I have destroyed a grand total of three wine glasses in 31 year. At this rate, and including the three larger goblets I still have on the shelf, I’ll be good until 2042. If I count all of the glasses, I'm good until until 2120. I'll be 182 years old.

Cheers.

September 11th

2011-09-07T11:11:00.000-04:00

There have been, and will be, a number of memorials this week. This one by Yahoo, which in only eight minutes long details the new National September 11 Memorial and Museum, is one of the better ones.

View the The National September 11 Memorial and Museum video

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Photo credit: Licensed by Creative Commons by Wikipedia

Halloween Ideas

2011-08-31T11:06:00.001-04:00

With the approach of Fall and Halloween, I figured you needed some ideas for "what to wear."

Here you go:

For more information or to order, visit the A Christmas Story House - Gift Shop. Just be careful you don't shoot your eye out.

One more story about Andrew Wyeth

2011-07-05T16:24:00.001-04:00

As you know, I am a bit of an Andrew Wyeth fan and have had a couple of close encounters with his work. Here is the link to My Wyeth Story and the follow up - More Wyeth Lore. You'll have to read the first story to understand the rest of this post.

This past week it was announced that the Olsen House, the site/location of the famous Andrew Wyeth painting, Christina's World, has been designate a national landmark. Here is a story from Boston.com. In honor of the designation, The Farnsworth Museum has arranged for another exhibit of the Christina's World "studies" described in my story. I recently visited the Wyeth Center at the Farnsworth in Rockland to re-connect with the painting and the studies. This time, I was able get a little closer and noticed that you can definitely see the rust marks.

Finally, from reading the Boston.com story listed above, I learned that Andrew Wyeth is buried in Hathorn Cemetery located adjacent to the Olsen House. See Find-a-Grave for map

So, if you are a Wyeth fan you can see the studies, visit the site and visit Andrew's grave all in one day.

Deleting photos in Facebook

2011-07-04T14:44:00.001-04:00

A relative of mine, new to Facebook (FB), sent a note asking how to delete photos/images he had posted to his Facebook account. Like all thing in Facebook, deleting photos is not easy. Here are the directions as of today...no guarantee that they will not be changed in the future:

You can only delete the photos you have posted, not all of the photos you may appear in that others have posted (see more info below):

Go to your Facebook profile page by clicking on your name or FB icon.
Click on Photos link (below your name), you will see all of the Albums you have created.
Click on the Album which contains the photo(s) you wish to delete.
Click Edit Album link just below the Album name. It will say something like: "By John... (Albums) • Updated about 2 months ago • Taken at Brooklyn, NY • Edit Album"
In the Edit Album pop-up box that appears - in the lower left corner click "Edit photos."
On the next page you will be able to edit/delete any of the photos or the whole Album.
Curse FB for making this and everything they do insanely difficult.

Note: If someone has posted a photo of you in their Facebook account, the only way to get it removed is to ask them to remove it. You can "block" the user or "report" the photo (this is reserved for reporting offensive photos and images), but this would be overkill. If the person refuses, I guess they are not really your "friend."

Feel free to comment if I have missed anything.

Smoking Punk

2011-06-13T16:58:00.001-04:00

Someone posted a message in the Jean Shepherd listserv today about "smoking punks." I knew exactly what he was talking about. He wrote:

PUNKS, a primal odor that must be encoded into our DNA.

As kids, we'd light a punk and hold it between our teeth. It was supposed to repel mosquitoes but the real attraction was the curling tendrils of delicate smoke. I imagine Paleolithic campfires smelled like punks.

Years passed and the ancient folkways disappeared. DEET reigned supreme. It may be toxic but, by gum, it does the job.

But my take on "smoking punks" took a different bend. I responded:

Wow this brings a blast to some hidden recesses of my brain. Haven’t thought of “punks” – at least not this type – for a long time. Their official purpose was supposed to be for the lighting off of illicit fireworks which of course were illegal in NYC. Every summer for several years I would invest in a package and “smoke” them surreptitiously around the old Brooklyn neighborhood. I am not sure if the punks were the only attraction. I was a bit of a pyro in those days and the use of illicit matches was also an allure.

Apparently the circumstances were different in Connecticut where we traveled each summer for our annual two week vacation. There the use of punks as an insect repellant was totally acceptable and we were allowed to “smoke” them. There was even an old 8mm home movie of me circa 1963 sitting around a campfire with punk in mouth. Yes, yes, I was communing with my Paleolithic ancestors…

Thankfully, the film was lost, but I think I still have some scars on my hands and wrists from burns associated with the careless use of the dang things.

And if, after reading this, you need to go and invest in some punk to smoke. Here are some links where you can still buy the stuff.

Vermont Country Store

Sparklers, Smoke, etc.

Big fireworks

Old Pictures

2011-06-06T14:10:00.002-04:00

I was cruising the web one night when I came upon a website devoted to a late 19th - early 20th Century French artist named Maurice Utrillo. I remembered that, as a child, we had "prints" of several of Utrillo's works hanging up in our Brooklyn apartment living room. I think they survived the move out to Queens in the early '70s and were hung in our "rumpus room" basement. I hadn't thought of the name for years and as a curiosity, sought out and found two images which I recall.

From reading Utrillo's bio on Wikipedia, he died in 1955 around the time my parents got married and set up the apartment. I suspect they were prints that someone either gave them as a present, or perhaps my mother liked them and purchased them for the new apartment. We'll never know. But here are the prints. I've including information below where these came from if you are interested in purchasing them. No copyright violations are intended. The bottom one I believe is entitled: Le Maison de Mimi (Mimi's house). Not sure about the top one. Anyone know?

Photos from two locations: All Experts; SuperStock

Follow up Letter from Roger Katz

2011-05-21T14:50:00.000-04:00

Today, I received this letter from Maine State Senator Roger Katz regarding my letter to him on the de-funding of MPBN:

May 17, 2011

Dear John,

Thank you for recently contacting me. I will work hard to keep MPBN funding fully in place. I believe it plays a critical role in Maine’s civic debate and is one of the few places you can find thoughtful, more investigatory journalism on the radio, and on a state-wide basis. I have been and continue to be a big fan, and will do all I can to keep funding in place.

Thank you for writing to me. Please feel free to weigh in on issues in the future; it helps me do a better job.

Sincerely,

Roger Katz
State Senator

At least we got one vote.

Space Shuttle Endeavour

2011-05-16T13:51:00.001-04:00

Alan Shephard in Freedom 7 - May 5, 1961

Space Shuttle Endeavour - May 16, 2011

A little more than 50 years ago, Astronaut Alan Shephard became the second man and the first American in space. At the time I was 8 years old and in third grade. I don't remember the event exactly, but I am fairly certain we watched as Freedom 7 - the capsule on top of the Mercury-Redstone 3 rocket lifted off at about 9:30 in the morning. As was to become the custom for space launches that took place during school time (and they all seemed to in those days), the nuns had us say some prayers before the flight.

Like hundreds of millions of kids, I was hooked on the space race from that time on. So this morning, I stayed home and missed the beginning of a meeting so I could watch the final launch of space shuttle Endeavour, as she lifted off from Cape Kennedy on STS-134.

I may have said a little said a little prayer.

Save the Maine Public Broadcasting Network

2011-05-13T17:42:00.003-04:00

UPDATE: Monday, May 16, 2011 is the Legislative hearing. You can also sign a petition on-line to express your opinion to save MPBN - Paul LePage vs. MPBN http://signon.org/s/OIO2sY #signon

I e-mailed this letter today to my State Senator after hearing about the Maine Republicans' assault on the Maine Public Broadcasting Network (MPBN). For the background, please see this.

Dear Senator Katz,

I’m hoping that you will break with your Republican colleagues and stand up for the Maine Public Broadcasting Network and not support cuts in state financial support. This organization is the only source for unbiased, accurate and thorough news in Maine. It provides the only television programming worth viewing and is an oasis in the sea of increasingly seamy and moronic programming on commercial and cable broadcasting.

When I first heard the birds chirping with Robert J. Lurtsema and Morning Pro Musica on WMEM in Presque Isle in 1978, I fell in love with Maine Public Radio and have remained a supporter ever since. MPBN’s broadcasting is part of the reason why Maine is Maine: unique, distinct, invaluable.

It is amazing how for 30 years the Democrats were able to find ways to balance State budgets and still support programs that helped people, educated the young, cultivated the arts, and enriched the lives of Maine’s citizens. It seems all the Republicans want to do is ruin everything that I have valued in this my adopted home.

There are many sacred cows being protected and sacrificial lambs being slaughtered by people in the Maine Legislature this year; it is indeed a very sad time for our wonderful home. I am hoping you will have the clarity of thought and the leadership to stop this.

Sincerely,

John E. Brandt

New Views

2011-04-07T11:59:00.003-04:00

Just read an announcement in the Blogger news of "new views" offered to Blogger-bloggers. I am posting this to check out the new links. I'm guessing this would be great for bloggers what are mostly images.

Flipcard: available at http://jebswebs.blogspot.com/view/flipcard

Mosaic: available at http://jebswebs.blogspot.com/view/mosaic

Sidebar:available at http://jebswebs.blogspot.com/view/sidebar

Snapshot: available at http://jebswebs.blogspot.com/view/snapshot

Timeslide: available at http://jebswebs.blogspot.com/view/timeslide

So these are apparently designed to compete with the "Archive" feature that Tumblr has. Wish Google would concentrate on fixing this crappy content editor and add accessibility features into Blogger rather than this fluff. I guess you get what you pay for...

Think Spring

2011-04-07T11:53:00.001-04:00

Here in Maine, it is very far from looking like the spring.

On my other blog, the jebswebs business blog, I just posted a new spring photo into the heading; this is wishful thinking. I was/am tired of looking at the snow in the previous heading and even though everything here is very brown…still with patches of that white stuff…I am hopeful that within a few weeks it will start to be spring like in Maine.

Ah…mud season in Maine...

Photo credit: Licensed by Creative Commons by tejvanphotos

Hey Cap’n, how’s Popeye?

2011-03-19T15:08:00.016-04:00

A St. Patrick's Day story...a wee bit late.

I could have been no older than ten or eleven, during the age of AM transistor radios and comic books. With my Wilroot Cream Oil pompadour well quaffed and dressed in my well-pressed Sunday-best, I made way into the brightly lit lobby of The Town Hall accompanied by my sisters, Mom and Dad. We were attending an Irish concert with “friendly sons” was what I knew - The Friendly Sons of St. Patrick Glee Club to be precise - and Mr. O'Brien was to be singing.

“Will George and Sean be there?” I asked repeatedly, not really interested in the concert. In my mind a glee club concert had about as much appeal as Sunday church.

George and Sean O'Brien were the eldest sons of an Irish family of nine. George, a year older than me and Sean, a year younger, were the closest in age to me. There were two girls in the family and a bunch of little kids whose names I could never remember. Most of them bore authentic Irish names like Liam and Clancy and they all looked the same. Pesky Margaret was my age and Mary an ancient 15 or 16 years of age thought that the boys were yucky; the feeling was mutual. The O'Brien girls and my sisters got along fine but avoided us boys when the two families gathered except when there was some all-out battle game involving the boys against the girls.

The O'Brien's used to be our neighbors in Brooklyn, living in "205," the building across from ours in Clinton Hill. But they had moved out to Long Island a bunch of years earlier and now the two families only gathered about 3-4 times per year for events that were always memorable.

The O'Brien compound was the perfect setting for families with lots of kids. The spacious back yard easily accommodated our broods plus a couple of dozen friends and neighborhood kids. There were bicycles and scooters of all sizes and every kind of kid toy imaginable; family visits would always be raucous and energetic.

For summertime visits our family would usually arrive in the early afternoon and stay well into the evening. The adults would partake in a fair amount of liquid libations and by supper time all the adults were pretty juiced and loudly singing Irish songs, including my Swedish father who secretly wished to be an Irishman. He had married my mother, a first generation immigrant from County Sligo and after she died, he married a lass from County Galway. A concert of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick was just the kind of thing he loved.

Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Murphy, another one of our parents’ friends, would take turns singing solos of old Irish ballads well into the night. Us kids would be insanely running around the dimly-lit backyard frantically trying to catch lighting bugs or playing hide and go seek. Eventually my sisters and I, sleepy and exhausted, would be piled into the back seat of our Ford Fairlane and magically wake up in our own beds the next morning.

Soon we were parked in our plush red seats located a few inches from the ornate ceiling of the historic old theater. I instantly enjoyed my eagle-perched perspective, spying on the people below as they settled into their seats. It was sorta like the upper deck at Yankee Stadium without the soda and pretzels and beer.

I was just about settled when I spotted Sean O'Brien racing across the main aisle below us. In my loudest Brooklyn street-voice I shouted to him and stood up waving my arms wildly to get his attention. My parents instantly commanded me to sit down and be quiet. But Sean had spotted me and as he was making his way up the crowded stairs, I noticed George was right behind him. Within a minute the O'Brien boys were at our seats gushing with important news.

“You’ll never guess who’s here? We just saw him!” Sean spat out breathlessly, his tie already loosened from his neck and sweat spotting his forehead.

“Who, who?” I heard myself answering, eager to hear that maybe it was some movie star or a baseball player or someone neat.

“Cap’n Jack!” he shouted as he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

In unison, my sister and I repeated, “Cap’n Jack? THE Cap’n Jack?!!!”

Those of you of a certain age, who lived in the NY City area in the 50’s and 60’s, know who Captain Jack McCarthy was. To the rest of you let me explain.

Jack McCarthy was a local New York “television personality” who served as news anchor, announcer and general utility player for WPIX- Channel 11, one of the three independent television stations in the NY Metropolitan area. In the early 60’s McCarthy took on perhaps his most famous role, the host of the daily “Popeye Show,” and every weekday afternoon at precisely 5:30 pm every kid in the region was poised in front of their TV sucking up Cap'n Jack's every word.

Dressed in a faux captain’s uniform, complete with a double-breasted, brass-buttoned, black jacket with gold trim and a black brimmed, white uniform hat, the good captain appeared resplendent each afternoon on our Hallicrafter’s black and white TV. As the “Popeye the Sailor Man” theme song came to an end, Cap’n Jack would appear clanging a large brass ship’s bell announcing, “Three bells, 5:30, time for The Popeye Show….”

Captain Jack, with his white wavy hair and crisp Irish features was the quintessential good guy. During the course of the half-hour show, he preached to us to “do good things” and “be helpful to mom and dad” in between 2-3 episodes of Popeye and assorted commercials. Under Cap’n Jack’s watchful eye, New York City kid-dom absorbed these cartoon episodes of Popeye eating his spinach, engaging in general merriment with his friends Olive Oyl, Whimpie, and Swee’Pea and dutifully handling daily run-ins with his arch-nemesis Bluto/Brutus. It was grand, classic 50’s schlock. We loved it.

Without asked permission, my sister and I jumped up and followed George and Sean down the narrow steep stairs and across the theater to the box seat section at the foot of the balcony. Moments later we came to a full stop and with bulging eyes stared at a white haired gentleman with a ruddy complexion seated a few feet away. The first thing I noticed was that he was not in uniform. But it sure looked like Cap’n Jack.

Putting out heads together the conversation went something like this:

“You go over...”

“No, you…”

“What should I say?”

“I don’t know, just go over to him and say hello.”

“You come with me.”

“No, YOU go.”

By now we were making so much commotion that the white haired man turned in our direction to see what was going on. He looked right at me and smiled. I smiled back and in a loud voice said, “Hey Capt’n Jack, how’s Popeye?”

Brilliant.

My sister and friends started giggling at the absurdity of my statement. We all flittered around when Captain Jack spoke, his voice instantly familiar, somehow proving that our eyes were not playing tricks on us. This was the REAL Cap’n Jack McCarthy.

“Hi boys and girls - how are you this evening?”

In unison we all said, “good” in that sing-song kinda way kids do, looking sheepish and uncomfortable when talking to adults in authority. Captain Jack, after all, did have authority, AND he was friends with Popeye. Though by age 10 I knew that cartoon figures were imaginary, I was still of that innocent age when imagination was where I still spent most of my time. Being in the presence of Popeye’s friend Captain Jack McCarthy was simply monumental.

Captain Jack engaged us in some small talk, “...and how old are you…and what’s your name...” each of us chirping back a banal response. Finally the good Captain firmly suggested that we head back to our seats because the curtain was going up soon – whatever that meant.

The Friendly Sons soon appeared on the grand stage replete in their black morning coats, striped trousers and crisp white ties. They perfectly sang countless Irish songs most of which I had never heard before. We strained from out lofty perch to see Mr. O'Brien who we eventually spotted in the front row on the left side. He looked tiny.

At the intermission, we went back to see Captain Jack again but he had already retired to the lounge apparently for a pick-me-up. When we saw him later, his face was a bit more “ruddy.”

Over the years that followed, long after the Captain had hung up his uniform, Jack McCarthy remained a fixture on WPIX and every St. Patrick’s Day appeared as the anchor for station's annual coverage of the parade up Fifth Avenue. The story is that WPIX was experimenting with the TV cameras used for Yankee home games and had planned to only broadcast 30 minutes of the parade that first year. When the switchboard lit up with instant fans, the station extended the coverage and eventually would broadcast five hours of the parade that year and every year. When television sets turned to color in the 1970s I first noticed that Captain Jack’s face would get redder and redder as the parade moved along each St. Patrick's Day. I’m sure it was just the raw March wind…

According to his New York Times obituary, McCarthy kept up his parade job until announcing his retirement in 1989 after 41 years as “TVs Mr. St. Patrick’s Day.” He died in 1996, seven years later at the age of 81, the same year as my dad.

My sister, who lives in New Jersey, heads over to Fifth Avenue almost every St. Patrick’s Day to march with the alumni of her Alma Mater. This year, as I do every year, I asked her if Cap’n Jack was there. She simply replies, “I didn’t see him.”

But we sure know he was there.

Grammys

2011-02-13T16:39:00.000-05:00

Tonight, people who are "into music" will watch The Grammy Awards live on TV. I long ago lost interest. Guess I am an old fart since I don't even know the names of most of the people up for album of the year.

The last time I paid any attention to the Grammy Awards...

"Ga-ga" was the only words Lady Gaga knew how to speak....
I was rooting for The Police to win Song of the Year for Every Breath You Take.
Boys who wore their hair like Justin Bieber were called Beatles.

Suffice it to say, I shan't be viewing tonight.

What were you doing 25 years ago today?

2011-01-28T11:02:00.005-05:00

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was living in a rented house on Wells Beach Maine and had cobbled together a series of part time jobs to make ends meet. That particular day I was a teaching an undergraduate class in developmental psychology at St. Joseph’s College in Windham. The class met on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10:30 am. January 28, 1986 was a Tuesday.

As was my pattern in those days, I left the house around 9:00 am for the 10:30 class, and on this particular cold morning, I left a little early so I could stop at Wells High School to drop off my rent. My landlord at the time was the principal of WHS and I was figuring that I could save the 22 cents postage by dropping off the check. My landlord was a friend of a friend and it was also a nice diversion.

