Where everybody knows your name

I wrote an article that appeared in The Sentinel back in August 2005 about living in Fennville. You see, at the time, the town was getting some bad press about possible gang problems in the area. I felt the negative was really unjustified, so I wrote a response about the good things in town.

You can access the article at:

http://hollandsentinel.com/stories/080805/opinion_20050808015.shtml

If that doesn’t work, just go to www.hollandsentinel.com and do a search for Hayden.

Anyway, I got dozens of e-mails and phone calls about the article. Most were positive. Just over the Christmas holidays, a woman stopped me at my daughters’ dance recital in Saugatuck and asked if I was the guy who worked at The Sentinel. At this point, I usually brace myself for a barrage of “what’s wrong with the media.” Well, she just wanted to say “thanks” for the column on Fennville. You’re welcome.

Besides tooting my own horn here, I mention the above as background for another incident on why Fennville is a “cool city” to live in.

My car was making horrendous clunks and high-pitched whirrs right before Christmas, and I feared the worst (that is, I feared I’d have to pay lots of money to repair a car with 120,000 miles on it). I took it to John’s Auto a block or so from my house. They know me there because I’ve called them at 2 a.m. on winter nights when the temperature had hit minus 20 and car’s engine wouldn’t turn over.

When I left it at the shop, I came in through the Main Street entrance into a scene right out of Norman Rockwell. In the lobby/office area, three old men in flannel shirts and baseball caps were warming their hands around the heater, smoking pipes and leaning back in their old wooden chairs saying things like, “Did you see the new 450 model” and “Yup.” Classic smalltown America.

After speaking with the owner (I’m sure he’d seen the new 450 model and probably even worked on it), I left it at the shop, walked to the post office, picked up the mail and finished a brisk walk home.

A few hours later, the garage called, said it was just some ice and snow crammed in the engine (we had had record snow and cold for several weeks at this point). I could pick it up any time.

“How much do I owe for it?”

He laughed a bit and said, “Nothing.” He said it was no big deal to check it out and that he knew I lived in town, was a local.

“Yup,” I said.

How cool is that?

Thought: Baby, you can drive my car.

Dora the Exploited

I just finished “David Copperfield” and I have my regular post-partem feelings. I always feel empty when I finish a book I enjoy. I’m left with the “now what” feel.

I was going to read the autobiography of Marv Levy, the former coach of the Buffalo Bills. My mom sent me that over the summer. I just don’t feel like picking that up yet. I read the Tim Russert book earlier this year – I enjoyed that because it was a positive reflection on a father (we need more of those!) and I recognized many of the references to Buffalo.

I should take a break from Dickens – I re-read “Tale of Two Cities,” “Hard Times” and “Bleak House” this year and, of course, “A Christmas Carol” over the holiday. Maybe “Moby Dick.” A friend at work, who is a huge Melville fan, prodded me recently on this. I did read it many years ago and remember almost nothing.

Any suggestions on what to read?

So, until I decide, I’ll fall back on the old favorites. I’ll read some poetry by Robert Browning and William Butler Yeats and refresh my mind on the Upanishads.

“Copperfield” critique

I’ve read “David Copperfield” four times and each read gives me a new perspective.

When I read it in high school, it was just new and exciting.

Then, I read it in college for a class and critiqued it with a Marxist eye. This puts Uriah Heep in a new light, almost making him the real victim in the story.

Then, just out of college, I read it again with an eye of a young man on his way up in the world (so I thought) with literary aspirations. I saw David as heroic and striving.

Now, I read it as a middle-aged, work-worn man with the joys of parenthood and a long, happy relationship with my wife (now married 15 years but together more than 20 years). I was angered by David’s rashness of rushing into a relationship with Dora (how could he not see Agnes?) and his blindness to Steerforth’s treachery. I now think Mr. Peggoty is the real hero.

What’s interesting, besides the autobiographical elements for Dickens, is how I now see David as wanting to “marry” his mother through Dora. He was trying to show himself that a man could wed a “beautiful child” and make her a responsible woman. That failed, both with Murdstone and David. This time, I wasn't just annoyed at Dora, I felt she was badly used and paid with her life.

Also, Dickens treats Micawber sympathetically and comically here, but in other works, like “Bleak House” with Harrold Skimpole, or even Joey Bagstock in “Dombey and Son,” people who are debtors or leaches get worse treatment.

The book is all about relationships, many of them failures (Little Em’ly and Steerforth and Ham, Steerforth and Rosa Dartle and his mother, David’s aunt and her estranged husband), and growing up (David’s bout with the butcher is classic and his learning about love and Agnes). Also, besides me crying over young David’s loss of his mother (I think of my children here!) and his painful life, there is fantastic humor here. I love David’s aunt and her assault on donkeys (metaphorically, men) and Tom Traddles’ love life and the description of his hair. Mr. Dick is hilarious in his manuscript work and kite flying – a great foil for David’s aunt.

And, of course, the death of Steerforth is still moving with all the foreshadowing and symbolism of Ham’s struggle to rescue him. I think only the scene in “Dracula” when the ship is described coming to England do a I shiver as much as I did when Ham strapped on the life line to rescue the stranded sailor.

Thought: The sign of a good book: Read it over and over and come away with something new each time.

Monday Night Football

Much has been made of this week's final Monday Night Football game on ABC.

I feel bad because I couldn't watch it. A chunk of ice slid off the roof the day before Christmas and pulled down our cable line and damaged the connection outside the house. We didn't lose our picture completely, but the low numbers on the TV, channels 2 through about 22, were so fuzzy it reminded me of watching Canadian TV when I was growing up. An antenna and tinfoil isn't the best for reception. The cable guys couldn't make it out until Tuesday.

I did listen to part of the game on the radio. I love football and hockey on the radio, and even prefer it to TV most times. But I digress. ...

I particularly like the Monday night games because I have Monday off and I don't have to be to work early Tuesday mornings, so I could stay up late to watch the games.

I recognize the significance of MNF to the popular culture and I do recall the Howard Cosell years. I like Al Michaels as an announcer as well, and that makes a difference. A bad commentator just ruins a game. Dan Dierdorf (pardon my spelling) added a defenseman's perspective that I liked (quarterbacks and runningbacks don't have a monopoly on the game). Now, I liked Dennis Miller -- he was Cosell without the sports savvy -- but I'll admit that the time he compared a coach's call to Napoleon's victory at Austerlitz, or when he refered to the Tigris and Euphrates in a more poetic moment, that perhaps Miller was talking a little above the viewing public.

Another sidenote: I watched the game when TV experimented with running without a play-by-play announcer. That sucked.

But what I didn't like about ABC's run was, paradoxically enough, the hype. I hated that "Are You Ready for Some Football" stuff, for example, and the celebrities who popped by (sorry, John Lennon). It's the same stuff I don't like about the Super Bowl. I also dislike the "mic-ed up" segments of players talking during the game. You know what? Most football players on the field sound pretty dumb and the intensity of their words seem out of place when you think that football's just a game. People are being slaughtered around the globe, an unjust and murderous invasion is being led by the U.S. and, as Lennon said, "there are Nazis in the bathroom, just below the stairs," and we hear some linebacker ranting as if it was the battle of Austerlitz.

Well, ESPN has the Monday game now. I can expect more inane conversation from Joe Thiesmann (I've watched him on Sunday night games and he's bad) and more ego-worship from that network of the players (ESPN strokes egos like Napoleon moved troops at the, well, you know), but worst of all, I'll have to keep paying to watch the game. On ABC, the game was free with an antenna or at least low-priced with basic, level-one cable, but on ESPN, I have to add money to watch it.

Thought: Video killed the radio star, but they still broadcast football games for free.