That particular morning an overnight “clipper” had swept through southern Maine covered the ground with a thin layer of snow making the roads a little greasy despite the fact that the sun was now brightly shining. Those conditions would play a significant role in my day.

Money was tight in 1986 and I was still driving an old Mercury LN-7 with about 90,000 miles on it. The LN-7, sold as a “sporty car” not a “sports car,” had been driven cross-country in the summer of ’82 and I had put about 9,000 miles on it on that trip alone. By 1986, she was tired, but the old lady started every morning and was still getting 40 miles to the gallon on the highway.

That car, like most of the stuff coming out of Detroit in the late 70s and early 80s was a real turkey when it came to strength and power. They built cars cheap and light to give them better fuel economy. This resulted in the car having absolutely no pick-up. On the summer trip I remember having to downshift to second gear to be able to make it over the Rockies at the embarrassing rate of 20 mph.

On that particular morning as I drove into the driveway of Wells High School the thin layer of snow on the untreated roadbed was more than the LN-7 could handle. As I attempted to make the slight left hand turn in the driveway where a score of busses has just passed and compressed the snow into a layer of slick ice, the LN-7 kept her forward momentum and failed to make the turn. Traveling a mere 5 mph or less, given the conditions, I was not worried when the front right tire kissed the curb and vaulted the car to the left. It was only after I had stopped and then attempted to proceed that I noticed that there was something seriously wrong with the steering system. I assumed that I may have just knocked the steering alignment out and parking the car, headed inside to hand over my rent check.

When I returned to continue my drive off to my college teaching job, I noticed that the “steering problem” was worse than I had suspected. I quickly realized that the car was toast and had some major issues with the steering system. Instead of heading to work, I turned back to cross the Mile Road with my wounded vehicle. It was a bit like driving a crab-car as it felt as though the car was moving sideways down the road.

By the time I got home I was furious at myself, pained by the potential of what it would cost and how long it would take to fix the car. The car was my only form of transportation, and on an adjunct-instructor’s meager salary, I was getting more anxious. I would later learn that the frame had been bent, requiring major body shop repairs and would cost more than a few bucks to fix. I was having a “bad day.”

After crawling under the car looking for damage, I settling back in my house, made some coffee and stoking up the wood stove. Moving into the living room, I turned on my stereo that was perpetually tuned to Maine Public Radio. What I heard next was startling.

A news bulletin had interrupted the classical music program to announce that there had been “some kind of explosion at Cape Kennedy.”

I remembered instantly that that morning there was to be the Shuttle launch.

By 1986, Shuttle lunches had become routine and were no longer covered by live television. A child of the 50’s, I remember standing on the roof of our apartment building in 1957 peering up to the early evening sky trying in vain to see The Sputnik passing overhead. By third grade, I regularly announced to adults my aspirations to become an astronaut. By the beginning of high school I had entertained the thoughts of become an aeronautical engineer. But by this time, even I had lost interest in the Space Program.

However, this Shuttle launch was different. For months we had been hearing the news about a young mother from neighboring New Hampshire who would soon be “the first teacher in space.” Around New England and the rest of the county schoolchildren and teachers were enthused with the proposition. The plan was for the teacher in space to actually deliver some lessons to the kids back home. Friends of mine who were public school teachers at the time were thrilled and at least one had applied to the teacher in space program.

I turned on the small back and white portable TV that was part of the furnishings of my rented furnished house on Wells Beach to get more news. It was about 10:45 am and the first scene I looked at, a scene which we have all seen so many times over the past 25 years, was burned into my brain for the first time.

I immediately thought of the millions of kids around the land, safe in their classrooms, watching these scary events live. While the commentators were speculating on whether the Shuttle itself had survived and the potential for some kind of escape mechanism, my heart and stomach sank. My “bad day” was nothing compared to this.

We all know the rest of the story. I remember particularly President Reagan on television that night consoling the nation with these words:

The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for the journey and waved goodbye and 'slipped the surly bonds of earth' to 'touch the face of God.'

The car eventually got fixed and time has moved on. In the 25 years that have passed we have lost more Space explorers and I’ve been through a fair share of automobiles. But it seems like yesterday.

SWL Memories

2011-01-22T12:40:00.001-05:00

Heathkit GR-64 like the one I built in 1967

and the GC-1A similar to the one that I found in the trash on Waverly Ave in Brooklyn one day. Mine was not as shiny.

Photos above from WD4EUI

And the autograph from our Fearless Leader from around the same time

Another Brother Lost

2011-01-11T22:32:00.001-05:00

Eighteen months ago when I wrote down my thoughts following the passing of Shifty Powers, I explained my affection for the HBO WWII series Band of Brothers. My affection for the series has not waned in the interim; if anything it has grow stronger. So, I am moved to tears upon learning today that my favorite “Brother” has now died.

Major Dick Winters died quietly and without fanfare on January 2, 2011 at the ripe old age of 92. According to media reports, Winters, ever the private and humble man, asked that news about his death be delayed until after he was buried. Winters was the central character and leader of the Band of Brothers and perhaps the most loved and respected. His warmth and humanity were the most memorable parts of this remarkable story of a group of men who survived the horrors of World War II.

Ironically, just the other day I was thinking of a scene from Band of Brothers and was struggling with remembering the names of all the characters. The scene came to me while watching the news about the horrors in Tucson and the caustic rhetoric that has polarized and is slowly destroying our country. I thought about the loathsome disrespect shown to the President of the United States by a trite Member of Congress during last year’s presidential State of the Union address and the disgusting bombast that seems to regularly come from the extremists these days.

I recalled the scene towards the end of Band of Brothers when Winters, now a highly decorated Major has an impromptu interaction with the character of Captain Herbert Sobel played brilliantly by actor David Schwimmer. Sobel a slezebag tyrant of an Army officer, hated by the men for his vindictiveness and cruelty, is the antithesis of Winters, and in early part of story the major antagonist. In the recalled scene, the still-Captain Sobel passes Major Winters, once his subordinate and now his superior officer, neglecting/refusing to salute the passing Winters. Winters, who could let the disrespect pass, calls Sobel on it and says in an artful and memorable declaration: "Captain Sobel, we salute the rank, not the man." Sobel acquiesces and salutes Winters.

Richard Winters was a soldier’s soldier, a true American hero and genuinely beautiful human being. Of course I know him only through the portrayal in Stephen Ambrose's Band of Brothers book and HBO series, but if he was half the man as that described in these literary works, he was quite an extraordinary individual. With his brand of humility and grace, we won WWII because of people like him. This country could use a few more like him today.

Thank you Major Winters, and may perpetual light shine upon you. May you Rest in Peace.

Currahee.

Tributes, Obits, etc.

The Telegraph
Read Junk
Reuters
Wikipedia
Washington Post and obituary
Beyond Band of Brothers: The War Memoirs of Major Dick Winters

_____

Photo credit "Read Junk"

The weather outside is frightful

2010-12-15T18:00:00.000-05:00

Each year at this time I swear I am going to get a smaller tree next year. I’m not young and spry anymore and hoisting the critter onto the top of the car, wrestling with the saw to clean-cut the bottom and then staggering up the stairs to my second floor apartment with the tree grabbing at every step to prevent me from keeping forward momentum is truly exhausting. So, with JT’s Christmas album on the CD player and the tree now sitting comfortably in its green plastic stand, happily nursing up copious amounts of warm water, I am at rest in my recliner and making these few notes.

It really is a nice little tree, Charlie Brown. I tell the poor, toothless young man who sold me this baby for $28 (I gave him $35) that he could sell this same tree in New York City for a hundred bucks. He gasps in disbelief and I see the remains of his rotten teeth; I’m hoping the takes the extra few bucks and finds a dentist.

I buy my tree from the same place each year, from the same kid, and I tell him the same thing. Fifteen, no make that sixteen years ago that young man was a boy of about 12 years and was shocked when I gave him a tip to carry the tree to the car. He had a full set of teeth then. Years of candy bars and soda pop no doubt. He tells me this year he will use the money to buy something for his unborn baby who will be arriving in the spring. What can you say to that?

I recall the scene in Jean Shepherd’s A Christmas Story when the family goes down to the local Xmas Tree emporium to haggle with a savvy and feisty salesman. The Old Man thinks he’s getting the better deal, but we know better.

I will have none of that. This tree really is worth a lot more than what I pay for it; maybe not a hundred bucks, but at least $60 - $70. It’s just that we live here in Maine among forest of trees and this baby probably spent its life growing just a few miles down the road.

We had about three inches of fluffy white snow today. Two days ago it rained three inches and yesterday – the transition day back to winter – I was walking around in sneakers. It’s boots and scarves today, the air a frigid 17 and everything white.

My tree was completely covered with the white stuff at the Christmas tree lot so I have it standing in the window with a couple of sheets of black plastic underneath. The sound of the dripping has slowed and the fragrance of pine has now joyfully filled the room.

I am not sure if I will decorate the tree tonight. I may want to let it dry out more before crawling around with electric wires and such. We’ll see.

Well, JT is done and I have to go back out in the arctic freeze to get stuff for supper. Keep warm. I’ll post a photo of the tree when it’s all decorated.

_____

Image credit: Licensed by Creative Commons by Hiking Artist

Christmas sucker

2010-12-11T11:38:00.000-05:00

You may have noticed that cutey little widget appearing on the right panel of my Blogger site for the past week. I was looking for a simply Christmas countdown feature - there are millions of them out there - I picked the first one I found from Widgetbox. Well it was fine for about a week until I looked at it today. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear? An ad...a crummy commercial.

So innocently, I click on the button that says "Remove ads" and what to my wondering eyes should appear....?

"Look, Charlie, we all know Christmas is just a big commercial racket."

Bye bye widget.

George Bailey needs your help

2010-12-06T23:45:00.002-05:00

While attending my last year of graduate classes at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, located in the Borough of Indiana of Indiana County, PA, I had the pleasure of attending the opening of The Jimmy Stewart Museum. Located on the third floor of the Indiana Public Library, next door to the County Court House, and across Philadelphia Street from where Jimmy's father owned and ran the town's hardware store, The Jimmy Stewart Museum (JSM) opened in the spring of 1995 on Jimmy's birthday. The namesake did not attend the festivities as he was still devastated by the death of his beloved wife Gloria a couple of years earlier. He did send his twin daughters who thanked the Indiana townsfolk for their generosity and honor. The whole town showed up for the parade and gathered in front of the Museum to hear brief comments from the daughters.

I became a Charter Member of the JSM that day and even volunteered most of that summer, working in the gift shop, selling tickets and giving tours of the Museum. I was already a big fan of Mr. Stewart's work, but learned much more about him that summer. My admiration grew. For Christmas that year, my homemade card was a drawing of Zuzu's petals.

So I was shocked to learn today in a story on MSNBC that the Jimmy Stewart Museum was in trouble financially. There was never any big endowment and the Museum has apparently survived these past 15 years on memberships, attendance fees and gift shop proceeds. Read the story for the details.

Like the final scene in the movie that everyone associates with Jimmy Stewart, It's A Wonderful Life, I am hoping that Jimmy/George Bailey's friends come through again and rescue the "Old Savings and Loan."

If you have a couple of bucks left in your pocket, perhaps you could send it down to Indiana, PA. I can assure you it is a good cause.

Oh me? I just sent them a check to renew my membership.

Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends.

Update: NBC's Nightly News Saturday did a great little piece on The JSM. Here's the link:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

I’m wearing a colander on my head

2010-12-02T13:47:00.001-05:00

One of my father’s favorite stories about when he was a young FBI agent in the NYC office was the call he and one of this colleagues made to a man living in a very expensive apartment on Park Avenue on the Upper East Side. The man had called the FBI claiming that “the Russians” were spying on him. As my father was on a squad that dealt with Soviet espionage, this was a call directed to them.

They arrived at the very swank abode and were ushered in by the doorman who rolled his eyes a bit when the agents explained where they were going. They soon found out why.

The man was very reluctant to open the door and the agents had to show both their credentials and badges to the man through the peephole before he would open the door. Upon entering my father noted that the man had a metal colander on his head and was wearing only his underwear. Every inch of the walls was covered by aluminum foil and the man had placed a series of wire hangers around the rooms, interconnected and touching the foil in various locations. The man explained that the hangers were used to “ground” the foil as it was absorbing the radio waves that were coming in from “the Russians.”

I believe that my father and his partner left at this point and went back to the office to file their report as a “man in need of a psychiatrist.”

I thought of that story as I read this Yahoo Health missive entitled Is Your Health on the Line? The article details information about the hazards of radiation caused by cell phone use. It goes on to express concerns about many popular household appliances that emit radio waves. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was living in a soup of radiation. With the exception of the “baby monitor,” I have and use all of the devices listed in the article.

Enjoy…I’m heading to the kitchen to get my colander.

_____
Photo credit: Image licensed through Creative Commons by ortizemj12

Thanksgiving Eve

2010-11-24T21:16:00.003-05:00

On this eve of Thanksgiving, my thoughts center on recollections of my traditional multiple-hour, exhausting drive to New York City for the holiday. It began in 1979 while I was living in North Conway, NH, the normally six and a half hour drive would usually take about seven or more hours, and on this evening in November, the traffic always is outrageous. I can remember some trips in the 8-9 hour range, sitting in traffic jams in Massachusetts and Connecticut, waiting in line for an hour to get across the Whitestone Bridge.

One year, I had to attend a meeting up “above the notch” – Pinkham Notch, that is - on Turkey Day eve. I chose to leave for New York directly from the meeting taking a route that would bring me over more mountains and into the snowy upper Connecticut River valley. Driving down US 2 to I-91, ambling between the border of New Hampshire and Vermont, I recall with fondness the image of a group of young school children waving goodbye to their teachers as their school bus left some small rural Vermont schoolyard. Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted a more tender scene.

During the next few years I lived in southern Maine and the trip was slightly easier since I lived close to the Interstate and did not have to begin and end my journey with a 60-mile drive through the narrow, dark, winding roads of the New Hampshire countryside. That annual trip lasted for about ten years and then one memorable Thanksgiving I made the annual trip to NYC from Indiana, Pennsylvania. That eight-hour event was made more memorable by the sudden development of a choking, acrid, smoky smell inundating my car as I approached the George Washington Bridge on I-80. I would discover, three days and $300 later that the smell was due to the accumulation of pine needles collected inside the heater core that had wrapped around the heater fan. I was assured by the Mazda dealer that the there was at no time any danger of fire being caused by the pine needles. This provided little comfort to my pocketbook.

The annual Thanksgiving sojourn to New York City was always a cause for family celebration. I would often be greeted like the Prodigal Son, winning the prize every year as the relative who had traveled the longest to join the family. Every family member would ask if we’d “had any snow” yet, and marvel at the thought - and insanity - of spending eight hours alone in the car.

For a number of years the Thanksgiving Eve celebration required a trip down to Northern Boulevard to visit one of the local drinking establishments and a round of beers and an early bit of turkey tasting. The Little Neck Tavern, legendary for its pre-Thanksgiving, turkey-with-all-the-fixing event was a magnet for local drunks and the college-age crowd home for the holiday. By the time I'd arrive there was often little left but turkey sandwiches; but boy were they good.

In the later years, Turkey Day Eve usually meant just sitting around the house with family and friends getting up-to-date on local happenings and trivia. I remember countless times watching the evening news replete with live reports from Central Park West where the Macy’s Day Parade balloons were being inflated. Yes, I said “Macy’s Day” as that was what it was called in the good old days. Somehow, Mr. Macy apparently believed that his store was more important than the Thanksgiving holiday (a fact confirmed by Wikipedia!). Usually it was Al Roker reporting from in front of the Museum of Natural History with the up-to-the-minute drama and weather forecast. Countless New Yorkers, some with small children, would wave and gawk at the rising balloons – and TV cameras - as one of the more banal and bothersome parts of the New York City Thanksgiving tradition.

My annual drive to New York ended sometime in the early 2000’s. My father’s death in 1996 and stepmother’s slow mental decline brought on by the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease made the trips to New York more painful. Eventually I stopped going altogether.

For a few years I tried something different. One year, my sister and I decided to meet half way - in Sturbridge, Massachusetts - to celebrate Thanksgiving Pilgrim-style. It was nice. . .different. But we ended up only doing it once. The restaurant where we had Thanksgiving dinner served turkey roll instead of the real thing. Pretty disappointing.

The next year, I convinced my sister that Thanksgiving in Maine was the way to celebrate. She dutifully drove up from New Jersey on a dark cold Thanksgiving Eve night after having spent the day teaching kindergarteners. She was not happy with the experience and declined the offer to do it again. Somehow it was okay for me to drive 6-10 hours to see family, but…well, I don’t want to complain.

In 2003, the tradition changed completely. My stepmother had died and I decided to stay home in Maine for Thanksgiving Day. The new Turkey Day Eve tradition now involves watching the local Channel 6 sportscaster Bruce Glazier providing his report and rebroadcast of newsreels and home movies highlighting the annual Deering/Portland HS football game played in Portland for almost a century. The black and white production is meaningless to me personally, but does represent things that are obviously important to the local gentry.

Tomorrow morning I will gather myself in front of the living room and watch the Macy’s Day Parade with the gang from NBC’s Today Show. Al Roker will be there and I’ll drink my coffee and wait for Santa to arrive. In the afternoon, I’ll watch some football and spend the evening dining with my friends, Bob and Gail, savoring free-range turkey and organically grown veggies from Gail’s garden. We’ll top it off with my Swedish Apple Pie and maybe something special this year made with pumpkins. All will be yummy.

I will give thanks for good health and friendships, to family present and past, to old memories and the promise of the future.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Gobble gobble.

The butterfly effect?

2010-11-13T19:59:00.000-05:00

What's that thing about the "butterfly effect?" You know, that thing about the butterfly in the jungle of Brazil that moves it's wings and sets of a series of events that leads to a tornado in Texas. Oh yeah, chaos theory.

So what is the relationship between a late night, a blue ink pen and a free battery for my iPod? Here's the story:

I came home late last night from a college basketball game in Boston. In my fatigue, I accidentally threw the t-shirt I was wearing into the laundry basket without remembering to take a blue ink pen out of my pocket. This noon, when I put the laundry into the washer, I neglected to notice the pen, and into the wash it went. The ink stained a blue oxford shirt, one of my favorites, and a white pillowcase. With a combination of anger, feelings of stupidity and hopefulness directed at the magic of chemicals, I brought the soiled clothes back into the kitchen and praying that some OxiClean (TM) and hot water would release the stains. But to do this correctly I needed a wash basin to let things soak.

Under the counters I went in search of the old wash basin that was of course in the very back of the bottom shelf of the most hard-to-reach cabinet. As I pulled out the basin, I noticed, crammed in the corner, a Best Buy receipt attached to an extended warranty. It was for my iPod, the one that was purchased in March of 2009. The extended warranty is good for two years.

Now the back story is that this same iPod Touch which I've used faithfully all this time as my PDA, has developed a weak, dying battery. It will not hold a charge for no more than 24 hours meaning I have to keep it plugging in most of the time; defeating the whole idea of it being a mobile device. But, according to my receipt, battery replacement is covered by the extended warranty.

I had completely forgotten about the extended warranty; something that probably brings pleasure to the Best Buy people. And I would never gave found it if I wasn't crawling around under the cabinets looking for the wash basin. You see, the receipt and the extended warranty had slipped out and fallen into the cabinet down below essentially disappearing until today.

I'll let you make know how I make out when I visit Best Buy tomorrow. Let's hope the butterfly does its thing.

Oh, and the OxiClean was able to remove the ink stains.
_______
By Nevit Dilmen (Photograph) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons

Separated at birth?

2010-10-26T16:32:00.000-04:00

Are movie actor Wiley Wiggins and SF Giants ace Tim Lincecum one in the same? Spooky, huh?

Wiggins was in one of my favorite movies Dazed and Confused, and played a scene where he's a pitcher in a JHS baseball game. Couldn't find a photo of him in his vintage 1976 uniform. Below photo credits: Rocky Mountain Way photo by Tom Walsh. Wiley Wiggins from Zuguide

Political Humor?

2010-10-25T13:51:00.004-04:00

Politically, I am becoming more of a real independent these days. As both of the major political parties are leaning towards their extremes, we are in a quagmire, and I am standing in the middle scoffing at both sides. Nonetheless, I found the following political joke to be fairly clever.

A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above ground elevation of 2,346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be a Democrat."

"I am," replied the man. "How did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct. But I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be a Republican."

"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?"

"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are -- or where you are going. You've risen to where you are due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but somehow, now it's MY fault."

--------
Photo from Wikimedia Commons

Common Ground Fair - 2010

2010-09-24T21:58:00.002-04:00

This was my first visit to the Common Ground Fair hosted by the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association (MOFGA). This despite the insistence of several of m friends who have been pleading with me for the past 15 years to attend.

The weather wasn't ideal, but the fair was great anyhow. Here are some photos. I'll post the short videos on YouTube and all of the images on Flickr.

Enjoy!

The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee

2010-08-04T20:00:00.001-04:00

A Pirate

Perhaps it is because today is the first day of the Maine Lobster Festival, but for some reason I have been thinking about a poem I learned as a child many years ago.

Attending St. Angela Hall Academy (elementary school) was a memorable experience and a particularly memorable SAH tradition was The Assembly. An almost monthly affair, The Assembly was organized by the classroom teachers and supported by the music teacher, Sr. Mary Cecilia and the "poetry teacher" - and resident ogre - Miss Looney.

The Assembly took place in school auditorium where all of the elementary grades were marched in - to the sound of the piano playing - and made to sit in orderly fashion; eyes forward. Beginning with prayers and announcements from the principal, the core of the event followed and included a set of performances by the students from one pre-selected grade who gave their recital from the stage. The performances usually included a poem, several musical selections and perhaps a musical solo by one of the students. The whole thing probably lasted for an hour and a half, but the preparation would take months to accomplish. I must admit that I enjoyed the performances as a spectator and particularly as a performer. But I didn't enjoy the preparation.

Sr. Mary Cecilia was a particularly talented Josephite who probably could have been a professional musician had she not "put on the habit." I greatly enjoyed her music classes, but they were too brief and too infrequent; a case of one teacher spread too thin. I think Sr. Cecilia may have seen something in me in terms of musical ability and I think she actually liked me. I had a pure boy soprano voice in those days and on one occasion was selected to sing a descant role in one of the song. I still remember the part. Goodness knows what might have happened if I had had some real music training.

I will save the complete description of Miss Looney for another time, but for the purposes of this article let me provide this imagery. If you have ever had the occasion to see the movies Throw Momma From the Train or The Goonies, you are familiar with the character actress Anne Ramsey. The talented Ms. Ramsey played "Momma" in the former production and the mother of the bad guys, "Mama Fratelli,"the Goonies chief nemesis in the latter. Well, except for the blue Brillo-hairdo and the fact that Miss Looney was a real person and not an actor, they could have been twin sisters.

Looney was a witch. An authoritarian, intractable, just plain nasty - she clearly didn't like children and regularly scared the shit out of me. So it was completely natural that the poem chosen of our 4th Grade Assembly was the Mildred Plew Meigs masterpiece, The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee. In another life, Miss Looney could have been Bluebeard himself.

The learning of the poem for the annual Assembly was the most onerous task. Each week, Miss Looney would terrorize us into learning the selection to perfection. Diction and form, attention to annunciation, execution, proper posture were all emphasized and of course, the whole work had to be memorized to perfection; something lost in today's classrooms. The curriculum of the 50's and 60's were heavy on memorization and drill. It may have been painful, but it worked.

As I sit here nearly 50 years later, I can still remember some of the lines from that poem. I was particularly fond of the line, "And struck in his belt where he buckled it through, were a dagger, a dirk, and a squizzamaroo...", although I remember it as a "squige-a-maroo."

No worry, here is the whole poem for those who just have to read it.

Suggestion, do your best pirate imitation and read it aloud. Arrrrgggggh!

The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee
by Mildred Plew Meigs

Ho, for the Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee!
He was as wicked as wicked could be,
But oh, he was perfectly gorgeous to see!
The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.

His conscience, of course, was as black as a bat,
But he had a floppety plume on his hat
And when he went walking it jiggled - like that!
The plume of the Pirate Dowdee.

His coat it was handsome and cut with a slash,
And often as ever he twirled his mustache
Deep down in the ocean the mermaids went splash,
Because of Don Durk of Dowdee.

Moreover, Dowdee had a purple tattoo,
And struck in his belt where he buckled it through
Were a dagger, a dirk, and a squizzamaroo,
For fierce was the Pirate Dowdee.

So fearful he was he would shoot at a puff,
And always at sea when the weather grew rough
He drank from a bottle and wrote on his cuff,
Did Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.

Oh, he had a cutlass that swung at his thigh
And he had a parrot called Pepperkin Pye,
And a zigzaggy scar at the end of his eye
Had Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.

He kept in a cavern, this buccaneer bold,
A curious chest that was covered with mould,
And all of his pockets were jingly with gold!
Oh jing! went the gold of Dowdee.

His conscience, of course it was crook'd like a squash,
But both of his boots made a slickery slosh,
And he went through the world with a wonderful swash,
Did Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.

It's true he was wicked as wicked could be,
His sins they outnumbered a hundred and three,
But oh, he was perfectly gorgeous to see,
The Pirate Don Durk of Dowdee.

______
Poem located at All Poetry
Photo licensed by Creative Commons- Tom Raftery

Maine goes mobile

2010-08-02T14:29:00.000-04:00

Since having an iPod Touch for the past 16 months or so, I've become a bit of a "mobile" snob. Granted, I am not a "smart phone snob," but I have become a bit (more) annoying.

But there is much to be said about making sure your website design looks good on mobile devices. It is something I have worked on with my own sites and those of my jebswebs.com clients.

If you are running on WordPress, there is a free (and a paid) template that is optimized for viewing on mobile devices. Basically, it is another set of style sheets (CSS) that get called up when the server detects that the user agent is a mobile browser. That's geek talk for - it's magic!

Anyway, I am happy to report that the State of Maine's website - maine.gov is now optimized for mobile devices. And they have taken it a step further by adding autodetect, HTML5 and geolocation so not only does maine.gov know where you are, it can customize its offerings to show you local treats. And, it will automatically sense your device and provide the proper style.

Read more about maine.gov's mobile portal.

Businessmen in politics

2010-05-19T10:31:00.000-04:00

It's primary season in Maine and for the next two weeks we have to put up (again) with the endless barrage of political ads on TV, in newspapers and in the mail. Ah, Democracy!

This year there is a large number of people running to be their party's candidate for governor of the fine State of Maine as the current guy is term-limited out. I've lost count, but there were over a dozen folks running between the two major parties.

Just about all of the Republican candidates are touting their experiences as "businessmen" as the primary reason for being elected. This continues a tradition that goes back as far as I can remember and was most memorable during the presidential debates with Texas businessman Ross Perot. You remember the "giant sucking sound guy...?"

It is absolutely amazing to me that anyone would ever consider that being a businessman was a positive qualification for politics. The organizations (business and government) are diametrically opposite each other.

Hello....Mr. Republican businessman....I hate to tell you this....but businesses ARE NOT DEMOCRACIES!!! Governments cannot be run like businesses!

If you are a CEO you don't do anything by consensus. When was the last time you made a business decision in your organization where you sought the opinions - and VOTES - of all the employees? If you did that, you would be either out of business, or a miracle worker. So what makes you think you have any qualifications to run for governor? Oh, so YOU think that running a state IS just like running a business?

Do you really think by you putting your buddies into the positions to head up the various state departments that all of a sudden all the state workers in those departments and related organizations are going to start to do the things YOU tell them to do?

What a bunch of boobs.

Yes, history tells us that the only "really successful" governors and presidents (and I will not define what "really successful" means) have been "dictators;" albeit benevolent dictators. But it was always because they were unique individuals who were able to persuade large numbers of people (the voters and the elected representatives) to come around to their way of thinking...and that usually required a lot of bargaining and compromise. And that my dears is called politics, not business. In other words, in my estimation, the best governors and presidents have been really good politicians.

The last of the masterful governors who did this well in Maine was probably Angus King. Yes, he was a businessman, and he ran on that. But he was also a TV personality and had that great persuasive talent...you know like Ronny Reagan. But even King was not able to change the whole system and was smart enough to choose his battles carefully. But, I'll bet if he wasn't term-limited out, he'd have won again.

There appears to be no one in the current crop of contenders running for Maine governor that appear to have the panache of an Angus King or a Ronny Reagan. I guess we'll just have to see what politics brings.

Oh, and Mr. Republican businessman, good luck with that election.

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Image from eaves.ca

Maya Angelou in Maine

2010-05-01T12:55:00.007-04:00

When it looks like the sun wasn't gonna shine anymore,

God, put a rainbow, in the clouds.

This is how poet Maya Angelou began her talk the other night at the University of Maine at Augusta.

I choose to call Ms. Angelou - poet - because, though she has done many things, and has served in many capacities, the role of poet, I believe, is most fitting, and most descriptive.

You can read all about the evening, its purpose, and who was there in the press reports on the local TV station's website or even view a clip of some of the evening's activities on the Kennebec Journal's website, but I wanted to bring you Ms. Angelou's words. So, I transcribed some of them for you here. Feel free to share and comment:

That statement, from a 19th Century slave song, was inspired by a statement in Genesis. In Genesis we are told that rain persisted so unrelentingly that people thought it would never cease. And in an attempt to put the people at ease, God put a rainbow in the sky. That's in Genesis. In the 19th Century, some African-American poet, lyricist - probably a woman, I'm not sure on that - said God put the rainbow, not just in the sky, but in the clouds themselves.

We know the suns, the moons, and stars, novae, and comets, are always in the firmament. But clouds are so lower and loud that we cannot see the promise of light. But if the rainbow is put into the clouds themselves, that means that the worst of times, there's a possibility of seeing hope. I am here because I wanted to come here. I wanted to come to the University of Maine at Augusta, particularly, because I think of your university, your institution of higher education as a rainbow in the clouds.

I had every reason to apologize and not come. This day, these days, I'm feeling the loneliness of the absence of a great woman whose been a mother to me and, uh, my heart is very heavy. But because she has been a rainbow in my clouds, and I would be speaking at her going home services at the National Cathedral on Thursday, I said I must come here, because I know that there are re-entry students who come here. People, women and men, who come here, who may have not had the energy, or insight, or the smartness, or the money to continue years ago. They come back, and they reenter at the University of Maine at Augusta. I said, I must come. I want, I have so much to say to you, and I'm just starting. Really, really.

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Image from Kennebec Journal - Andy Malloy

On ash clouds...

2010-04-18T11:25:00.005-04:00

The anxiety currently being expressed about the Icelandic volcano ash, and its adverse effect on air travel, has got my attention. While only a few have apparently speculated about this, one has to wonder what would happen if this thing continues for weeks, months or years?

For the time being, the media seems to be focused almost entirely on the disruption to air travel both between the US and Europe and within Europe itself. But it makes me wonder what other things might be effected.

Of course the first thing that comes to mind is what is happening to the lungs of the 200 million people in the wake of this thing. That can't be good. And while it is understandable that ash in a fanjet engine at 30,000 feet above the Atlantic might have grave consequences, I wonder about other machinery too.

I'm actively wondering if the cruise ship industry is paying attention. It would seem that if this thing goes on for weeks, months or years, that there will be a need for some kind of alternate transportation across the Atlantic. The option of taking the Orient Express to Asia and a plane from there to the US is likely not to be an option. But a return to transatlantic ships and intercontinental trains does hold some romantic notions for me. But then I get thinking that volcanic ash is probably not too good for cruise ship engines or locomotives either.

Of course, most business can continue to function with telephones, e-mail and video conferencing. But the travel industry isn't going to like this, and I had completely forgotten about the postal and express shipping industry. All the more to wonder about that global economy thing. Local subsistence is sounding smarter and smarter.

So, get the Queen Mary 2 spiffed up and get it ready to take on the masses. I'm sure a four day passage to NY would be preferable to sleeping on the floor in Heathrow for another night. Update: Apparently, things are going well for Cunard due to all this - April 22nd passage on two ships is all booked!

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Image from Financial Times ft.com.

Spring Snow

2010-04-17T12:18:00.003-04:00

So, alright already. I overslept this morning. I didn't have to get up for anything.

So, at 7:45 am I rolled over. And I did that again at 8:45.

But then I slept until 10:07 am and had to really drag myself out of bed.

But I almost jumped back under the covers when I looked out the window and saw patches of snow on the ground and the cars in the parking lot covered. I felt like Rip Van Winkle and thought I had slept through the remainder of spring, all of the summer and most of the fall. Was it already late October?

It sure looked like it. Ugh.

Thinking this was just a brief setback, I went out and got bagels. Fortunately, the ice scrapper was still on the floor of the back set of the car 'cause I had to brush off the snow to be able to see.

Throughout breakfast it continued to snow and sleet, but the accumulations had stopped. Then, at about 11:30 am, it started to snow even harder...those big wet flakes that you get in spring snow storms in March.

When it started covering the ground again, I got out my trusted camera and took this video.

I'm thinking about going back to bed...

Testing

2010-03-27T11:08:00.000-04:00

I am trying out the new Blogger interface thingy...Looking around for cawazeey wabbits!

Image upload doesn't work #FAIL!

Word Play

2010-03-18T14:39:00.004-04:00

Someone sent this to me via e-mail. It was pretty neat, but I don't know where it came from. So I am sharing it cause it is cool. If you know who created it, drop me an e-mail or a comment and I will note that info here.

Olympic Reflections

2010-02-28T19:45:00.003-05:00

Dear Dick Ebersol and NBC Executives:

Thank you for the Olympics. They were exciting and even outpaced the over-hype you guys poured out over the past six months.

But you blew it.

I have mixed reports about whether today’s Gold Medal contest in hockey between the US and Canada was televised live on the west coast of the US. If you did not televise the game live: shame on you. Shame on you for all of the tape delayed broadcasts over these past weeks. Shame on you.

In this world of Twitter and Facebook, of internet in your pocket, of round the clock news reporting. In these times where the number of people on this planet connected to the web exceed the number who have running water, you need to get with the times NBC. Never again can you tape delay the Olympics or any other international event. The world demands real time everything.

Admit it; you blew it.

So, as the Olympic torch fades out and the memories of Vancouver 2010 become permanently burned into our brains, let us pledge to all the folks who worked so hard on this event that their legacy will be that they witnessed the last Olympics ever to be tape-delayed.

UPDATE: 3-1-2010

Looks like I am not alone...Did NBC's Coverage of the Winter Olympics Suck?

IN HIS PANTS!

2010-02-06T13:08:00.002-05:00

I hope someone has checked on the whereabouts of Dave Letterman...

From WHDH-TV

A Framingham man is accused of a bizarre crime at a Springfield mall.

Police said Chamil Guadarrama stuffed 75 bottles of body lotion into his pants at the Eastfield Mall.

The suspect had so many eight-ounce containers that he could barely run, as his pants were nearly bursting at the seams.

Guadarrama also had a tough time getting into the cruiser. Officers had to remove some of the bottles before he was able to bend down to get in the car.

Wizard of Young

2010-01-31T12:01:00.005-05:00

Last week on the Last Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien, Coco's final musical guest was the legendary Neil Young. Neil sang one of my favorite post-CSNY songs called Long May You Run. But, more about the music later.

I was thinking that time had not been too good to poor old Neil. He was looking a little past his prime, and the performance was not his personal best. He is "getting up there" after all. Neil turned 64 last November and has led a bit of a "hard life." I'll leave it at that.

But as I watched the performance on Conan that night, Neil - in his current form - had begun to look like some other well known person. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then this morning, there was a piece in the local paper about Neil Young being honored at a pre-Grammy affair last night "for his decades of philanthropic service," according to the news release.

There it hit me....in the photo accompanying the article, Neil was looking almost exactly like ... The Wizard of Oz. I mean, THE Wizard of Oz. The 1939-Judy-Garland-as-Dorothy-and-Toto-her-little-dog Wizard of Oz.

The actor Frank Morgan, who played the part of the Wizard and several other characters in the film you will remember, had those robust pink cheeks and the thinning hair combed straight back. Check out the photo and tell me Morgan and Young are not related.

Getting back to the music, the song Long May You Run was released on an album of the same name in 1976. A final collaboration with former bandmate, Stephen Stills, this was one of the best cuts on the album.

In the summer of 1982, I was driving back east on a cross-country jaunt and decided to head up into Canada for the last leg of our journey back to New Hampshire. Leaving Ashland, WI in the morning, we passed through Sault Ste. Marie around dusk and turned onto the TransCanada. It was well after dark when we passed through Blind River, Ontario and Long May You Run began to resonate in my head. Good memories still to come.

To Conan and Neil: long may you both run.

Christmas has gone back to Banada

2010-01-10T17:05:00.004-05:00

"Christmas has gone back to Banada" at my house.

This was an expression used in our family when I was a child. The reference relates to the day when the Christmas tree, and associated Christmas decoration are taken down indicating the official end of the Christmas season. As you can imagine, this was not a happy experience for me as a young child who, like all kids, wanted to have Christmas last all year long. Fortunately, in my family, we were usually often late in this tradition. We would always delay this date until after "Little Christmas" - January 6th - the Feast of the Epiphany, the day Christmas is celebrated in the Greek Orthodox Church. Depending on the timing, this meant that the tree may stay up until 12-13th of January. This year, the trip to Banada was January 10th.

The best I can tell from a Google search, Banada refers to the ruins of an ancient abbey dating back to the 15th Century located in County Sligo, Ireland. This figures since my maternal grandparents were all born in Sligo. But other than that, I am not sure of the true meaning of this expression.

But, unlike the days of my youth, I don't take all of the Christmas decorations down at the same time. In fact, I usually leave the window decorations and the ones on the porch up until....Lent? Easter? In any case, it will be months.

I guess I've never really grown up...

Herbie has to go

2010-01-07T12:36:00.003-05:00

I followed this story last summer, and I may have even blogged about it, but the death and removal of a 230-year-old tree makes me sad.