The morning after

The holiday here went well. No one got hurt and we didn't have to take a dog to the vet for eating anything glittery. One of our fish died Christmas Eve, but this only brought a few flushed faces and no crisis.

It was nice to be home for the day and not dead tired. The Christmas paper deadline was 8 p.m. Saturday -- three-and-a-half hours early -- so I got home to put the girls to bed. Both made sure they had a glass of milk and cookies for Santa and, of course, carrots for the reindeer.

As we adults put the last of the presents under the tree, I had my yearly feeling of guilt about having so much materially to give. We're not gluttons on this, but, with us and my folks, the kids get tons of stuff. This year was better overall -- less stuff but still lots of love.

The Christmas holiday is a tough balancing act around here. You see, the holiday is about the birth of Jesus Christ the savior. Well, Jayne is Christian and I'm not, so we try to give the kids a politic answer to their question about the holiday. I tell them we're marking the birth of Jesus, but that we're really celebrating family, togetherness and, most importantly, peace. It's like Halloween -- I don't believe spirits walk the earth on Oct. 31, but it's still fun for people. I won't deny my children the pleasure of trick-or-treating nor the happiness of opening gifts on Dec. 25.

I'm glad we can do this for the holiday. I know if conservatives of the George Bush ilk (or the many people around Holland who work to convert me on a daily basis) had their way, I would be forced to accept Jesus as the only divine manifestation and write off the billions of souls who do not. I can't do that. So, I'd be excluded from the holiday completely.

Thought: All you need is love.

The light that has lighted the world

Driving home from work late at night in December has one benefit a normal commute is missing -- holiday lights. At 1:30 a.m., there are no distracting beams from other headlights and you can go as slowly as you want to enjoy the spectacle.

Even the snow and ice can't dim the visual pleasure these luminaries bring. In fact, a fresh snow fall can enhance the beauty and reflect the light rays into stellar shows. I know that the Grand Rapids Press and Holland Sentinel (Sunday, Dec. 18) have done their own lights parade stories, but here are a few other sites they missed that you can enjoy before the holidays end:

-- Take South Shore Drive out of Holland and follow it west. The folks along Lake Macatawa really know how to decorate. There's a house on the south side that has a two-story front glass window. The family has a Christmas tree that fills the entire height!

-- There's a renovated farm house of 58th Street just north of 126th Avenue that has red candles in each of its many windows and a small tastefully lighted tree in front. It stands out in the open farm land.

-- Several newer houses along 62nd Street between 128th Avenue and M-89 have stunning displays -- white-lighted reindeer and Santas with colored lights in the tall pine trees.

-- Saugatuck. If you like over-the-top displays, here's the place. I often make a detour on the road home to look at the glow on a snowy night. It's so bright that I have stopped the car on Butler Street and been able to read a newspaper without any lights inside the car. If you go down Water Street, you can see several tug boats outlined in lights and, of course, the star on Mount Baldhead always glows. There's a great giant lights tree at the end of Butler Street on a dock in Lake Kalamazoo. A better of view of it comes across the river from Douglas by the Keewatin. On a pitch-black night, it's an awesome beacon.

Thought: Whose woods are these? I think I know. His house in the village though, and decorated with a glowing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Splish Splash

Monday began my children's two week holiday vacation from school, or, for those of you who don't speak parent; How do I keep my kids busy for 14 days?!

I started the week off with a trip to the Holland Community Aquatic Center (http://www.hollandaquaticcenter.org/). The family has been on the membership role for more than a year. We joined after I injured my leg and formal therapy was complete. Jayne wanted to keep me active through the winter and keep my muscles in shape, so she signed us up. Though expensive because we're out of the taxing district for the facility, the money has been worth it.

The center has a workout room with weights and cardiovascular equipment. But for the kids, the draw is the pools.

There is a play pool with a small slide and lots of falling and squirting water. It's shallow. Alyssa loves it, especially the tube slide.

Both Elspeth and Alyssa enjoy the whirlpool. It's just what it says -- a circular pool that spins you around like you're being flushed down a toilet. At least that's how the kids describe it.