The story of Herbie the 230-year-old elm tree in Yarmouth, Maine is better told by the folks at the Portland Press Herald who have been following and reporting on the story of Herbie's demise. It seems the date of the final day has been announced, January 18, 2010 and there is an expectation that a crowd will be there to watch and record the event.

I'm not exactly a "tree hugger," but I admit that I like trees, and elm trees in particular. I remember the good old days when lofty American Elms graced many streets and roadways in America. I particularly loved the stretch of US 1 in Thomaston, Maine where these great giants created an incredible canopy over the road enjoyed by many tourists each year. It was so sad to see them slowly disappear.

So, here's to Herbie and thank you for your good life. Unlike humans, your physical remains will continue to be enjoyed for many years to come. And we're lucky for that.

Happy New Year

2010-01-01T15:13:00.003-05:00

Just wanted to see what the date would look like: 1/1/10

HNY2010

Wadda ya gonna call the new year?

2009-12-31T09:26:00.004-05:00

Just to let you know about how my mind works (maybe the word "operates" is a better term), I have been pondering for the past few months about what to call the new year. Is it going to be "two-thousand-ten"? "Twenty-ten"? Or some new combination I haven't thought of?

I know, I know, get a life, you say. But this is interesting...well, at least to me...and at least at the moment.

For most of my life - which now exceeds a half-century - we were satisfied with saying something like "nineteen hundred and ninety-nine" or more simply, "nineteen-ninety-nine." There was virtually no one saying "one-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety nine," right? So, then along comes the new millennium and everything changes. Did anyone refer to the new year as "twenty-zero-zero"? or "twenty-ought-zero"? or "twenty-hundred?" No, from the very beginning it was simply "two thousand" and occasionally, we seemed to feel the need to qualify it by saying, "the year two-thousand."

Then for ten years we simply used the same convention, "two thousand-one," two thousand-two," right up to "two thousand nine." So, logic would dictate that the New Year starting tomorrow will be called "two thousand ten," right?

Wrong.

Everyone around here is referring to it as "twenty-ten," including me. And, God-willing, in ten years I will be calling the New Year "twenty-twenty" and those people on ABC News will be happy (even though their "news-entertainment" program is probably supposed to be referencing the notion of 20-20 vision. Indeed their program is actually listed as "20/20.")

Part of me wants to call this new year "two-thousand-ten," but perhaps because this almost past-decade sucked for so many folks, most people seem almost happy to change the vernacular. But maybe it's just because I am basically lazy and "twenty-ten" is easier to say.

So, what will it be, folks? Wadda ya gonna call the new year?

As my father was fond of saying to these rhetorical questions, "we'll see."

Happy New Year! Whatever you call it.

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image licensed through Creative Commons by photonbomb

Has blogging "jumped the shark?"

2009-12-13T12:03:00.007-05:00

Confession: I have stopped reading blogs.

Well, not exactly. I've stopped reading the blogs that I used to read on almost a daily basis eighteen months ago. I actually only read them now when someone has put a link to one in a tweet.

I'm not sure why, but it seems that I'm not the only one. And, it seems, people may be blogging less.

I just went through my lists of blogs using Bloglines, my blog aggregator, and noticed about two-thirds of the blogs I have followed in the past have not had a new blog entry for several months. Some have stopped blogging altogether. Many of these blogs used to post at least once per day. If you look at their datelines, their prolificacy - at least in terms of blogging - seems to have waned dramatically in the past year.

Blame Twitter and Facebook with their zillions of members "tweeting" and "facebooking" (I don't care if this is a word or not) as the cause, perhaps. When you think about it, blogging requires a thoughtful concentration of time and energy. And whose got time and energy when you're busily tweeting away. Have we all become airheads?

For the purpose of full disclosure, I find myself posting to Facebook and Twitter a fair amount also these days, and a simply look at the datelines here in this blog and you can see my pattern of posts has declined in the past year or so. But what is perhaps more remarkable is that apparently others are doing the same thing.

I guess we could also blame this on the economy, or maybe blogging has really jumped the shark.

What do you think?

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Image from Wikipedia. Caption says: Fonzie in a scene from the Happy Days episode "Hollywood, Part Three of Three," preparing to jump over a shark on water skis.

Christmas Blog 2009

2009-12-05T22:40:00.004-05:00

When I wrote this missive a year ago, I was in the last stages of planning a trip out West to visit friends and family for the holidays. In fact, I was away almost the entire month of December and the trip was a real odyssey. While I was there, the folks from California to Washington were experiencing some of the toughest winter weather in many years and the cities of Portland and Seattle were basically closed. After spending a delightful 2½ weeks visiting friends in the beautiful San Francisco Bay Area, my path led me north up I-5 through snow-packed mountain passes and into the fog-shrouded and ice-covered roads of northern Oregon. Apparently, the locals don't know much about snow plows and road salt and even less about winter driving. The last leg of my trip from Redding, CA to Portland, OR, which should have only taken 6½ hours, took nearly 12 hours. Thankfully, Mr. Hertz who rented me my transportation, knew better and put me into a Ford Escape instead of the tiny, economy car I had ordered. Driving the last 30 miles into Portland at 15 mph on 3-inches of ice made me thankful for that decision.

Having the Christmas holidays in completely different surroundings was rewarding and delightful. Sister Mary, who was my reason for traveling to Portland, was a wonderful host and we had a great week of visiting and sightseeing. Although the weather could have been better, we did enjoy having a White Christmas, although many Oregonians told me I should take my snow and...leave immediately.

I returned to a very cold and snowy Northeast, but spring eventually arrived on time. Summer on the East Coast was almost non-existent this year and we had enough rain for five summers. Needless to say, there was not much outdoor summer activity until the mid August when the weather changed. Gratefully, we've had one of the best falls of recent memory. I was playing golf up until the middle of November, and although we've had more rain, the temperature the other day, December 3rd broke a record of 65º here in Augusta.

It is snowing as I post this on Saturday night. Ah, New England!

This was a tough year for a lot of folks. Between economic failings, job losses and that H1N1 thing, there has certainly been enough suffering. Fortunately, everyone in my circle of friends and family have remained healthy and getting by. I hope it has been the same for you and yours.

As we approach this special season - the Season of Light - and look into the new year, I am hoping that things improve for everyone and that we have left the darkest days behind us.

I pray that your Christmas season is blessed and equally hopeful. May you find peace and happiness in the New Year.

John Eric Brandt

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Image licensed through Creative Commons - Tochis/Flickr

Black Friday

2009-11-28T00:08:00.003-05:00

I braved the cold rainy weather to head out to a couple of the local stores this afternoon to observe the Black Friday activities and to pick up a few things. I headed to the newest shopping center in the city which just happens to be around the corner from my house. The "mall" has a Target as the flagship and also sports a Lowes (home center), Best Buy, Staples, PetSmart and a Moores craft and art supply store. This shopping center opened a little more than two years ago, just months before the economy tanked. Needless to say, it has been a pretty sad place most times.

Fortunately, things looked pretty good today. The parking lots were about half-full; the most I've ever seen in the place. Target and Best Buy seemed to be doing the most business. Staples had the least number of customers, but still not bad...usually I am the only one in the place and all of the sales people descend on me like sea gulls on fresh catch when I walk in the place.

But what struck me the most as I darted from car to store to car, in the driving November rain, was that the stores looked essentially the way they had a week ago, or a month ago. Except for Target, which had some snowflakes pasted on their windows and a few hanging from the ceiling throughout the store, nearly all of the stores were devoid of any Christmas decorations.

I started to think about Christmas shopping in Brooklyn in my youth. Many neighborhood shopping areas would not only decorate the store windows, and throughout the store, they would decorate the street with decorations hanging from the street lights or, in a few instances, with special strings of lights that would be hung across the streets from tall temporary wooden posts, all affixed to guide wires anchored to hooks in the sides of the buildings. For the 4-5 weeks before Christmas, it was like carne-vale.

Then there were the large department stores with their amazing window decorations and lifelike displays. People would come downtown just to see the window displays. If you have seen the movie A Christmas Story - and who hasn't - you'll remember the opening scene in the movie when the family goes downtown to see the parade and window displays. Brooklyn in the 1950s and 60s was just like that.

But Augusta, Maine of the 2000s is far from it. Just a couple of lousy snowflakes.

Not sure how well Black Friday was monetarily, but the stores were apparently saving money on decorations this year.

Gobble Gobble

2009-11-26T17:01:00.004-05:00

Here's wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving... or to the people in the rest of the world, Happy Thursday.

Form letters

2009-11-20T13:55:00.002-05:00

I received this "form letter" from Network Solutions several days after contacting their customer service center on an issue related to one of my accounts. Fortunately, it is a minor issue and one that can stay unresolved. Good thing, because I am not sure WHAT this says...

Dear John Brandt,

Thank you for contacting Network Solutions Customer Service Department. We are committed to creating the best Customer experience possible. One of the first ways we can demonstrate our commitment to this goal is to quickly and efficiently handle your recent request.

We have received your recent request regarding a Hosting Package. The package was added on , and apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.

In regards to your question involving ,

We hope this information has been helpful. As a Network Solutions Customer, you are entitled to unlimited access, day or night, to technically skilled Customer service representatives who are dedicated to delivering any level of support you may need. To reach us, call 1-888-642-9675.

If you are calling from outside the U.S. or Canada, please call 570-708-8788.

If you do need to contact us to discuss this issue further, please refer to Service Request # (deleted by me)

Sincerely,

Network Solutions Specialist
Network Solutions , LLC

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Image used under Creative Commons license - Xurble

WWII in HD

2009-11-18T22:19:00.001-05:00

Just finished watching almost three complete, one-hour episodes of a new series on the History Channel called WWII in HD. It follows the stories of 12 Americans during the Second World War. All appear to be ordinary citizens who did extraordinary things during the War and lived to tell about it.

Unlike most historic films of that time period, almost all of the film in this series is shot in color. I never knew there was that much color photography from WWII and nearly all of this is film I have never seen before. Much of it is pretty gruesome which accounts for part of the reason it has not been seen.

If you get a chance, check out WWII in HD. Stupid title, but great television.

~j

Happy Halloween

2009-10-31T14:16:00.003-04:00

Boo!

Photo via Trashmenagerie

Facebook is the new AOL, revisited

2009-10-27T16:03:00.011-04:00

I recently reconnected with some long lost friends via Facebook…I know, who hasn’t. In my case it is with people whom I have not had contact with for 30 years, so it is kinda “big.” This kind of happening was very reinforcing and soon I found myself searching for more old friends and acquaintances. But throughout the process there was something very familiar about the sensation I was feeling, it was a déjà vu feeling, a sense that I had done this all before. But I simply could not get my brain around it.

So, today I was reading a blog article about the changing trends in peoples' use of various web technologies. They note how the landscape has changed dramatically in the last few years and speculate on where we are heading (I will blog about this separately as I am very interested in the topic). So, I was reading the article and then it hit me. AOL…Facebook FEELS like AOL.

A short time later I Googled the words “Facebook” and “AOL” and lo and behold, I was not having an original idea - Yeah, so what else is new? Not only have others noted this, but some of them saw the similarities over TWO years ago, around the time Facebook first “hit the streets.”

Scott Heiferman on his blog in June of 2007 entitled “Facebook is the new AOL” notes the similarity of the two systems separated by thirteen years of time (1994-2007) and how they both appeal to people who “live in their walled gardens.” He writes:

Fast forward to Facebook 2007 and see similarities: If you want access to their big base of users, develop something in their proprietary language for their people who live in their walled garden. Strangely, many young facebookizens aren't very net savvy (facebook *is* their internet) & they have little desire to go beyond the walled garden -- just like the old AOL users. There's even a proprietary Facebook messaging system (kids don't use much open internet email).

Heiferman’s comments were echoed by Jason Kotte who adds:

Eventually, someone will come along and turn Facebook inside-out, so that instead of custom applications running on a platform in a walled garden, applications run on the internet, out in the open, and people can tie their social network into it if they want, with privacy controls, access levels, and alter-egos galore.

I think Kotte was partially wrong in his appraisal. If any thing, the walled garden has gotten larger and many folks - even me - seem to gravitate to the safety of “being among friends.”

Another blogger in August of 2007 laments the phenomena. Danny Sullivan in “Grokking Facebook: AOL 2.0” writes:

So as I go through the applications, a light bulb (compact fluorescent) finally kicks in about Facebook. It’s AOL. Shit — it’s AOL. How on earth did all these people wind up back in AOL only a year after AOL gave up on the walled garden? Maybe they’re too young. Maybe they don’t remember. I remember some Diggers once heckling me to go back to AOL. Made me laugh because they’d probably never been on it…

BTW, Danny made up the cute mashup image you seen on this blog. Delightful.

Danny too incorrectly predicts Facebook will be short lived. So what exactly is this phenomenon? Why is Facebook popular and growing in popularity? Or is it?

My own assessment is based exclusively on a very small sample – the 47 people who have the pleasure of being “my friends” on Facebook. They seem to fall into a predictable pattern. Of the nearly fifty folks, and this does not include the 3-4 organizations that I “follow,” less than half are what I would call “active” on Facebook. The vast majority chime-in very infrequently and some, not all, are completely mum. Because it is Facebook, I have no way of knowing if any of these “infrequent friends” even login and read my occasional rants. But, I suspect that although Facebook may be lauding over their claims to have had the largest growth of all of the social networking sites in the past two years, the vast majority of the members of Facebook rarely ever login to the service and even fewer write comments, updates and engage others. BTW, I recently went through my “follows” list in Twitter and discovered a very large number of people on my list had not tweeted in over 100 days. Yet, I suspect Twitter is still counting them as “members.” Perhaps someone can do that research.

What has been perhaps most interesting in this activity is reading all of the scathing predictions of the demise of Facebook and the whining as to why anyone would want to live inside the "walled garden of Facebook." It should be noted that all of these commentaries (the ones above and more listed below) are written by what appears to be professional writers on their own blogs. Only one respectfully made the disclosure that he too was “on Facebook” and could not deny the power of that very large audience.

I am curious about where it is all going and if ultimately the predictions made by these folks two years ago will come to fruition. Will Facebook end up in the digital discard pile along with AOL, Prodigy and CompuServe?

Time will tell.

Nods to:

Scott Rosenberg’s Wordyard

Jeff Jarvis

Jeff Pulver

Dave McClure

Roger Kondrat

Adam Singer

Alan Wolk

Joel at Socialized

My personal encounter with Soupy Sales

2009-10-24T12:49:00.009-04:00

Just in case you hadn’t heard, Soupy died the other day at the age of 83. Not bad for a old pie-thrower.

If you read any of the obits or career history of Mr. Sales (nee Milton Supman), you know that he had a brief, two-year run (1964-1966) as the host of a daily children's after-school show on WNEW – Channel 5 in New York. According to Wikipedia, The Soupy Sales Show was nationally syndicated in the second year making Soupy a household name.

Sales’ shows implemented several memorable shticks including the frequent throwing of cream pies into the faces of famous people, and bizarre characters - many of whom were puppets - that he conversed with throughout the 30 minute show. To the 11-13 year old audience of which I was part, he was simply nuts. Adding to his “kid appeal” was the fact that he had become rather controversial and the watching of his show had to be a covert behavior for many kid fans. The “hey-kids-send-the- green-pieces-of-paper-with-the-pictures-of-guys-with-beards-to-Soupy” episode is perhaps most famous.

I'm guessing it was in about 1965 that we (my sisters, dad and I) had our ever so brief, but completely memorably run in with Mr. Sales.

My dad worked in an office located on the corner of E 69th St and Third Ave, in Manhattan. It was a Saturday, and Dad had to make a stop at the office for something. We had parked, visited the office and were on our return to the car as we walked along Third Ave. It was a bright, sunny, winter day around noon and the streets were crowded with pedestrians burdened with shopping paraphernalia heading to Gristedes, or to lunch at Mahews, or perhaps a trip down to Bloomingdales.

I was 12 in 1965 and definitely into “people watching,” when I suddenly spotted the very familiar face coming at us as we walked south on Third. It was Soupy Sales walking along wearing a black, full-length coat, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. WNEW was located on E67th St, just off of Third, so it was Soupy's stomping ground.

I can’t remember if we made eye-contact, but there was that momentary-delay that always happens when you see a celebrity in the flesh. It caused me to stop dead in my tracks. Now, mind you, at 12, I was not very experienced meeting celebrities then, but I’ve had my fair share over the years. And each time it happens, I experience that stop-in-your-tracks feeling.

Anyway, Soupy passed us and I alerted my sisters, “That was Soupy Sales, that was Soupy Sales!”

I think the girls had both noticed him as well and now turned to face north, my eyes following Soupy as he almost disappeared into the New York backdrop. Spontaneously, I shouted, “Hey Soupy!” as loud as I could. My pronouncement did nothing to upset the hardened NY crowd, nary an eye moved from the throng.

My sisters and dad had now also stopped and turned to look back when Soupy suddenly broke step, spun around and with his hand still in his coat pockets spread his arms out, slightly squatted his knees, and shouted back in that characteristically silly voice some gibberish exaltation like “Be-lah” – his face grinning from ear to ear, his tongue sticking out.

Before we could react, and without missing a step, he suddenly spun back around, pulled his arms back and solemnly disappears into the din.

That was it. No pie in the face, no autograph. Just a “Be-lah” from Soupy Sales.

Rest in Peace, Soupy.

Everybody's so smart

2009-10-13T20:47:00.005-04:00

Maybe it started with the repackaging of the customer service department by Apple. The "Genius Bar" in the back of each Apple retail store is where you pay for, pick up, or order your desired Apple product. It is also the place where consumers can ask questions and get their Apple computer fixed. Yeah, but you know that happens very rarely with Apple Computers....right.

Does buying an Apple Computer make you a genius? Or is my niece correct when she states that smart people tend to buy Macs?

I just received an e-mail advertisement from Adobe entitled: "Your Shortcut to Brilliant." Do I really need Adobe's overpriced software to make me brilliant? Or is this assuming that because I am so brilliant, I would only purchase a product from Adobe.

What is going on? What's this obsession all of a sudden with "smartness?"

We have the "smart phone" and the "Smart Board," the "Smart Car" and "Smart Money." And, let's not forget "SMART Goals." This really doesn't have anything to do with "smartness" it is actually just a mnemonic for "Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant, Timely." But you already knew that, didn't you.

It's because you're smart.

Gluey the glue-worker's working!

2009-09-25T14:12:00.006-04:00

Digital photo taken by User:Postdlf Licensed through Creative Commons

When I was a child in the 50s and 60s, we would often travel along Greenpoint Ave on our way from Clinton Hill to my grandmother's home in Sunnyside, Queens. This necessitated a trip over the Greenpoint Ave. Bridge which crosses Newtown Creek. There was a glue factory on the east side of the shore that appeared to be the primary source of the "fragrance" that was everpresent in that location. From the back seat of the car we kids would announce in unison, "Gluey the glue-worker's working!"

Now, I see someone has finally started to do something about "the stench.". According to the Gotham Gazette, Newtown Creek has been nominated to be listed on the controversial federal Superfund funded by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. According to the GG, "Newtown Creek is the site of the country’s largest coastal oil spill, dating back to the 1950s when the site was the home of a refinery operation by Standard Oil — Exxon Mobil’s predecessor."