Elspeth finds the full-sized pool a hoot. She sticks to the shallow end (about 4 feet deep) and floats on the doughnut-like toys or jumps from the side or dives about with her goggles. I've used the time to get them used to water and snuck in some basic swimming and floating techniques so they're while having fun. Sinister!

I'm so happy that the center has added hours for the holiday break. There weren't too many swimmers Monday, and we bugged out after 2 hours because some of the local schools that are still in session had their swim teams in to practice. There have been times the place has been shoulder-to-shoulder with people.

The aquatic center staff is always friendly and knows me by name. In fact, one of the employees saw me heading to the workout room last week and asked why the kids and I hadn't been in the pool the last few Sundays (our normal afternoon to go). I was impressed he remembered us, and told him either one of the kids or I had been sick the last few weeks, so we couldn't make it. So, he gave us a nice hello Monday when we returned.

Perhaps the best part of a few hours at the aquatic center is that the kids are toast afterward. They are tired and go right to bed at night and sleep soundly.

Thought: A pebble in the ocean must cause some kind of stir.

The White Album in gray

I was given a challenge: Whittle down The Beatles (The White Album) from a double album of 30 songs to a single album of 15. No easy task and almost sacrilege. What makes the album great is the variety and experimentation. And who am I to second-guess the most creative band in history? But. ...

Easy cuts include "Revolution 9," an experiment that failed; "Wild Honey Pie" and "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" because they are incomplete and add little; and the "useless" songs like "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill," "Happiness is a Warm Gun," "Don't Pass Me By," "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey" and "Cry Baby Cry." These are good songs, don't get me wrong. I count "Cry Baby Cry" among my favorites (John Lennon called it a throw away song).

I left off some of the insider Beatle tunes, such as "Glass Onion," "Sexy Sadie" and "Savoy Truffle," again, all favorites with me.

I also left off "I'm So Tired" because it adds nothing to "I'm Only Sleeping." "Yer Blues" is good heavy guitar, but really out of place -- it doesn't have the power of a "Helter Skelter" or beauty of a "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." "Revolution 1" is a nice alternative to "Revolution," but could be shelved on a rarities album with no loss to the musical world. "Long, Long, Long" could have appeared on a solo George Harrison work.

So, here's the album as I see it. Songs are in no particular order (though "Back in the U.S.S.R" as a start is great and "Good Night" as an end works well), just the way I remember them:

1: Back in the U.S.S.R.
2: Dear Prudence
3: Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da
4: While My Guitar Gently Weeps
5: Helter Skelter
6: Julia
7: I Will
8: Blackbird
9: Piggies
10: Honey Pie
11: Mother Nature's Son
12: Martha My Dear
13: Rocky Raccoon
14: Birthday
15: Good Night

Thought: Here's another place you can go, where everything froze.

A visit to St. Nick

I took Elspeth, 8, and Alyssa, 6, to visit Santa Claus today at the Westshore Mall in Holland. This was the first year I've done it. I've usually been working and my wife has taken them.

Both were concerned that they might not get to see Santa this year -- a new fear and I'm not sure where it came from. Seems Santa visited them at school last week, but both said he was one of the real Santa's helpers, not the real thing. Again, I don't know where that came from.

Well, we headed out in the lake effect snow that was fitting to a cheesey Hollywood holiday movie. The girls were chatty and added to their lists as we drove along. We even sang a few holiday songs as we chugged up an icy 58th Street, but as we approached the mall, the girls quieted down and become contemplative.

Both waited patiently in line -- we were third or so. When it was their turn, they we cautious, sized up the man in the red suit and determined he was the real thing.

Elspeth asked him for a stuffed baby baboon. Really. She's into monkeys now. Santa had to ask for a repeat on that. Alyssa asked in a whisper for a My Little Pony Butterfly Island and Santa nodded. She acknowledged later that day as I tucked her in to bed that she was "shy" around Santa.