No mention of Gluey...I think that if they go ahead with this plan they will find that there was a lot more than one oil spill and they will find a few dead horses at the bottom of that creek.

I also predict it will be another 50 years before the smell goes away.

See also NY Times article on the same topic - including a photo from the bridge by: Nicole Bengiveno/The New York Times

~jeb

Psychotic America

2009-09-11T15:03:00.007-04:00

On this, the anniversary of one of the saddest days in American history, I am reflecting on the almost psychotic extremism being portrayed in the American political experience. I am basically frightened by some of the rhetoric that I am hearing from both sides, but particularly the extreme Right.

Here is an example that I just read in a "readers' comments" section on the Bangor Daily News website. See if it makes any sense to you:

Lori, the "socialist agenda" in Obama's speech, as proposed is not held within the speech itself. The concentrated concern of the problem issues came from the outside. The very fact of Obama's background, oratory style of saying nothing in a long speech, the frustrating manner in which he twists words and theories, and his everlasting manner of street-speaking, frustrates a lot of people. What a concern of these people who were adamant against having their child sit and be forced to listen to Obama the other day was simply just that! Because parents know how Obama is, Obama has proven himself to be something he once said he was, and is not, and they (parent's) were afraid of something being said in-topic which could have been detrimental; not known by young minds what Obama's intent or words would actually be, absorbed into their minds!

BTW, this is in response to a teacher who wrote a guest column about the lack of student responsibility. I chose these comments because I simply can make no sense out of what the person is saying. But it is clear they don't trust Mr. Obama and apparently fear he has some unique powers of persuasion that will somehow corrupt the minds of children. Wow.

The next reader's comment came from a woman who described herself as someone "recently retired from school teaching in Maine, after 25 frustrating years..."

In terms of Obama's speech, I was against it for several reasons: schools are suppose to be apolitical; early addresses by past Presidents were not beamed out to every student, due to lack of technology ,and teachers could decide whether they wanted to attend, but most schools did not have the TV's available; Obama has embedded messages in most of his speeches which might encourage indoctrination of students; Obama is everywhere pushing his message; Parents should be the people deciding whether students listen to him at a young age, perhaps high school students, but not K-6; some schools mandated viewing, which is truly socialist in nature.

Both of my grandchildren did not watch the Obama speech. They are Kindergarten students, and too young to understand. One child stayed home, as the speech was mandated in Broward County, Florida, and the other child did go to school, as the school "archived" the speech, stating it was not in their primary curriculum.

Excuse me, did you just say, "...Obama has embedded messages in most of his speeches which might encourage indoctrination of students..."

God help us.

~j

Image from Creative Commons

Perry's Nut House

2009-08-27T23:24:00.003-04:00

A local news story this evening brought me back in time; a time of youth and innocence.

Well, maybe not a time of innocence...

It was in the summer of 1970 that I discovered one of the most unique establishments on the coast of Maine. According to their website, “Perry's Nut House has been referred to as a Maine Institution since 1927 when I.L. Perry first opened his doors to sell pecans and other assorted nuts.”

I was part of a motley crew of campers and counselors from a small boys’ camp in Friendship, Maine off for a day trip to Fort Knox where we had searched – in vain – for hidden treasures. Although I, and presumably the rest of my crew, knew full well that the massive edifice built at the mouth of the Penobscot River to protect the City of Bangor from British attack after the War of 1812 was not the place with all the gold, my fellow staff and I attempted to confuse the young lads by insisting that we search every inch of the fort including a trip down into the bowels of the site in search of the precious mineral.

In those days I was learning the art form of how to keep little boys busy, content and tired. Busy boys stay out of trouble and content boys would not write unflattering letters to parents. The "tired" part paid off for the staff when we could call lights out at 9:00 pm and have a few hours of rest and recovery from the “little darlings” before crashing ourselves.

There was only so much Fort Knox to go around that day and by 2:30 we had pretty much seen everything there was to see. The boat back to camp would not be ready until five o’clock so several hours still had to be occupied.

Leading the excursion was Old Man John, the feisty and coarse former camp director who recently had turned over the reigns of the camp to his 28 year old son and taken the role as chief sage and bus driver. But the Old Man still had quite few tricks up his sleeve for killing time; he could write a book. Wherever I traveled with that man in the years that followed he never ceased to amaze me by finding the most unique and “off the beaten track” places that would make any all American boy drool.

That year we were introduced to Perry’s Nut House. Located along busy US Route 1 just north of the port city of Belfast, Perry’s complex of brightly painted yellow building surrounded by a menagerie of strange and exotic “curiosities” can’t be missed. Seemingly from a time long ago, the Perry’s of 1970 sported a larger-than-life bear, elephant, and wooden Indian. And that was just on the outside of the building. Once inside, Perry’s was the kind a place every kid would love and contained the kind of stuff every camp counselor dreaded. That was probably why Old Man John made a lengthy speech warning campers and staff that no one was to buy any contraband. Before we exited the camp bus, the Old Man pulled me aside and told me to keep my eyes on a few of the seniors who would no doubt defy the warning and try to fill their pockets with itchy powder, rubber turds and black soap.

I watched the more recalcitrant members of the brood with extra-sharp, hawk-eyes but Perry’s was a very distracting venue. Apart from the racks and racks of every Maine-related souvenir one could imagine, stacks of candy and goodies that would make a dentist smile, Perry’s was filled with a collection of odd and amazing collectibles including a 10 foot long snake skin, stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes, including alligators and giraffes, a large, menacing gorilla, and yes, even a “man-eating clam!”. Add to this an unlimited supply of comic books and games, fun house stuff like mirrors that made you look two feet tall and quickly all time was lost.

An hour later, and many dollars lighter, the camp boys and staff were back on the bus heading down US 1 satiated and content. Filled with candy and ice cream, more than a few youngsters didn’t finish their supper that night.

And despite the staff’s best efforts, the next morning we all recoiled in disgust when a realistic-looking puddle of rubber vomit was discovered on one of the dining room tables.

The camp director never did find out who put it there, but it would be a couple of years before we would visit Perry’s Nut House again.

See the news story about Perry's Nut House

Perry's Nut House website

~j

Old TV Shows

2009-08-15T22:24:00.008-04:00

A friend circulated an e-mail chain letter asking people to add their name and the name of their favorite TV show from their youth. Kinda of an interesting list actually. While I was doing the laundry today I decided to use IMDB to find out info about the ones on the list. I know, this definitely qualifies as something done by "somebody who has too much time on his hands."

What can I say... other than I am not responsible for spelling...

OWEN--.The Rifleman

Martha--Dinah Shore Show

Billy--.Six Million Dollar Man

Kay--Friday night fights!! (Sorry not a TV series per se, no record found)

Dutch--Dynasty

Carol--Streets of San Francisco

Cheryl--St. Elsewhere

Lisa--Here Comes the Brides

Sheila--China Beach

Twyla--I Remember Mama Note: there was a movie of this same name - 1949 TV show was called "Mama"

Ruth--.The Red Skelton Show

Chriss-- Lassie - aka - "Timmy and Lassie," "Jeff's Collie"

Kitty--Gunsmoke

Barb--That Girl

Barb--The Walton's

Beth--Burns and Allen aka - "The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show"

Lynda-- What's My Line Note: multiple versions - first 1950

Marg--The Lone Ranger

Lynn -- The Ed Sullivan Show aka "The Toast of the Town"

Betty -- You Are There (1953)

Deborah -- Marcus Welby,M.D.

Becky -- WKRP in Cincinnati

Beth -- The Flying Nun

Kristy -- Welcome Back Kotter

Thaise -- The Facts of Life

Tam -- HR Pufnstuf Note: Not to be confused with H.R. Pufnstuff which is a new movie

Jill -- Emergency aka "Emergency One"

Valerie-- Wonder Woman

Debbie-- Knots Landing

Lynn --Soap

Bonnie -- 30 Something aka "Thirtysomething"

Toney -- Surf Side Six

Carolyn -- Name that Tune Note multiple versions - first 1953

Gena -- Dallas

Doris -- Falcon Crest

Michelle -- Romper Room aka "Romper Room and Friends" - Mulitple versions, first 1953

Kathy -- Ray Rayner Note: wow, rare, could you mean "Ray Rayner and His Friends?"

Candy -- Benji FAIL: not a TV show

Dana -- Laugh In aka "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In"

Ann -- I Dream of Jeanie - This was a movie, the TV show was "I Dream of Jeannie"

Lisa -- Sanford and Son

Jill --Brisco County Jr. - Wow, Jill, you must be a kid still! This show from 1993

Lois -- Bewitched

Gayle -- M.A.S.H.

Juanita -- Flipper Note: multiple versions and movies

Donna -- Rin Tin Tin aka "The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin"

Janet D -- Fury Note: mulitple movies of the same name

Chris -- Howdy Doody Note: also a predecesor - "Puppet Playhouse" plus multiple sequels: It's Howdy Doody Time (1987) (TV); The New Howdy Doody Show" (1976) (TV series); Howdy Doody and His Magic Hat (1954)

Carl -- Bat Masterson

Gloria -- The Addams Family Note: multiple versions and movies of the same name - first 1964

Rich -- Hill Street Blues

Fannie -- Cagney and Lacey Note: multiple sequels

Katie -- The Jeffersons

Cathy R -- The Andy Griffith Show Note: multiple sequels plus reunions

Kim F -- The Monsters ( did you mean The Munsters?) - a British TV show from 1962

Yvonne -- The Carol Burnette Show Note: multiple versions - first 1967

Michele -- The Lawrence Welk Show (wanerful, wanerful!)

Sharon -- The Rookies

Angela -- The Courtship of Eddie's Father Note: Based on a movie and also sequels

Julie P -- MOD Squad Note: sequel and movies - first 1964

Michelle C -- Get Christy Love (I never heard of this before)

Gaynell D -- Leave It To Beaver

Norman -- Amos & Andy

Sherry -- Little House on the Prairie

Barbara -- Wagon Train

Madeline -- Perry Mason

Patsy -- The Golden Girls

Gina -- The Brady Bunch

Fay -- Nash Bridges - another babe!

Alice -- .Charlie's Angels

Donna -- The Wonderful World of Disney aka "Disneyland"

Bonnie -- The Sonny and Cher Show . (Note: I didn't know Steve Martin was the writer, did you?)

Victor -- Maude

Valerie -- 77 Sunset Strip Kookie, Kookie, lend me your comb!

Phyllis -- American Bandstand aka "Bandstand"

Stephanie -- Fantasy Island De Plane, de plane!

Beth -- The Midnight Special (Another one I had never heard of)

Jude -- Queen For A Day Many sequels - first 1951

Sylvia -- Zorro Many sequels, many movies, - first TV 1957

Denise -- Miami Vice

Richard -- The Cisco Kid several sequels - first 1950

John -- The Man from UNCLE

TY -- The Untouchables several sequels and movies - first 1959

Henry -- Star Trek several sequels and movies - first 1966

Vera -- Mickey Mouse Club several sequels - first 1955

Linda -- The Monkeys - presume you mean "The Monkees"

Dawn -- Family Affair - one sequel and multiple movies of the same name - first TV 1966

Kip -- Car 54 Where Are You?

George -- Maverick

Michael -- Sugarfoot

Thomas L -- Captain Video - there were two "Captain Video and His Video Rangers" (1949) and "Captain Video and His Cartoon Rangers" (1956)

MaryAnn -- Ozzie and Harriet aka "The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet" (1952)

Sue -- 90210 again there were at least two series "Beverly Hills, 90210" (1990) and "90210" (2008), in any case you are also a babe.

Mary -- Father Knows Best

Jill -- Gidget

Rhonda -- McCloud

Tammy -- Twilight Zone

Judy -- ZOOM - first 1972, many sequels

LAMOINE -- HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN

Leigh -- Ultra Man could you mean Ultraman (Japanese) 1972?

Sandi -- My Three Sons

Jason -- All in the Family

Randi -- Dark Shadows

Tanya -- Dawson's Creek

Ahlai -- Good Times

Theresa -- Mr. ED first 1961

Dana -- The Partridge Family

Millie -- Password first 1961

Zenna -- Mary Tyler Moore

Bob -- Superman aka "Adventures of Superman" (1952)

Floyd -- Kukla Fran and Ollie

Sherry -- Laverne and Shirley

Janet -- Studio One aka "Westinghouse Studio One"

Wendy-- I love Lucy

Lee-- Flash Gorden many sequels and movies

Delores-- Night Gallery

Tonja-- PettiCoat Junction

Shari -- The Dean Martin Show

Marjory-- MAGNUM PI

Jackie -- The Cosby’s - do you mean "The Cosby Show" (1984)?

Stef ---.Full House

Julia -- Boy Meets World

Kate -- Pee Wee Herman aka Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985)

Brittni -- Fraggle Rock!

Kara -- 7th Heaven

Katherine -- Saved by the Bell

Brianne -- Pound Puppies

Emily -- Sesame Street (Dah!)

JOSH-- the fall guy

Clark -- Combat

Wayne -- Adam 12

Elouise -- Gilligan’s Island

ELLEN-- PUNKY BREWSTER!!!!

RUBY-- HAPPY DAYS!

Ted -- Lost in Space

Diana P -- Green Acres

Sherri J -- Beverly Hillbillies

Gail -- Fury!

Betty Lu -- McMillan & Wife (Rock Hudson)

Sharron -- Mannix

Lori -- Quantum Leap

Mary-- Sky King (my favorite: "From out of the clear blue of the western sky comes Sky King" )

Barbara -- Dick Van Dyke Show

Val -- Silver Spoons

Fran -- Three’s Company

Sann-- Land of the Lost Note: mulitple sequels - first 1974

Cordero -- Mork & Mindy - "naanu naanu!"

Renetta -- What's Happening..

Corrine -- Hawaii 50 - - - Aloha (actually Hawaii Five-O)

Janelle -- The LOVE boat!

Mary -- Get Smart

Matilda -- Hart to Hart

Leslie -- Webster

Regina -- Mr. Belvedere

Prexie --The Lorretta Young Show aka "The New Loretta Young Show" (1962) (Note there was an earlier show (1953) called "Letter to Loretta"

Hilda -- The Dating Game multiple sequels - first 1965

Susan S -- My Little Margie

John (Me)-- Fireball XL-5 (only cause the good ones were all taken

My Life is Unappealing

2009-08-15T11:23:00.003-04:00

I have received the same e-mail about two dozen times over the past two years. It is always the same message. Can anyone guess why I have not responded positively to the request to join My Life...apart from the fact that you have to pay for it and Facebook is free?

~j

Follow me on Twitter

What is Twitter?

2009-07-23T17:21:00.005-04:00

It seems every time I go to a social gathering these days someone makes a point of asking me to explain Twitter. Granted, I am of that certain age when nearly all of my family and colleagues are, well, more mature. Most seem amazed that I use Twitter and even more amazed when I tell them I can explain it.

So this is what I tell them...

Remember when you were in junior high school or freshman/sophomore year in high school? Remember the school cafeteria at lunchtime? This is Twitter.

Then I explain: So you are sitting at a long table with you immediate friends. Maybe your best friend is sitting opposite you, and around you are your general circle of friends. And at the end of the table are other classmates, but kids you don't socialize with all that much, except maybe in class, or the locker room or here in the caf.

Now at the tables around you are other classmates, kids in your same grade, but with whom you rarely socialize. And as you span out in increasingly larger circles from your table you eventually cover all of the kids in your school, well maybe a big chunk of them, sitting in the cafeteria.

Now, if your school was like my school, there are teachers in the room and there will be the occasional announcement over the very scratchy PA system. Most of these announcements are of no interest to you, but occasionally everyone shuts up and listens.

Got the picture? The scene is rather animated and there is a LOT of talking going on. So much so that it is almost impossible to hear your best friend right in front of you; so everyone talks a little louder. To an outside observer, it is utter din, nonsense. But to those engaged in conversation, it is intense, sometimes personal, and very addictive.

Because you are 12, 13, 14 or 15 years old, you still have great hearing and even better powers of concentration. You follow the conversation with your best friend, but you also monitor the conversations of the kids around you; sometimes engaging in several conversations at once. Every once and a while, there will be an outburst from someone at the end of the table, or the neighboring table and you'll shout down, "Wad-i-dy say? Wad-i-she say?" And the comment is repeated and this is followed by uproarious laughter all along table. Occasionally that will result in kids from other tables, further away from the source leaning in to find out what was said.

This is Twitter. The conversations are ofter between or among a pair or a small circle of friends, but occasionally the conversation is expanded to the surrounding tables.

And then you have a day like we had when Michael Jackson died, or better yet, the day that jetliner landed in the Hudson River. I say that because I was on Twitter that afternoon and remember seeing the innocent tweet, "...a jet has just landed in the Hudson River."

Sometimes these events comes through one of the many news feeds that are broadcast on Twitter similar to the teacher announcement on the PA. But most times these conversations start as something one person says to another and then gets repeated and repeated (retweeted) until literally everyone in the cafeteria is talking about it. They may talk about it for minutes or hours, or even days.

So, what is the content of these conversations on Twitter? Just the same as you would hear in any group of people: he-said-she-said, the latest gossip, what did you watch on TV, what movies did you/do you want to see, the latest ball scores...and on and on. Occasionally, there are serious conversations, "what ya get on your social studies test?" "You going to the dance?" And often times they are rhetorical and frivolous, "Harry Potter rocks!" "55 ways to make a million dollars..."

This is Twitter.

Just like in the cafeteria there are the people who say very little and closely monitor what others are saying. Then there are the motor-mouths who never shut up; the kids who have clever and witty things to say, and those you repeat the same story or joke over and over again and again.

And you find yourself listening more to some, and less to others. And some folks are so obnoxious, you just stop listening to altogether.

This is Twitter.

About then my audience says, why the hell would anyone want to participate in that?

Good question....

The answer? You'll have to try Twitter to find out.

And be sure to follow me!

~jeb

Meeting Walter Cronkite

2009-07-21T11:42:00.009-04:00

As we mourn the loss of the venerable newscaster, Walter Cronkite, ironically just days before the 40th anniversary of one of his most famous broadcasts, the web has been full of remembrances and tributes. Mine is far from unique or noteworthy, but I thought I would share it just the same.

For the last four years I lived in New York City, I had a part time job driving a taxicab. It was the real thing; a licensed medallion cab driven through the five boroughs. And, I lived to tell about it. Well, it wasn’t all that scary, but it was a heady time in the NYC cab industry, just before the fleets disappeared and at a time you could still make a living wage ferrying around New York’s elite.

At that time, many college students drove cabs in NY. We mostly worked on weekends when the regular drivers took some time off. And in the last few years on that job I was making more per hour than I would make in my real first job working for a mental health agency in northern Maine. Go figure.

It was a bright Sunday afternoon in early fall with the sun just setting. I was cruising in the upper East Side looking for a fare to take me out to the airport (the NYC airports could be gold mines on Sundays) or a long fare back downtown. I was on York Ave heading south and I think it was around 84th St when I spotted a young man on the corner. Instincts kicked in and I almost willed the kid to raise his hand to flag me down. As we made eye-contact he signaled me to make the turn east on to 84th. This was a good sign because it meant we were going to pick up someone on the block and they might have luggage, and they might be going to Kennedy, and…anyway, you get the point.