What was nice was that the Santa site was sponsored by The Sentinel (I didn't know that until I got to the location) and Jon Lundstrom, head of the paper's Internet department, was friendly and helpful on the scene.

As we left Santa to spend some time looking at monkey-themed items in the Limited Too, both girls remember things they wanted to tell the jolly old elf. They'll be sending him letters this week.

Well, looking over the narrative, I see it's not much to folks who don't have kids, but this was a father-daughters bonding moment. I don't get many of these since my work hours tend to conflict with prime bonding hours. I hope they hold this memory as I hold similar ones from my youth.

I have memories of meeting Santa at the Carvel Ice Cream store on Route 20 in Hamburg. I recall my dad taking me and me wearing a green jacket with a hood lined in white fur and my dad wearing his dark blue ski hat and a red-plaid jacket. I seem to see myself not being too happy sitting on Santa's lap, but I'm never comfortable being the center of attention.

I can also see myself in the crowded auditorium of the Masonic Temple in the Village of Hamburg with Santa up on the stage calling groups of kids up by age to receive toys. The chairs were wooden and the hall drafty but full of childhood anticipation.

Lastly, the traditional family memory that I know even the modern generation of kids shares with me is Santa riding up our street in a fire truck. The Town of Hamburg Fire Department dispatched Santa in a bucket truck on Christmas Eve and, if the weather was tolerable and the road plowed (not a given!), the truck would stop and a firefighter would hand out candy canes. How cool is that!

Thought: As Fred Flintstone said, "Christmas is my favorite time of year because everyone can be a Santa Claus."

Snow-flation

As Alan Greenspan intimated, there is unfounded exhuberance afoot, a bubble about to burst. A specter is haunting West Michigan (Oh, sorry. I got carried away) -- It's called Snow-flation.

Some time ago, I can't tell you when, the weather became a big deal. The Weather Channel had a lot to do with it. Afterall, to attract advertisers and bring in the cash for a 24/7 weather report, the weather had to be glitzed up, but I don't blame The Weather Channel. In fact, I love The Weather Channel. I can name the on-air meteorologists, to start with, and there I will stop because I don't want to be labeled a fanatic (Hello, Sharon Resultan, if you're reading this! Hi, Jim Cantore!). Despite its shine, The Weather Channel is pretty low key compared to local television weather.

The big guys

WOOD TV-8, our NBC local, started it. The station has a staff of like a thousand meteorologists who call themselves Storm Team 8 (I thought that was a World War II movie with Harrison Ford). I can see them huddled around the line of scrimmage with Craig James leading the calls, Matt Kirkwood on the line, Joe Sullivan as full back, Bill Steffens as half back, Terri DeBoer going long and Ginger Zee (not her real name!) doing, well, I'm not sure what the newest addition to the team is doing. Maybe a kicker. Or a cheerleader.

On the other side is WZZM TV-13, our ABC affiliate. They have only a few hundred meteorologists but they have two powerful weather weapons:

First, the Weather Deck. They do their reports on a deck outside their studio in the elements. Now that's dedication to stand in 40 mph winds as 8 inches of snow swirls around and predict sunny skies. I proposed to The Holland Sentinel management (News Team 8?) that we counter this move with a Weather Hot Tub. I volunteered to go online and do our forecasts in a Speedo. No takers.

Second, WZZM has The Weather Ball. This monolith that looks like a golf ball on a tee is a throw back to industrialization hubris and towers over the expressway, looming over Grand Rapids. It blinks certain colors to tell motorists who should be watching the road but instead have their eyes turned skyward what's happening with the weather. There's a rhyme I haven't cluttered my mind with, something about Weather Ball green, no change foreseen; Weather Ball red, change ahead. Our joke at the office is: Weather Ball black, nuclear attack.

The epic battle

Now, these two battle it out with every drop of rain and flake of snow that falls.

If there is a hint of snow, Channel 8 will be sounding the Snow Apocalypse Alarm. The staion screams CHAOS! END OF CIVILIZATION AHEAD! HOARD FOOD! sometimes a week before a suspected storm system moves out of the Midwest into the Great Lakes. This happened again this week when the Town Criers of Weather let loose with the fact that a huge storm of King Kong proportions was going to hit Wednesday night and leave a swath of destruction Thursday. I even bought into it and began Monday making preparations for a snow day for the kids Thursday. Shame on me. The storm trickled out here (it was bad in Indiania, Ohio and on the East Side of Michigan, but I got that from The Weather Channel) and we had temperatures warm enough to melt down the snow pack and sunshine Thursday that almost blinded me.

I've seen both 8 and 13 send reporters to stand along the expressway and pretend that the storm is significant when it's just normal late-fall or winter weather. Since when is 3-4 inches of snow news? It's Michigan. It will surely snow from November through March. If you live close enough to Lake Michigan, it will snow almost every single day. Here, where I live, a sunny day is big news!

No need for hype. No need for a Storm Team or Weather Deck. Just give me the forecast without blowing it out of proportion to boost your ratings or egos. I call it Snow-flation or just stupid.

Thoughts: I gather all the news I need on the weather report; or, You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

Lingua franca et al

Jayne and I wrapped up the first semester of Spanish class Tuesday night with the final exam. It's been a long time since I sat down behind a desk for a 130-plus question test.

This is the third language I've tackled.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me a verb

I took four years of Latin in junior high school and high school. The junior high class was a challenge because I didn't work well with the teacher's approach to the class -- memorize, decline, conjugate, memorize more, no context, write it all on the blackboard. If you've seen Monty Python's "Life of Brian," specifically the scene in which Brian tries to grafitti Jerusalem's Roman forum and gets caught by the Roman soldier, you know what I mean ("It says Romans Go Home," says Brian. Responds the soldier, "No, it doesn't. It says People Called Romani They Go The House"). That learning style of humiliation and repitition didn't do me much in those formative years and, I think, really hurt my desire to learn more languages.

High school Latin helped revive the desire to learn a little more. We translated Caesar's "Gallic Wars," historical writings, letters of Cicero (I wish we had tried some of Catullus' dirty little poems!) and that put the language in context.

What is to be done?

In college, I tried learning Russian. This was entirely new -- new alphabet and sounds, to begin with -- but I was inspired by the professor and his pure dedication to the language.

I could use what I learned to read Pravda that the professor received and better understand basic slogans and writings of the Russian Revolution. I had plans then to go to Russia and study the revolution, but things change.

Estudio de la Universidad

So, now it's Spanish. There is a practical side to this -- my daughters have friends who speak Spanish and their parents speak only Spanish, so I thought I should try to communicate with them. Also, I live in the "Hispanic" section of Allegan County (Really. The county has made this the minority district) where many people's first tongue is not English, so I need to communicate at stores or just walking down the street.

The instructor -- Jenanne Voss -- does a wonderful job teaching. She incorporates different learning styles, is interactive, respects the students and knows the language inside and out. Though my brain has grown crusty over the years, I started getting into a groove and looked forward to class at Davenport University in Holland. Classes were Tuesday and Thursday nights.

The only bad part is that I missed several classes. I attended one of daughter's holiday programs and the other two misses were because of work. My boss made it clear that work came first, not Spanish, so I had to stay at the paper and miss the key interaction of my classmates. This hurt my comprehension.

Well, I didn't do well, but I think I passed the class (I'm awaiting my grades). I plan to take the next level starting in January so I can cement some of the material I've picked up already.

Thought: Maybe the next language I learn should be English.

Good Morning, Good Morning

I used to be a morning person. Back in high school and college, mornings were my friend. I loved early classes and finishing studying by 7 p.m.

Then, I started working nights. For the last 14 years, I've had a mixed schedule, really. Some days, some nights. Now, with kids, I'm often up at 6 a.m. though still do a full 10-12 hour work shift and get home after 1:30 a.m.