The handsome young man, maybe in his early 20s, jumped in and directed me to the middle of the block of handsome townhouses and brownstones. He explained that I would be picking up their housekeeper and taking her home to her apartment on 96th and East End.

My enthusiasm faded instantaneously as I recognized that this was not a long haul. This was a short hop and one that would take me further way from my desired goal. I groaned to myself and was contemplating my next move when I saw him. He was instantly recognizable and I was immediately drawn to his bright eyes and silver hair attenuated by the piercing late afternoon sun gracing him like a long follow-spot. I want to say he had blue eyes, but I can’t be sure, the golden light washed out any actual color. But the silver hair and the trademark mustache were unmistakable…this was Walter Cronkite.

As directed by the young man in the back, I pulled the cab as far to the left side of the one-way 84th as I could right in front of the man who I had been watching on TV since I was in diapers. The most trusted man in television. The man who had interviewed presidents and kings, who was there on the night men walked on the moon and who told us over and over again on countless replays “…President Kennedy died at 1:00 pm Central Standard Time, 2:00 o’clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago…”

This was a lighter moment. Walter reached for the cab’s door handle just as the young man opened the door from the inside. There were others in the small entourage that surrounded a small Asian woman, obviously my fare, who was being escorted into my cab. But I didn’t really see any of them; Walter held my fascination and my attention his eyes squinting in the sun.

The meeting was but an instant. The only words exchanged were between Walter and the woman now in my cab. He closed the door and through the opened window thanked her in that trademark mid-western speech style. She thanked him back and I knew that my brief moment with stardom was over. I pulled the cab back into traffic and picked up my trip sheet, instinctively entering the address, time and destination. The Asian lady in the back explained that that was “Mr. Walter Cronkite” and that she was his housekeeper. And yes, she said this with a thick Asian accent that include a mispronunciation of his last name. “That was, Mr. Chip…” she added. “He’s very nice, he’s Mr. Cronkite’s son, he’s very nice.”

The trip was indeed a short one, nary ten blocks, but during the fare she explained that Mr. Cronkite had been away on vacation and had just returned. She had been staying at this house for the duration, watching over things. It seemed she had been in his household staff for some time and that she really enjoyed her job.

I made an asterisk on my trip sheet with the abbreviation "WC" so I would be able to find the address again if need be. And after dropping off the lady on 96th St, I turned my cab back south into obscurity.

“And that’s the way it was….”

~j

Farewell to Shifty

2009-07-16T16:11:00.006-04:00

I think every boy growing up in the US in the 50's and 60's was a big fan of World War II. For most of us, our fathers and uncles fought in that war and it was always described as a noble event, the so-called "moral war."

Of course all that changed in the late 60's when the Vietnam war took away our taste for killing and dying. But for those years of my boyhood I loved to "play war," shooting invisible Nazis and Japs, falling and rolling on the ground and then getting back up to do it all again. If you saw the movie Born on the 4th of July, you'll understand.

As I have gotten older, and patriotism has come back in vogue, I admit that I am still a bit of a WWII nut. I have my own private collection of WWII movies and even gave a donation to the WWII Memorial in Washington a few years back. I think the whole experience made me feel closer to my father who died before the memorial was built. He would have loved it.

So when the movie Saving Private Ryan (SPR) was made I jumped at the opportunity to purchase it immediately when it came out on DVD. I've watched this movie over a dozen times and still find there are parts I can't look at or cringe when I view them. It gives me a visceral reaction.

Perhaps because the movie was a big hit and because interest in WWII was clearly increasing at that time, Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks, the talents behind SPR, produced and directed a 705 minute TV miniseries on HBO called Band of Brothers. This incredible re-enactment of the lives of a few handfuls of young GIs during WWII has brought me to tears many, many time as I've watched episode after episode over and over again.

When you first watch it, you can be easily confused because the cast of characters are monumental. There are so many names, some you meet only once, and others who stay with you the entire story. Then the producers slowly introduce us to some of the actual vets - now all old men - who tell the back story. And it is then that you really realize, really understand, what war is all about.

As you start to link the young actors to the old gentlemen, you see and feel the experience of World War II and the men of Easy Company. In some magical way, the casting directors found young actors who often looked like the real men. Eventually you find yourself simply astonished how any of these guys made it through those hellish experiences.

And yet the evidence is right there...they were still alive and talking about.

Talking about it is perhaps not an accurate description, for it was clear that for each of these great and noble men, the experiences of battle had left painful, lasting scars. It was in the remembrance of their fallen comrades that they talked; each man played down the role they had taken in the war.

Each time I watch the film I am so impressed that these were all just everyday, average guys. Most of them volunteered to be in the service and chose paratroopers because it paid a few more bucks per month.

At the very end of the film, the narrator tells about what happens to many of the members of Easy Company in the years that followed the War. Some died in accidents, others from poor choices, and others would go on to live on long full, relatively uneventful lives - not as war heroes - but as everyday Americans. Just like my Dad and uncles.

Well last night on the evening news there was a short and sweet tribute to one of those men from Easy Company. Shifty Powers who was known as a marksman and and all-around nice guy passed from us last month to join his band of brothers in the great beyond. It brought a tear to my eye again and a feeling of loss that is usually associated with the death of a close friend or family member. I think after watching Band of Brothers an innumerable amount of times, each of these men have become, in some ways, like family members and close friends.

I salute you Shifty and all of the others who went before you and who are waiting their time to join you.

In closing, perhaps Maj. Dick Winters, Shifty's CO said it best:

During the interview segment of the miniseries Band of Brothers, Winters quoted a passage from a letter he received from Sergeant Mike Ranney, "'I cherish the memories of a question my grandson asked me the other day when he said, Grandpa, were you a hero in the war?' Grandpa said 'No… but I served in a company of heroes…'"

Here are some background links on Shifty and Band of Brothers

Shifty Powers of ‘Band of Brothers’ fame dies

Band Of Brothers Hero, Darrell ‘Shifty’ Powers Dies

War Hero E-mail Goes Worldwide -- But Who Really Wrote It?

Wikipedia on Darrell "Shifty" Powers

D-Day Normandy site - in his own words (Note: you may have to use the search to find this link)

Band of Brothers - IMDB and about Shifty's character played by Peter Youngblood Hills

~jeb

More Wyeth Lore

2009-07-08T22:17:00.006-04:00

I’ve already posted My Andrew Wyeth Story in this blog twice; once two summers ago and again last winter when Andy died. And since this Sunday, July 12 is Andy's birthday, and proclaimed A Day for Andrew Wyeth by Governor Baldacci, I thought it was appropriate to share this latest yarn.

Several weeks ago I had the opportunity to drive to New York for the wedding of one of my nieces. I stayed at my sister’s house in north Jersey for the whole weekend. As Saturday turned into another one of our all too common rainy days, she suggested we drive down to Montclair, NJ and visit the Montclair Museum of American and Native Art. The sister explained that they were currently exhibiting The Wyeths: Three Generations and that she had been there a few weeks earlier with her kindergarten class. She was knowledgeable about My Wyeth Story although I reminded her of some of the highlights and the post script involving Andy’s granddaughter Vic. The sister howled.

We arrived at the Montclair in the early afternoon and learned that there would be a gallery walk and talk starting in a few minutes. It turned out that the docent that was giving the walk was one of my sister’s colleagues and I was introduced as being the brother from Maine who had had some personal experience with the Wyeth family.

As we had viewed the collection shortly before the gallery walk began, I told the sister a few more recent Wyeth stories that I had heard Jamie tell on the local TV station a few weeks earlier. But I made her relieved/proud when I indicated that I would be keeping my mouth shut once the gallery walk began.

The young woman giving the presentation did a beautiful job and clearly had done her homework. Although I know a lot about the family and the history of many of the paintings, this woman had a few tales that even I had not heard before and it was all very interesting.

A crowd of about 30 people following the walk as we strolled through the large gallery and there were only a few questions asked, all of which the docent securely and authoritatively answered. The exhibit sponsored by the Bank of America is traveling around the country and would be in NJ until mid July.

We were almost through the end of the walk and coming to the last few painting by Jamie Wyeth when the docent stopped in front of one of larger pieces. Called (I believe*) “Harbor, Monhegan,” this is a very colorful painting of a young boy, standing in front of a large oil tank that has been converted into a furnace riding on spoke wheels and spewing large orange flames and thick black smoke. I remembered seeing the painting on the television and hearing Jamie telling a little about the background of the painting. It seems that because of the limited ability to landfill trash on Monhegan Island, that summer, the locals hired this young boy, Cat Bates, to burn the trash in this makeshift furnace which he dragged up and down the beach each day. As the smell of garbage attracted the sea birds, the air and ground in the image, and in the real scene, was full of sea gulls flying and clamoring around the boy.

As the docent was finishing her presentation one woman in the crowd asked about the meaning behind the image of the boy and the fire. I think she may have half expected to hear some wild tale evoking images of Satan and Hell. The docent looked furtively through her notes and then admitted the she didn’t know the origin of the painting. I looked over at my sister who gave me a knowing glance and non-verbal permission to finally open my mouth. So, never being a shy individual, I piped up and detailed the story about Cat and the reason for the conflagration.

I immediately noticed that the flock started to gather around me as I detail more of the specifics. There was soon a dialog. “Is the boy still there? What happened to him? Is his name really Cat?”

I answered to the best of my knowledge that Cat was all grown up now and that Jamie had included him in several other paintings. And, no, I don’t know why his mother named him Cat, but that was indeed his name. (More info about Cat on this website)

We talked for some time about the Maine ecology, sanitation and the independent thinking individuals who inhabit Monhegan Island, Maine.

I was on a roll; I had a captive audience.

Next, I moved to another series of two paintings of sea gulls and told story that I recalled from the television interview with Jamie Wyeth. In this, I explained that Jamie indicated that while painting the gulls one day one bird came very close to his canvas. “I always wondered how much a sea gull weighs,” the junior Wyeth explained. “So, I just reached out and grabbed the bird.”

It seems sea gulls, like most wild creatures, don’t take too kindly to being handled by humans and put up quite a fuss. “The bird started pecking at me and took a nip out of my eyelid,” the artist pointing to some wrinkles above his eyelid to show the scar made by the bird. “They don’t weigh very much at all,” he added.

The small, thinning crowd went wild with enthusiasm.

I decided that I had probably said too much and deferred back to our leader to continue with the tour. But I could see that I had impressed even her.

Soon the walk was over and sister and I joined to thank the docent for her presentation and apologize for perhaps speaking out of turn. She warmly indicated that my contribution has clearly added to the presentation and that she would be using this new-found material in her future gallery walks.

We talked for several more minutes about my experiences and where in Maine I lived. Several others from the tour gathered around and wanted to know if I was a relative. Demurely, I explained I was a mere mortal and that I had was just a big fan of Andrew Wyeth and had seen a number of their exhibits in Maine. I didn’t waste any time and put in a good plug for our wonderful state and invited them to all come and visit us this summer. The Maine Tourism Bureau would be proud.

But before we ended our little Wyeth Love-fest, my sister encouraged me to tell The Story. Coyly, I set the mood and told a much abbreviated version of the tale. My new fan club glowed in approval and absolutely loved the story. They of course wanted to know if I ever took Vic up on the offer for coffee. I told them no, but that may be some day I would.

Perhaps I’ll head down to the Farnsworth this weekend and look for Andy’s granddaughter.

~jeb

* In listening to the WCSH6 interview with Jamie Wyeth, I learned that there are five paintings of this same theme. Not sure which one is in the Montclair exhibit

Bing

2009-05-30T10:42:00.004-04:00

You know you're an old geezer when you hear news about something called Bing and you think of this guy.

The other Bing.

________

Image licensed from Creative Commons

Spock, I need you…

2009-05-19T22:40:00.006-04:00

For old Trekies like me, there has been an evolution of interest and discernment about what we might affectionately call "The Franchise."

As a kid, I loved Capt. Kirk and Mr. Spock. I was mesmerized by the then-high-tech nature of the TV show, wanting to believe that the balsa wood cut out USS Enterprise was real despite the fact that it looked nothing like the real space ships NASA was shooting off from Cape Kennedy. Star Trek was like nothing else on television and made shows like Lost in Space look like child's play.

The plots of those original shows, scurrilously described by the TV critics of the time as "cowboys in space" and “swashbuckling astronauts,” were perfect for my 13 year old boy sensibilities. There on the backlot of some Paramount studio, the bold and brash young Kirk persevered in a to-the-death, hand-to-hand battle with some slimy, scaly Styrofoam-laden creature from the Black Lagoon. It was comic book drama at its best.

And as quickly as it started, it disappeared. Well, not exactly. Through the miracle of television reruns, you could continue to relive the Star Trek phenomena in syndication.

By the time the Star Trek story moved to the silver screen in the late 70's, I had matured, as had the characters. The plots in this next iteration of The Franchise were slightly more involved, perhaps overly melodramatic, but the special effects were all the more realistic and believable. With some super movie hocus pocus, the shots of the Enterprise traveling at Warp Factor 5 started to look – real.

We had all aged along with Spock and Kirk and grown comfortable with their enduring relationship. We enjoyed their fraternity which now allowed Spock to call his captain by his first name – something unheard of in the original series. And we reveled in the fact that the once romantic and sexy young Kirk had been replaced with a self-deprecating scoundrel whose libido – and ego - had somehow managed to be diluted with age.

Then, in the 90s ST: The Next Generation brought a whole new dimension - and a whole new “generation” of followers to The Franchise. The swashbuckling antics of old were gone, replaced by intelligence and craftiness. Battles were won with brilliance and cunning, not brawn and fisticuffs. The basic formula remained the same and to us old Trekies, who had grown wise with age, the refocus on the morality play side of Star Trek had a fresh new appeal. New favorite characters emerged and new 23rd century technologies provided more opportunities for more complicated plot twists and turns.

Though through this period, the memories of Kirk and Spock were not lost. Reaching perhaps a new zenith, The Franchise exploited both the large screen and small as more movies rolled out and the TV series broke new ground with a nine season run.

But eventually the two casts seemed to cross into a time warp that left almost all of them stranded beyond the Neutral Zone. Whether it was poor writing or a lack of imagination, the old friends were getting a bit long in the tooth and more and more unbelievable. Attempts at moving TNG to the big screen never really produced the excitement that was expected and Kirk and Spock had simply become old men.

The Franchise experienced a few more furtive twists and turns in the years that followed. ST: Voyager which started off slow and stiff eventually won me over. But perhaps because of the mere nature of the plot, Voyager had to have an ending that would be anticlimactic. Deep Space Nine and Enterprise never really resonating with me and apparently neither did it with mainstream audiences. Both of these later iterations did not last very long and it was beginning to look like The Franchise was relegated to thrusters only.

And then there was The Void.

With Gene Roddenberry long gone and several of the actors from the original series having returned to Sto-Vo-Kor, some of us thought that perhaps our fantastic romp in outer space had gone out of phase permanently. Perhaps too, many of the high tech gizmos that had fascinated us in1965 had simply become pedestrian. As we communicate with our smart phones and track our locations on our handheld GPS units, we are now living out the Star Trek fantasies in our daily life.

So what could possibly make this new installment of The Franchise a success?

I admit I was pretty skeptical. It would take a lot to get me interested and excited about a new cast and crew.

So I must admit I have been surprised and pleased with Star Trek – the new movie.

Kudos to the director, writers and production staff who have managed to reach back into that box of magic and pull out a winner.

By returning to the original formula – cowboys in space – and adding a troupe of good young actors along with some of the best computer graphics money can buy, The Franchise appears to have brought itself back to life.

While I cannot give it a full five stars, I will confirm that the new movie is a nice entertaining experience that Trekies old and young have to go see.

In closing, you know what Spock would say…

Springtime

2009-05-02T10:53:00.004-04:00

We seem to be about a week early in the growing cycle. That's alright by me.

~j

Free range kids

2009-04-23T16:24:00.009-04:00

Just got finished reading an article in Edutopia called "A Conversation with Lenore Skenazy on Free-Range Kids." You may have heard about Skenazy. She's the mother who became an unwitting international celebrity when she allowed her nine-year-old son to take the New York City Subway home from Bloomingdales in an effort to allow him to experience some independence. As I recalled the story that took place some time ago, I found myself remembering my own childhood growing up in Brooklyn and the freedom we had then.

Growing up in Clinton Hill in the late 50s and early 60s was an ideal experience. Kids at that time were allowed to travel away from the womb in increasing expanding concentric circles until the umbilicus was snapped from stretching. This was quite a feat for me considering my mother was not one to let her little darling steer too far too fast. Still, by the time I was 10, I was regularly hopping onto the Vanderbilt Ave. bus and traveling with my (slightly) older sister up to the Brooklyn Public Library at Grand Army Plaza.

By my mid-teen age years I had free reign of the "City that Never Sleeps" and eventually could be found taking the subways in the wee hours of the night.

My greatest feat of early-adolescent independence took place when I was about 12 or 13. At the time, my concentric circle of freedom and independence had expanded to about 3-4 blocks in all directions. Whether on foot, bicycle or roller skate, the opportunities and adventures continued to expand.

That summer, like most boys growing up in NYC, I was transfixed with everything baseball. The daily activity from March until September involved copious amounts of stickball played on Waverly Avenue, in traffic, with a stickball bat made out of an old broom handle an either a Pensy Pinky or the, quite-preferred Spalding (correctly pronounced Spaul-deen) ball. And yes, a homer was usually the result of a shot hit two sewers (aka, soo-ahs) distance; a feat that I was known to frequently accomplish. I was good.

That summer - it must have been 1965 or 66 - we had tired of stickball and longed for the real thing. You know, grass, a hardball, real bat. But alas, our little neighborhood had no such location for this kind of activity. The nearest bonafide baseball field was located at the Parade Grounds, a newly developed park just south of Prospect Park. The Parade Grounds contained a number of regulation baseball diamonds and was where the local little league teams (or school leagues like CYO) played. The distance from our neighborhood was a good three miles and required traversing through some "interesting" neighborhoods.

One day, quite spontaneously, my fellow scallywags and I decided that we should walk the distance armed with our bats, ball and gloves. I'm not sure why we chose not to take the bus which would have been a lot faster, safer and a lot less strenuous, but the likely reason was that we were all a little low on dough, and walking was free.

So off we went without a care. None of us had even bothered to tell our mothers where we were going. We just went. Ah, youth!

I seem to recall that I chose to be the the navigator and directed our posse up Vanderbilt to Grand Army Plaza. This was the way the bus would have taken us, and it was the route my father took when he drove us to The Park. Much like the scene in the movie Stand By Me, my troops and I talked up a storm and didn't seem to mind the long walk which was mostly uphill.

When we got to Grand Army Plaza we headed right into Prospect Park. I figured this was the most direct way to the Parade Grounds and I think secretly I was thinking we might find a suitable place to play much closer than the Parade Grounds which were still quite a distance away.

And indeed we did. Soon out into the middle of the meadow we caught up with another group of boys who were already playing a pick-up game of ball. Within minutes we had the Clinton Hill boys in hot pursuit of the Park Slope boys and a grand time was had by all.

I don't remember much of the game but mostly I remember walking home and how tired we all were. Despite the fact that it was all down hill, I think the extent of our exertion had taken its toll.

We got back to Clinton Hill just before supper time and most of us just peeled off and when into our respective apartment buildings.

I don't recall much of what happened after that except that I knew better than to tell my mother where I had been that day. She heard about it some time later and yelled a bit, but it was all part of the game.

I can't say that I would let my nine-year-old solo the NYC subways these days, but Ms Skenazy does have some good points to make. And perhaps the kids of today would be just a little better off if they had a chance to get out and about more often.

~j

Portland Maine - Let's Celebrate!

2009-04-04T10:02:00.006-04:00

I just read a story in the Friday Portland Press Herald that I would have thought should have been the headlines. "Forbes.com ranks Portland Maine the most livable in the U.S."

While I would not dispute the "livable" aspect of this - I was a bit surprised by the acknowledgment that the Portland "metropolitan area" is over 500,000 people; 513,102 to be exact. That seemed like a bit much. In fact, I found it hard to believe that almost half of the entire state's population lives in the Portland "metro."

As you have heard me rant in other blogs, having grown up in "the greatest city in the world" I find all references to Maine having a "metro" anything a big laugh.

But indeed, according to the US Census Bureau there are that many people in the Maine counties of Cumberland, York and Sagadahoc. In fact, Sagadahoc only accounts for a mere 36,000 of the total. Southern Maine is getting to be a big place.

Even though I have never lived in the City of Portland, I guess the years that I lived in York county makes me at least a former "metro" resident. Sanford, where I lived for about ten years, I am sure did nothing to add to the credit of this honor.

In any case, Portland, Maine clearly deserves the honor and should get more than a small article on page three of the PPH. C'mon guys!

According to the article on Forbes.com, Portland beat out Bethesda, Md., and Des Moines, Iowa., Bridgeport/Stamford, Conn., and Tulsa, Okla. Of these, I have only been to Bridgeport/Stamford and I can attest we are much better than there. Sorry.

So, let's strike up the band, get out the confetti and have a party. At this dismal time of the year, in this dismal economic climate, we need something to celebrate.

WooHoo Portland Metro!

Image from MainePuzzles.com

Just How Effective are On-Line Schools?

2009-03-23T14:59:00.002-04:00

I am sure it was a simple coincidence that these two stories appeared next to each other on the ASCD Smart Brief.

You be the judge about the efficacy of "on-line schools" as these are the links to the two stories:

Online school aims to keep at-risk students from dropping out

Online school says too many students slacking off

~j

Chinese Proverb

2009-03-22T21:31:00.004-04:00

My sister just sent me this e-mail:

ABOUT MONEY
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A HOUSE, BUT NOT A HOME.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A CLOCK, BUT NOT TIME.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A BED, BUT NOT SLEEP.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A BOOK, BUT NOT KNOWLEDGE.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T SEE A DOCTOR, BUT NOT GOOD HEALTH.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY A POSITION, BUT NOT RESPECT.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY BLOOD, BUT NOT LIFE.
WITH MONEY YOU CAN'T BUY SEX, BUT NOT LOVE.
THIS CHINESE PROVERB BRINGS LUCK. IT ORIGINATED FROM THE NETHERLANDS.
THIS PROVERB HAS GONE AROUNDTHE WORLD 8 TIMES.NOW IT IS YOUR TURN TO HAVE GOOD LUCKONCE YOU HAVE RECEIVED IT.
THIS IS NOT A JOKE YOUR LUCK WILL ARRIVE BY MAIL OR VIA THE INTERNET
SEND A COPY TO THE PEOPLE WHO REALLY NEED LUCK. DO NOT SEND MONEY, BECAUSE YOU CANNOT BUY LUCK, AND DO NOT KEEP IT FOR MORE THAN 4 DAYS.
ONE MAN, GOT HIS FIRST COPY OF THE PROVERB IN 1953 AND ASKEDHIS SECRETARY TO MAKE HIM 20 COPIES.NINE HOURS LATER HE WON $99 MILLION IN THE LOTTERY IN HIS COUNTRY.
AN EMPLOYEE OF HIS RECEIVED THE SAME CARD, BUT DID NOT FORWARD IT. A FEW DAYS LATER HE LOST HIS JOB.AFTER THAT, HE CHANGED HIS MIND, SENT IT, AND BECAME RICH.
IN 1967, ANOTHER MAN GOT THE PROVERB; HE LAUGHED ABOUT IT AND DISCARDED IT. A FEW DAYS LATER HIS SON GOT SICK. THE MAN LOOKED FOR THE NOTE, MADE 20 COPIES, AND SENT THEM. NINE DAYS LATER, HE GOT GOOD NEWS: HIS SON WAS SAFE AND SOUND.
THIS CARD HAS BEEN SENT BY ANTHONY DE CROUD, A MISSIONARY IN SOUTH AFRICA.
BEFORE 96 HOURS PASS YOU BY, YOU SHOULD FORWARD THIS MESSAGE TO 20 OTHER PEOPLE.
YOUR LUCK WILL COME WITHIN 4 DAYS FROM THE MOMENT YOU RECEIVED THE MESSAGE.
WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LOSE? THIS CARD HAS JUST BEEN SENT TO YOU FOR GOOD LUCK. NOW LUCK IS FINALLY AT YOUR DOOR.
SEND 20 COPIES TO ACQUAINTANCES, FRIENDS, AND FAMILY. ONE DAY LATER YOU WILL GET GOOD NEWS OR A NICE SURPRISE.
I SENT THIS CARD EXPECTING IT TO GO AROUND THE WORLD.
SEND ONLY 20 COPIES AND EXPECT GOOD TIDINGS TO ARRIVE IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS.
IMPORTANT: DO NOT MODIFY THE TEXT THAT I SENT YOU. FORWARD IT EXACTLY THE WAY YOU GOT IT.
GOOD LUCK!

Here is what (some - not all) people are saying about it on the web:

There is no Anthony de Croud. The e-mail is SPAM.

Is it too good to be true?

pet peeve of the week: chain letters

Blogs about: Chain Letters

Το άτιμο το χρήμα

MIT GELD

Note I don't know what the last two have to say, but I get a sense that "hoax" is an international concept.

Sorry, sis.

~j

PS: If I win that $99 mill, you'll all the the first to know.

Suspicious Letter

2009-03-17T10:34:00.005-04:00

So this e-mail (see image above) appears in my mail client this morning "LETTER FOR BRANDT."

Yeah?

In recent weeks I have reported in my other blog about a serious and under-reported security breech in Adobe Acrobat's Reader and Professional application. While there has reportedly been no actual viruses released this way, I have, as per the recommendations posted in the various articles I've read, turned off some of the features of both applications until Adobe gets around and comes up with a patch. I was able to update to Acrobat Reader this past weekend, but the patch for Acrobat Professional (v 8) was not out yet. See security info on Adobe site

The other thing the articles recommended was to be very cautious of unsolicited PDFs showing up in your mailbox.

So my "threat level" flag just went up and I ain't opening this critter. I re-scanned my computer with Norton and have deleted the e-mail and flushed it down the can (emptied the trash).

Beware the Ides of March? Or, a little green man (with a strange name) on St. Paddy's Day.

~jeb

Back to Brooklyn

2009-03-08T12:43:00.015-04:00

A couple of dozen years ago one of my old campers wrote a song and made a video about going back to Brooklyn. It is an experience all ex-patriot-brooklynites have to do from time to time. Sorta like "returning the to scene of the crime."

The purpose this time was a college reunion which will be blogged separately. Here are the warm-up photos of the Old Hood - Clinton Hill. Enjoy.

We begin with some landmarks...

Grand Army Plaza, looking north from PPW and Carroll St.

The Giant Phalus of Brooklyn

This needs no explanation to any Brooklynite.

The Corner. There used to be mailboxes on this corner that we sat on to "discuss philopsophy."

My block.

My building...looks pretty ratty now, don't it

This was my dentist's office....he, The Butcher of Brooklyn has long since departed, but there is still a dentist in that location...a good one I'm sure.

Twittering Thoughts

2009-02-16T11:33:00.004-05:00

As you can see from the Twitter Updates block to the right, I have become a bit of a Twit-head lately. It seems that in the past week I have had a least three conversations with friends and family about Twitter and everyone want to know the skinny.

So I told them that one of the things about Twitter which appeals to me is the diversity of its Tweeple. Not only can you see and follow comments from people from all around the world, you can follow people who don't necessarily think the way you do. These are people who you might otherwise consider as "enemies" in the real world, but in the Twitterverse you can follow them, "listen" to their comments, respond if you care to, or simply ignore. I have likened the Twitter experience to that of a junior high school lunchroom - hundreds of conversations going on around you; some you listen to and some you ignore. And all the time you are focused on listening to your closest friends.

Recently I have found myself "following" a number of self-proclaimed "conservatives" including some who denote themselves to be "Christian conservatives." Sometimes one or more of them rant about something in the Congress that they are upset with, and I have taken the time to listen and try to understand. What I am sensing from this very small number of tweets is a sense of desperation with the recent US elections and some flailing about to express their angst. But I AM trying to understand them. Sadly, I am not sure the attempt at understanding is mutual.

One of the interesting things that has emerged from this experience has been my learning some of their "codes." Indeed there has been the use of "hashtags" (these are the words and abbreviations that being with a "hash" mark - #) that seem to follow along with conservative rhetoric. The most popular hashmark is #TCOT which stands for "Top Conservatives on Twitter." A number of these folks appear to wear it like a badge of allegiance. And that's the interesting part.

I wonder, why would anyone want to code their "tweets" with something that aligns them with a political group/movement? Is this a way of communicating with others of the same ilk? Is this a way of warning the rest of the world that the sentiments expressed are based upon a specific political bias or mindset? Is this a intentional means for drawing attention? Or, is this some form of allegiance to a cause?

The last idea scares me, but I think it might be closest to the truth.

But I am continuing to listen.

At the same time, I am considering a new hashtag for Twitter: #TPOT - "Top Patriots on Twitter." What do you think?

I am reminded of the Little Steven song "I am a patriot"

And I ain't no communist
But I ain't no capitalist
And I ain't no socialist
But I ain't no imperialist
And I ain't no Democrat
But I ain't no Republican
I only know one party
And it is freedom

I am, I am, I am
I am a patriot
And I love my country
Because my country is all I know

And the river opens for the righteous

~jeb

Weird News Update

2009-01-31T21:26:00.004-05:00

It must have been a slow day in the newsroom at the Kennebec Journal – Augusta’s home newspaper. I think that might be an understatement. Wonder if it is ever busy. You know, a headline like this really gets your interest up: “Police: At 6:41 p.m., there was a disturbance on Middle Street.”

Anyway, two articles from yesterday’s paper are my choice for Weird News Update. Unfortunately, I can't get them from the newspaper's website, but here there are from the web:

NJ police: Woman's ex-friends used cold as weapon
NORTH BERGEN, N.J. – A 19-year-old woman who thought she was going to a party was instead driven to a rural wooded area and abandoned in 8-degree weather in a long-planned attack by three friends angry with her over an insurance claim, police said Thursday.
Maria Contreras-Luciano, 22, of Dumont, and Amber Crespo, 20, and Dyanne Velasquez, 21, both of North Bergen, face kidnapping, assault and conspiracy charges and are free on $200,000 bail. Crespo is also charged with making terroristic threats.
The women planned the attack for more than a month, Cannella said. The suspects wanted revenge after the 19-year-old sued Crespo's auto insurance carrier after a car accident, he said, adding that he didn't have details about the accident or claim.
Here is the whole story from Yahoo News

In Utah, funeral for toilet that died in line of "doody"
Have a funeral, of course.

On Friday morning, a hamburger joint in Centerville, Utah will have a "moment of silence" for the potty that was destroyed last week when a patron's handgun fell out of the holster and fired as he was hitching up his pants.

The bullet shattered the toilet in the Carl's Jr. restaurant and sent sharp shards into the man's arm. The 26-year-old shooter, who had a concealed-weapons permit, was treated at the scene for minor injuries.
Here is the whole story from Scripps News

That's the news!

~jeb

The Best Wedding Announcement Ever

2009-01-31T13:31:00.006-05:00

I kinda of enjoy the shtick Jay Leno does when he reads the headlines every Monday on the Tonight Show. One of the particular treats is when he rattles off the names in the wedding announcements. You know names like, “the Purple-Sage wedding,” “The Bush-Pylot wedding,” “the Hardy – Soule wedding,” and so on. So I have taken to reading the wedding announcements in the local Portland Press Herald to see if I can spot any of those weird names. Occasionally, I even read the actual announcements.

Several weeks ago this one appears and it has my vote for the best wedding announcement ever. I am not making this up!

Baker – DeLorme
FREEPORT – Chelsea “Look At My Diploma” Holden Baker and Noah “Hometown Hero” DeLorme have decided to stop pretending they’re even mildly interested in other people and mate for life.
Ms. Baker has received seals of approval from Cornell and Columbia universities and has an impressive resume that include “talking a lot” and “attending parties” for some of San Francisco’s hippest companies. The groom-to-be dropped out of high school, three colleges, and is currently an “underemployed” out-of-season farmer with no grammatical understanding of quotation marks. Their children will be talented and ridiculously good-looking, outshined only by their parents.
The couple would like to thank friends and family for countless hours of therapy induced by each other. In lieu of gifts, please send whiskey, aged 10 years, in commemoration of their decade of on-again-off-again dating.
Cannon report in Casco Bay will announce the nuptials on Peaks Island during Labor Day weekend 2010.

I hope I get an invitation to that party!

~jeb

Pete Seeger, a true American

2009-01-22T12:29:00.003-05:00

Seeing Pete Seeger singing at the Lincoln Memorial the other day reminded me of my own history with the man.

Reading today of a concerted effort to get Pete Seeger nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize made it more urgent to record this story of my own history with the man.

The easy part of the story – and the one that usually gets people’s attention is when I say, “Pete Seeger taught me to play the banjo.” After some oohs and ahs, I have to fess up and explain that in 1970-something after purchasing a used 5-string banjo, I purchased a copy of “How to play the 5-string banjo” by the man himself. I read the book, learned a few chords and some various techniques (most of which I incorporated into my guitar playing style), but never really did learn to play the banjo all that well. Well enough to fake a few songs and entertain the family, but never more than 3-4 chords.

But the purchase of the book, and my newly acquired affection toward Mr. Seeger prompted my father to tell me an interesting story; one I will share with you here.

Dad was a special agent for the FBI from the late 40s into the early 70s when he retired. So he was at the end of his career or in early retirement when he told the story.

As I remember, Dad began by telling me how much he admired Mr. Seeger noting that he was a “true American.” What I did not realize at the time was that for most of Pete’s professional life he was viewed as a Communist and very “un-American.”

It seems that some time during the 1950s Dad was apparently assigned the duty to “watch” Mr. Seeger. In his description, he told me the location where this took place and even noted the exact address where Mr. Seeger lived at the time. The surveillance work was really nothing more than what all FBI agents did or do; they watch and document what people do. It is usually all done somewhat surreptitiously, but as Pete has publicly confirmed for many years, he knew he was “being followed.” So this was not a big revelation.

The intriguing part of the story was my father’s strenuous and passionate assertion that Mr. Seeger had been wrongly miscast as anti-American.

It was the early 70s and I was at the peak of my own subversive period. It was the time of Nixon and Watergate and Viet Nam. I was a bit of a long-hair-hippy-freak at the time, but very mellow on the political spectrum. When I pressed Dad for more details about the surveillance he was mute. He simply kept repeating that the frequent public assertions of Mr. Seeger’s lack of patriotism were, in his mind, clearly wrong. He said this all with a knowing look on his face, and I believed him.

Perhaps what is most interesting about the story was not that it happened at all, but the fact that when I brought the story back up many years later my father denied the whole thing. No, he had never followed Seeger, and no, he had never said anything about Seeger’s patriotism.

This was extremely surprising and completely unconvincing.

As is common with many ex-agents and others from the quiet side of law enforcement – and I know a bunch of these folks – they frequently only talk about their work in cryptic and minimalistic ways. The limited revelations of details always come within coded terms that intrigue me. I usually am forced to do some homework to figure out the true meaning of the message. But Dad’s vintage message about Pete Seeger’s patriotism was very clear and unambiguous. He liked the guy.

His later assertions that it was not true really confused me. But I think I now understand.

I think it was part of that “old man’s disease” of becoming more conservative as you get older. Dad had been a Kennedy Democrat and adored Bobby Kennedy in the 60s. But by the 1980s he was a Reagan devotee and thought Lee Iacocca was God. He was proud to vote Republican and had autographed photos of George H.W. Bush hanging in the house. Ultimately, Dad never said he disliked Mr. Seeger, but would he would never re-assert the comments about his being “true American.”

In the 70s I had become a member of the Seeger “fan club” and would often play a few of his better known songs at folk festivals and social gatherings. Although I have never seen him perform live, I never miss an opportunity to watch him on TV. So, as Mr. Seeger began to perform at the Inaugural Concert in Washington, accompanied by his grandson and Bruce Springsteen, my eyes filled with tears. Like so many Americans who never thought they would live to see the day when a Black man was sworn in as the leader of the greatest country in the world, I am sure Mr. Seeger felt a strong sense of pride and vindication.

The choice to end the concert with the voice of Pete Seeger and words of Woody Guthrie renews my spirit and stirs my soul. This is truly a land made for you and me.

If you missed it, here is is on YouTube:

~jeb

My Andrew Wyeth Story - repost

2009-01-16T17:08:00.003-05:00

In honor of the passing of this great American artist, I am sharing my Andrew Wyeth story:
Republished from August 12, 2007

I’ve told this story many times over the years and friends have suggested that I write it down for “posterity.” I am not sure if this blog can be considered as such, but I will tell the story anyway.

I can begin by telling you this idea was re-stimulated by an article in today’s Maine Sunday Telegram (MST). The MST and the Portland Press Herald love to have “human interest” stories this time of year – I’m sure to appeal to “visitors from away.” Indeed there are always some great folksy articles and stories in the summer issues, and I always look forward to reading them.

Today’s featured article in the Audience (Arts) section is about Maine’s most famous living artist, Andrew Wyeth who spends his summers in the mid-coast area. His son Jamie, perhaps the second most famous living artist in Maine lives here almost year round. But the article is not so much about Andrew as it is about the whole clan, and particularly Victoria (known to all as Vic) , Andrew’s 28-year-old granddaughter who has become something of a family historian and commentator.

The article provides a delightful insight into some of the background of the family and includes some vignettes of some the family eccentricities including the detonation of “crazy” Aunt Carolyn ashes, and a recent birthday party for grandpa complete with Uncle Jamie lighting off cannons.

If you are a Wyeth fan, you’ll love the article – read it on line.

But that’s not my story, mine is better.