I have co-workers who get 10-12 hours of sleep. Wow. I consider 8 hours a luxury and 10 hours is unimaginable.

But my point: I had to pick up my wife this morning at the auto body shop, so I dropped the kids off at school and headed up to Holland. Here's what baffles me: Why does morning radio suck?

I want some news, a few sports scores (though the Lions and Bills news depresses me) and the weather. There. That's about 3 minutes. The rest of the time, I want music. Lots of music.

You see, at 1 a.m., when I leave work, people aren't talking on the radio. LAV and WYVN are playing uninterrupted stretches of music, including the longer and more obscure rockers that I grew up with.

Why must morning DJs talk, talk and talk? I don't care what they say, I want music. I know, for example, that it was cold out Monday morning. I had to shovel and scrape the car and bundle the kids for a great Arctic expedition, so I don't need inane chatter from DJs in their warm radio booth telling me how they think it's cold. I need some Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Elvis (not most Christmas music! I'd listen to static before I listen to most of that sugary slop).

I was so desperate this morning to hear music that I even listened to that new 96.1, The Max, that plays whatever the cat drags in. I think I sat through some '80s pop bilge and whiney chic music (where have all the cowboys gone? Tell me!). I am pathetic.

The lesson learned for me: Bring a CD next time.

Thought: The sound you make is Muzak to my ears. You must have learned something in all those years.

Pryor knowledge

For a brief moment in the newsroom Saturday, I was torn between whose obit story I should put on page A1. Eugene McCarthy or Richard Pryor?

Both deaths were announced Saturday and I had space for only one on A1. The other was to go inside.

My bend toward politics and dabbling in 1960s radicalism led me toward McCarthy. His impact on Johnson and the anti-war movement and the victory of Nixon seems historically significant. But Richard Pryor was an entertainer and, in our society, that's way more important.

I asked my coworkers (all of whom are younger than I am). None of them could recall McCarthy without some prodding (some confused him with the anti-Communist senator) and one didn't know who Pryor was.

Well, I went with Pryor on A1 and McCarthy in a refer box with a full story inside. I think more readers would associate with Pryor.

Personal here: Though Pryor discussed racism openly and got to write his own ticket with a movie company, I don't see him as significant. I did like "Silver Streak" and "Stir Crazy," but mainly for Gene Wilder. To me, Pryor's still a vulgar drug abuser who didn't make the world a whole lot better with his work. There are significant living comedians who deserve more attention -- Robin Williams (I know, he used drugs, too), Billy Crystal, Bill Cosby, Bill Murray, Mel Brooks and Whoopi Goldberg, for example. We'll see where they go in the newspaper when they die.

Thought: Last night the wife said, Oh, boy, when you're dead, you don't take nothin' with you but your soul.

Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem

I came home Thursday from a walk into town -- we live a few blocks from downtown Fennville -- and was greeted by my mother-in-law. She said the words all parents dread: "The school called .." then the words I fear, "and Elspeth has been hurt." She then added, "She broke her teeth."

Wow, there's a greeting.

Elspeth, 8, fell in the gymnasium and literally landed on her front teeth, shattering them both. The best way I can think to describe it is to take a piece of glass and smack it with a hammer. That's what they looked like.

We got her to our dentist, Dr. Chris Wiley. He cancelled his scheduled appointments and spent an hour or so working on her teeth. He did a fantastic job of reconstructing them. You'd never know they were jagged fangs at any time. Elspeth did a great job in the dentist's chair despite her fear of the dentist (that's a blog for another day) and panic that gripped me.

So, for the rest of her life, she'll have partially artificial front teeth that will need adjusting over the years. She can add this to the permanent scar on her forehead from where she got hit with a baseball bat in a spring baseball camp.

The school folks were also very nice and helpful. When we got to Alyssa's Christmas program that night, the principal, teachers and office personnel checked on her and expressed their worries. It's nice to live in such a caring environment.