It begins in 1970 when I was a camp counselor at a camp located in the town of Cushing, Maine. Each Sunday, the camp co-director (aka “The Old Man”) would take a bunch of kids and me to Rockland to attend church. This trip was only for baptized and practicing “mackerel snappers” and required a special request from parents. Somehow I was selected to be the token staff person to attend with the campers as the camp’s co-director wasn’t of that religious persuasion.

One of the things I enjoyed about this weekly trip was the opportunity to get off the island where the camp was located and see a little bit more of Maine. One Sunday, we took some back roads on our return from church and The Old Man seemed to be hunting for something and we made our way south of Thomaston and on to the back roads of Cushing. At some point along the way he suddenly turned the van off the road and on to a dirt driveway that led down to an old weather-beaten house. A sign at the end of the driveway noted “Olson House” and the ancient building overlooking a broad hayfield that provided a decent view of the St. George’s River beyond. The Old Man announced that this was the place where “that artist guy painted the picture of the crippled girl on the hill.” He fumbled for more details and then remembered the Wyeth name. For some strange reason, I could immediately visualize the picture he described. Strange because at the grand old age of 17, I certainly was not a connoisseur of American art and clearly had only rudimentary knowledge of Andrew Wyeth and “Christina’s World.”

The visit was brief, we didn’t even get out of the van, and soon we were back on the road heading to camp.

The story may have ended here, but several weeks later, my father and sisters were in Maine to visit me at camp and I had my father take this same route to camp from Rockland. Remembering and relating the story about the old farm house, my father became very interested and insisted we see the spot. Somehow I found the driveway and soon learned that my father was a bit of a Wyeth fan and thought this part of the trip was a particularly special bonus.

This time I did get out of the car and looked around the house and the adjoining “out buildings;” a series of sheds and small building that appeared to have been used to keep farm animals. The house and property did not appear occupied at that time, but the ground otherwise looked cared for. The multitude of years of brutal Maine weather had left the outside of the buildings in pretty tough shape and it was obviously they had not been painted in many years.

At this point I was still a bit in the fog when it came to Christina’s World. My father had immediately recalled the name of the painting as I described what The Old Man had said. He even knew that Olson was the name of the woman depicted in the painting; Christina Olson lived here. But it was only what happened next that burned the image of Christina and her world into my permanent memory.

It occurred when I happened to look through the window of one of the out buildings. There, affixed to the wall with some simple thumb tacks were a series of sketches of the major elements of the Christina’s World painting. Initially perplexed, I quickly figured out that these must have been the practice sketches Wyeth used to compose the final painting. Drawn in pencil and clearly damaged by rust stains that had bled out of the thumb tacks, the collection included sketches of the house and a few of Christina herself. None of the sketches contained all of the elements together and I realized had perhaps I had an insight into how an artist mind must work; dabbling along with disparate pieces before the whole gestalt is formed.

Being a bit of a typical teenager, I think I jokingly suggested that we break the window and take one or two of the sketches. It clearly appeared that these things had been here for ages and it was not likely anyone would miss them.

Christina’s World is perhaps one of the most memorable and famous American paintings. In the years that followed the experience at Olson House, I became fascinated by Andrew Wyeth and eventually made it to Rockland in 2000 to see Christina “in the flesh” when she was loaned to the Farnsworth Museum from the Museum of Modern Art.

I’ve told the “sketches” story a number of times over the years - to anyone who expressed any interest in Wyeth – but most people acted as though this was all a bit of bullshit on my part. As time went on, and memories faded or became confused with other experiences, I too began to doubt my recall. When, as an adult I began to realize the value and power of this painting, I could not imagine that the artist would have left these sketches in a seemingly abandoned barn in Cushing, Maine. After all, Christina’s World was painted in 1948 which means the sketches would have to have been hanging there for over 20 years when I saw them in 1970. In subsequent trips to the Olson house, the sketches were no where to be found, adding to my doubt.

Sometime in the late 1990s the Farnsworth Museum, opened The Wyeth Center, a former church converted into a special gallery for viewing and learning about Andrew Wyeth, his famous son Jamie and his equally famous father, N.C. Wyeth. Indeed it was at about this time Christina made her return to Maine and over the years the museum has held many special exhibits of Wyeth works.

A few years later, the museum held an exhibit of something extraordinary, something that made me drop everything a take a trip to Rockland. It was an exhibit of preliminary sketches of Christina’s World.

There in Rockland on a rainy weekday afternoon, I came face-to-face with the sketches I had seen hanging in the Olson’s barn nearly 30 years earlier. Meticulously restored, the sketches were now beautifully matted and framed. In the adjoining descriptions, I learned that they had indeed been left to hang in the Olson House as the artist had used that space up until 1969 to paint many other scenes in that locale.

So, it was all true. I did see them. And, now they were owned by a rich Japanese collector and worth millions of dollars.

I told my story, once again, to a docent working at the exhibit. She shuttered at the thought of my adolescent audacity to “help myself” to some of history’s most treasured artifacts. I had to reassure her several times I was only kidding, although I think the security guards might have been keeping an extra eye on me for the rest of my visit.

So, that’s my story and it’s nice to know that it happened the way I remember it. I have often thought of what it would be like to meet Andrew Wyeth and tell him my tale. I think from what I know about him, he’d get a kick out of it. Who knows, maybe he will read this and give me a call. Better yet, Vic will read the story and invite me over for a couple of beers.

More about Christina's World

~jeb

Why I live in Maine

2009-01-07T17:42:00.002-05:00

This is shot about 70 miles from when I live, but it explains why I live here.

~j

Sunset above Camden Hills from Till Credner on Vimeo.

It's all my fault...

2008-12-22T23:06:00.005-05:00

Okay, okay...all you people in the Northwest US who are complaining about the snow and cold, it's all my fault. You see, I have broken with all traditions and after 54 Christmases in New York City I decided to go and visit my sister in Portland, OR for the holidays. And since I am from Maine, where we nearly always have a White Christmas, I wished to make my visit extra special by arranging with Mother Nature to have a little of the white stuff on the ground for my arrival on tomorrow, Tuesday.

So, it is all my fault and I apologize. I promise that I will take all of the white stuff with me when I leave, but that will not be until December 30th.

Sorry. Merry Christmas.

~jeb

Image from Flickr

Christmas Blog 2008

2008-11-30T22:10:00.004-05:00

As I get older, I am terrified at how quickly time seems to pass. I now measure weeks like minutes and gasp at how the last 10 years have shot past like a lightning bolt. It seems like yesterday that we were all worried about Y2K (remember that?) and I simply cannot believe that I have been living in the same place for the last 13 years.

This time of the year is always a reflective time for me. The Christmas cards and blog make the process more formalized, but I think reflection is a psychological process that takes on greater importance the older one gets.

So as I reflect upon 2008 there is the good and the not so good, the happy and the sad, the scary and the comforting, the troubled and the hopeful. I suspect that many of you are nodding in agreement.

The New Year began with the “cold from hell” that seemed to make the extra long winter of 07-08 all the longer. This necessitated several trips to the clinic, meds, more docs, more meds, and a new appreciation for people who experience chronic diseases. It didn’t help that I was running a fever during Super Bowl Sunday and also working at a conference in Rockport. For those who are New England Patriots fans, we want to forget that day. For those who are New York Giants fans, we want to never forget. And, for those like me who are both well, let’s just say I was too sick to care.

We got some sad news in late February that Uncle Bob Brandt had passed away. Uncle Bobby - as I prefer - was my father’s youngest brother and one of the happiest people I’ve ever known. The sadness of his passing was elevated by the opportunity for just about all of the Brandt cousins to get together with Aunt May to celebrate Bobby’s life at a wonderful memorial service that was held in Bristol, Connecticut. Though none of the “Bristol Brandts” live in Connecticut anymore, it was a central location and close to where Uncle Bobby’s many friends were.

You may recall that Sister Mary celebrated her 50th birthday in 2006 and we were not able to pull together the family reunion she had requested until this summer. With the aid of Cousin Ralph and his wife Schley, we were able to secure a beautiful cottage at Point O’Woods in South Lyme, CT. As kids, this is the place where we spent two weeks each summer and so two weeks in August 2008 – 40 years later - seemed like the right thing to do. The Brooklyn Brandts, aided by some of the Wethersfield Brandts, Bristol Brandts, the Ivoryton Astles and the Merry McShanes (aka the Merry Macs from Ossining) helped to make the time special and enhanced the celebration of both Sigrid’s and Mary’s birthdays.

The not so pleasant experiences of the year included one of my two jobs evaporating, astronomically high energy prices and the general queasiness of the economy. All of these came about in the last quarter of the year and has made for some interesting conversation. And that’s all I’ll be saying about that!

I will spare you any political commentary other than to remind you that it was an election year (in case you forgot) and with that there appears to be – at least for now – a sense of hope and renewal. I am not ready to say that there is light at the end of the tunnel, but I am having a good feeling about things to come and I hope that this feeling is contagious.

So here’s to wishing you and yours the Merriest of Christmases and the Hope and Happiness of the New Year. As I extend my best wishes to you and yours, may you all be safe and warm; and may God Bless You.

~john

PS: The image on the Christmas card this year is from some old 8mm home movies that Sister Sigrid converted into DVDs for Christmas last year.

First Snow

2008-11-30T21:02:00.005-05:00

I just recorded the first snow of the season in Augusta, Maine. The forecast is that it will be warming during the night and turning to rain. So since it will likely (hopefully) be gone by morning, I took these at 9:00 pm - November 30, 2008.

Enjoy.

Whizzinator

2008-11-27T12:16:00.004-05:00

I read this in the local paper the other day though the story is several weeks old. But it "bares" repeating:

The owners of the company that makes the Whizzinator, a prosthetic penis used to mask illegal drug use, were charged yesterday in federal court with conspiracy to defraud the government and are expected to plead guilty.
Gerald Wills, the president of Puck Technology, based in Signal Hill, Calif., and Robert D. Catalano, the vice president, are charged in a 19-page criminal information of conspiracy for selling two different products that mask illegal substances in a user's urine.
The products, the Whizzinator and Number 1, are sold through the company's Web sites.

What the Puck??? Ya can't make this stuff up...Here is the complete story from the Pittsburgh Post Gazette.

Thanksgiving Traditions

2008-11-24T11:27:00.005-05:00

I know this is in poor taste (and I am not referring to the photo on this page - talk about A-holes!), but I had to share this story from The Onion with everyone:

26-Year-Old To See Every Asshole He Ever Went To High School With On Night Before Thanksgiving

While not as vicious as these experiences, I too did partake in this annual rite of passage for a number of years following high school. My conditions were enhanced with an annual basketball game at the HS played with a team made up of current faculty and some alums vs. the Varsity. Always an ugly scene.

This was followed by free beer in the cafeteria. At the last one I attended - some time in the early 1970s - I recall watching a group of my "A-hole friends" build a pyramid made out of Schaffer beer cans and then knock them down. It was hilarious at the time. A-holeism was rampant in those days - as now; I suffer from it too.

In later years, this activity was replaced by an annual trip to the Little Neck Inn on Northern Blvd. They served up a free turkey dinner all night on the Wednesday before T-Day. Always nice to prime the pump with plenty of tryptophan .

Gobble gobble.

~jeb

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out Kid...

2008-11-16T12:01:00.004-05:00

Ah, it's getting to that time of the year. I saw my first Christmas lights a few weeks ago and it won't be long before we are sitting around the old TV and watching The Christmas Story marathon on TBS.

As a way of getting you all into the nostalgic mood, and to prep you for the 25th Anniversary of said movie, I am linking to a story in today's paper about the real Jean Shepherd and his real house in northwest Indiana. It seems the real Shepherd, just like his cinematic character, did things all kids did; he wrote his name up in the attic of the family homestead located in the Hessville section of Hammond, Indiana.

It's a great little story about the family that lives there now and the history of the house and the Shepherd family.

Enjoy and Flick Lives!

More West Wing

2008-11-08T09:45:00.005-05:00

Continuing in the "life mimics art"category, I read in this article about "Rahmbo" Rahm Emanuel stating, "The congressman (Emanuel) himself has been cited as an inspiration for presidential aide Josh Lyman on 'The West Wing.'"

You may recall that the character, played by actor Bradley Whitford, serves as an Deputy Chief of Staff to President Jed Bartlet only to step down (in the last two seasons of the show) to become the campaign manager for Rep. Matt Santos who runs for president. I had forgotten this part... (from Wikipedia)

After Matt Santos is elected President of the United States in a narrow victory over Republican Senator Arnold Vinick, Josh becomes the White House Chief of Staff of the incoming Santos Administration.

Since the TV show The West Wing was full of drama and scary things (assassination attempts, kidnapping of the President's daughter, etc.) I hope that the similarities with the show end here.

Stay tuned.

~jeb

History Made

2008-11-04T23:45:00.001-05:00

~jeb

SNL Presidential Bash

2008-11-03T22:43:00.000-05:00

Best skit so far...

~jeb

Same Outcome?

2008-10-31T21:32:00.006-04:00

A friend just sent me the New York Times article comparing the current presidential campaign in the United States with the plot of the TV show "The West Wing."

First, I have to admit that I loved The West Wing. I remember the coming attractions in the summer of 1999 (hard to believe that was nearly ten years ago...ouch!) The cast, the acting, the directing, the plot, I loved it all. Well, at least at first. I think the show did "jump the shark" in 2001 with its rather bizarre fantasy/reality attempt at making sense of the senselessness of 9-11, but apart from this, it was some of the best television of my lifetime; and I HAVE watched a lot of TV.

I remember running into Jimmy Smits one night on a street in Santa Monica. I was looking at one of those cheeky California dress shops that were over the top in design and outrageous in price. Looking into the window I was muttering to myself and turned to my colleague to made some more disparaging remarks about the absurdity of the shop wares and the apparent idiocy of the locals for shopping in such a place when I recognized Smits standing two feet from me. It caused me to stop mid-sentence and do the proverbial double take. Our eyes met and he had clearly heard what I had said. I smiled and nodded. Years of driving a taxi cab in NYC had taught me to not fuss over celebrities. I knew they generally appreciated to be ignored when in this kind of public setting. I nodded at Smits and he nodded back, his arm clenched around a diminutive young woman who probably loved this dress shop. Later I thought of many wonderful and witty things that I could have said at that moment: "Hey, Jimmy, what's two guys from Brooklyn doing in a place like 'dis?" But I held my tongue and walked off.

So, when Jimmy Smits turned up as the quintessential "minority" candidate to run for the presidency to replace President Jed Bartlet, I felt a sense of completeness and pride. After all, Jed Bartlet and I were practically neighbors. The character played my Martin Sheen was supposed to be the distant direct descendant of the real-life Josiah Bartlett, a signatory of the Declaration of Independence. From 1979-1983, I lived in the town of Bartlett, NH and worked in the Josiah Bartlett Elementary School. It only made sense in my fantasy that my old neighbor from NH would be replaced by my old neighbor from Brooklyn.

When Barack Obama appeared on the scene some 20-something months ago, his eyes firmly on the White House, I immediately thought of The West Wing, President Bartlet and Congressman Matt Santos. Honestly, I secretly thought Aaron Sorkin might have been snorting a little too much of the happy stuff when he came up with that plot line. It was too much of a stretch, even for Hollywood.

In the beginning I thought the same about Obama. Twenty month later and four days before the biggest election in my lifetime I wonder if my fantasy will continue.

We will have to stay tuned to see how the plot turns out. But, I must tell you...I am praying for the same outcome.

Please remember to vote on November 4th. The world is counting on you!

Feeling Patriotic?

2008-10-30T15:22:00.003-04:00

We are getting to that time of year when there is a lot of talk about patiotism and duty. Somebody sent me a link to this YouTube video. It seemed to be appropriate to share.

Please remember to VOTE!

~j

Old Fogie?

2008-10-23T10:29:00.007-04:00

A year or so ago I read an article about microblogging on the MSNBC blog site. The writer talked about how "old people" don't understand the concept of microblogging. She states:

I’m betting the majority of all these Twitter-hatin’ cranks are war-torn veterans of Web 1.0. They’ve been through the bubble and bust. They experienced the unbridled excitement of wicked-cool technology with all it promises … and they got burned. Bearing all the cynicism that typifies Generation X, these Twitter-haters sneer at un-jaded Generation Y with anticipatory schadenfreude and jealousy. Yes, jealously. Admit it or not, inability to immediately embrace Twitter means you’re old.

As a direct assault on my ego, I took this as a challenge and have been trying to "like" Twitter...with not much success... since then. I admit, I don't get it. Ultimately the author also states, "Twitter, then, is the latest evidence of the Paris Hiltoning of America." God help us.

The other thing I don't get is Second Life and the whole gaming thing. Yes, I was a "junior exploder" as a youth but born way before the age when little boys were given GameBoys for their first birthday. We got Erector Sets. I apparently missed that critical period of gameboy development or "D&D" indoctrination and never have been able to find any value in having an avatar or a magic sword.

The latest assault on my ego comes in the form of a political commentary blog which has been tearing up the blogosphere in the last two days. From someone calling themselves Hedgehog and using LiveJournal, they have created what is apparently a comical faux IM transcript between and among the presidential candidates of the 2008 election cycle. It is written in the venacular of gamers and using an IM scripting model. I didn't get this either. I am sure there are people out there who understand "I rift in from Sigil! I'm a Chaotic Neutral Tiefling Barbarian/Monk/Rogue!" - but not me.

I'm betting none of the presidential characters mentioned in this piece understand it either. Should we be concerned?

May the Force be With You.

Thomas Friedman's New Book

2008-10-13T22:41:00.002-04:00

I just heard that Thomas Friedman, author of "The World is Flat" has written a new book. It's called "The World is Flat Broke."

Everyone Loves Sarah?

2008-10-04T14:14:00.003-04:00

From Mainebiz.biz

Week in Review

The debatable: Last night's vice presidential debate caused sparks locally when an intoxicated thief stole a life-sized cardboard cutout of Republican VP candidate Sarah Palin from a Bangor Young Republican's debate-watching party at Bleecher's Sports Bar in Bangor, according to a press release from the Bangor Republican City Committee. The thief ran with Palin to a get-away car in the
parking lot and managed to peel away with Alaska's governor despite a scuffle
with a young Republican.

It wasn't me - I swear!

~jeb

Fall Color

2008-09-25T23:30:00.001-04:00

It starting to be that magical time of the year...

~jeb

Apple Store

2008-09-13T21:17:00.003-04:00

The Apple People opened an Apple Store in the Maine Mall in South Portland today. It was a much awaited and heralded affair. So I went to visit the store on a quest...

~jeb

The other Palin...

2008-09-09T21:45:00.002-04:00

He gets my vote

~jeb

A Lighthouse in Maine Needs Your Help

2008-08-25T18:21:00.003-04:00

The folks at Jeld-Wen Company, makers of windows and doors, are holding a contest which will decide who gets a FREE face lift with a complete set of new windows and doors. According to WCSH6.com, "the Pemaquid Point lighthouse is a finalist in a national contest, but it's trailing, and needs people to vote. The lighthouse looks pretty good for its age - more than 170 years old. The Pemaquid Point lighthouse is a monument to the work and skill and ruggedness that built Maine.

So help us out and VOTE for Pemaquid Point!!

~jeb