Thought: I think Zoot skipped a groove, man.

Savoy Truffle

I'm still chuckling about a new report from the Institute of Medicine on junk food ads and children's eating habits. The report seems to say that because junk food makers use SpongeBob and Dora the Explorer, children are eating poor-quality foods and getting fat. The morning news shows were full of wringing hands and hair pulling over this topic.

As Lenin once asked, What is to be done?

At my news budget meeting when we editors discussed this story for A1, I told me coworkers (none of whom have children): Yes, my kindergartner and third-grader often buy SpongeBob candy instead of apples or bananas when they take the minivan to go shopping at Meijers. I don't think they got it.

The children aren't buying this junk. The parents are. We parents are supposed to know what's good for our kids. So, the problem is that logical, intelligent, job-holding, sometimes-voting, bill-paying, shower-taking, hat-and-glove-wearing adults are ignoring nutrition and opting to silence the whining children.

I've fallen into this trap, believe me. My children know exactly when and how to push the buttons that may make me act, but I'm the adult. I know how to say no. That's my responsibility. Not SpongeBob's or Cosmo's and Wanda's from "Fairly Odd Parents." I. Me. Mine.

So, therein lies the rub. We adults have a hard time controlling ourselves with all our toys -- the new cars, the gadgets, the computers, the bloated credt cards -- so how can we expect our children to control themselves? There's the lesson and I didn't need a panel of scientists with a federal grant to come up with it (But I'd like a federal grant!).

So, I ask myself when I stand before the pop machine: Do I buy the Pepsi because Mean Joe Green once chugged a bottle on TV? Do I buy a Coke because I'd like to teach the word to sing?

My answer: I'll have a cup of joe because John Elway was part of the coffee generation.

Thought: You know that what you eat, you are. What is sweet now turns so sour.

Imagine

It's been 25 years since John Lennon was assassinated. I remember reading about it the next morning in the Buffalo Courier-Express newspaper. I even clipped out the article and pictures. I also saved the clippings from The Buffalo News. Sorry, I didn't hear about it during Monday Night Football. I was asleep. I used to be a morning person.

After 25 years, I still feel sad about John Lennon's death. I didn't cry or light candles in his memory. I just felt -- and still do -- kind of beaten down, like a cold, cloudy day that won't rain or snow, but feels like it ought to.

It's a shame because he was on the comeback, musically. "Double Fantasy" is a gem of an album. It's personal, introspective, musically and lyrically multi-levelled and overall well-conceived. Sharing the design with Yoko is classic. I must admit, though, that I can do without Yoko's material, but realize that Lennon's songs are worthless without her. Again, the beauty of "Double Fantasy."

A co-worker asked me recently what I thought of Yoko and Lennon. All I can say is that I think it may be the greatest love story of the 20th century.

The "Grand Rapids Press" on Sunday, Dec. 4, listed the "essential" Lennon: "In My Life," "Imagine," "Come Together," "A Day in the Life," "Revolution," "I am the Walrus," "Give Peace a Chance," "Mind Games," "(Just Like) Starting Over" and "All You Need is Love."

Here's my list (off the top of my head and the list could change in 10 minutes when I look at my old albums):

-- "Love"

-- "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"

-- "Give Peace a Chance"

-- "A Day in the Life"

-- "Norwegian Wood (This Bird has Flown)"

-- "Imagine"

-- "(Just Like) Starting Over"

-- "Woman"

-- "God"

-- "How Do You Sleep?"

-- "Working Class Hero."

There's so much more and if you can get through "Two Virgins," "Life with the Lions" and "Sometime in New York City," then call youself a true fan.

Thought: We're all water in this vast, vast ocean. Let's evaporate together.

I am Born

I add my voice to the Internet din.

In the future, look for ramblings on West Michigan events, comments on bicycle trails and the best (and worst) rides in Allegan and Ottawa counties and babble about anything that crosses my mind.

Thought: Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.