The Reluctant Blogger

It was a bad weekend for celebrity deaths.

First, Saturday would have been George Harrison's 63rd birthday. He had so much more music to share. I've just started to appreciate his last album, "Brainwaves."

Second, Don Knotts died over the weekend. He was one of my favorite comedic actors. I appreciate his work on "The Andy Griffith Show" and regret that a comic genius had to play the role of Mr. Furley on a bottom-feeder show like "Three's Company," but I truly enjoyed his films. As a journalist, I still get a kick out of "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken." I still chuckle at "The Reluctant Astronaut." "The Simpsons" did a great spoof of that film when Homer goes to space and the inanimate carbon rod gets all the attention.

Of course his best film was "The Incredible Mr. Limpet." I introduced my kids to that film a few months ago and they loved it just the way I did at their age. I figure I liked it because it showed how a misfit could contribute to a cause bigger than himself -- and still get the girl, er, fish, in this case.

And, yes, I did put Don Knotts on the front page of the paper.

Third, Darren McGaven died Saturday. I loved him in "A Christmas Story" as the classic grumpy dad. Every family has debates like the "lamp" and its glow of electric sex in the window of Cleveland Street. More, though, McGaven will always be "The Night Stalker" to me. I loved that show. It was like "Hawaii Five-O" and "The Rockford Files" -- shows I watched with my dad and cherish the simple time together.

Thought: All things must pass, but luckily we have DVDs and CDs to keep enjoying the works of the greats.

Bad poetry Day No. 1

I warned some of you that I would start posting my poetry here. Oh, and it's bad, but somehow, like going by the auto crash, I can't help myself. I've got a million of them. Really. Here's one from 2002:

Dutch Love Song (version 5)

Doggedly did I pursue Janje Buis ‘bout the Kolonie
In younger times, when eyes were clear and life laid before me.
Cleverly did I stalk this girl down carriage-rutted roads,
Klompen beating knotty slats in time with rattling reins
To where birch canoes were stowed by wandering Pottawattomie.

I

Spring sun burst the tulips as if in festival galore
And westerly winds bent grass along the Black River shore
When I tracked her to the channel walls where she drew a breath
Before ascending shifting dune to sit and loosen off her dress.
She let it fall to show me what I’d not beheld before.

Ja, well, I am old now and have seen my fill of GAR in uniform,
Of thund’ring October skies driving embers through hellish storm,
But my memory’s clear now as when I lay panting hard that day
And later more controlled over spring and summer’s chase.
It stays with me though she is gone to rest with earth and worm.

The one whom I idolized in pillared church on Sundays bright --
As reverend told, and passed the plate, of lustful sin’s respite,
Clink, clink, some pennies spent to wash my soul of carnal stain
As I contemplated what’s the gain by making her my bride --
There stretched back in softened sand to let her fingers have delight.

Breasts as white as harvest moon, as round and ripe I still can see.
Nipples red as rose’s bud unopened. She stroked vigorously
Between her thighs until she sang in tune
With the echoing roar of the Big Lake’s angry gale.
Cautiously then did I pursue Janje Buis ‘bout the Kolonie.

Ah, but like dandy coat in Meindert Steketee’s window display
That’s been eyed by many men night after day --
She I watched on cloudless forenoons frolicking in the dunes
After coffee kletz when my labor slackened
At acid-aired Cappon-Bertch tannery – for that I would not pay.

The better buy was Huldah Buis, two years older,
Darker hair, dower face, crooked smile, demeanor colder.
She was prize. Not to herself would she touch her hand.
This I know, for neither to mine would she surrender.
But at vespers, Dominie would note her close by my shoulder.

II

Now when blizzard plugs the way of Interurban track,
Macatawa’s frozen ship to dock, and darkness shrouds my shack,
I know I made the prudent choice, the one that kept me fed,
Though Janje went to Singapore, a banker did she wed.
I know priceless moments come free when I secretly look back.

58th Street rant

Monday was a nice day around West Michigan for February -- no snow, the sun popped out from behind the clouds every now and again and the breeze from the west was stiff but not blustering. So, heading up to my Spanish class in Holland, I thought I'd take 58th Street.

Stoopid (yes, with two "Os").

The road was drifted over (some spots with 4 to 5 inches of snow) and ice covered. I should have known better and taken some alternate routes. And the ride home? Worse in the dark (Yes, I took it home. Stooopid with three "Os" this time) but I wanted to get home fast. The alternate routes add at least 5 miles to my drive.

58th Street is the worst primary road I've ever driven on. You see, it's a major north-south two-lane road in Allegan County so it's always busy. It has one of the few bridges across the Kalamazoo River. On this side of the county, to cross the river, you have to take I-196, Blue Star Highway, 58th Street or M-40.

The problem with 58th Street is that it's surrounded by flat farm land. With no wind blocks, the road is quickly covered with snow that, with the constant pressure from vehicle tires, turns to ice quickly. It also has some nasty hills (the county's steepest incline at Old Allegan Road!) and tricky turns.

I try to avoid it in the winter, taking an alternate way through Saugatuck, across the Blue Star Highway bridge. But sometimes I make bad decisions.

Allegan County is cash-strapped, so I can't expect much for road care in the winter. The county does not have a clear-pavement policy like the state (the roads must be clear of snow), but instead has a passable policy (the roads just have to be considered passable, which means leaving snow and ice if it's not going to block the road).

Consider this selfish because I use the road, but I consider 58th Street one of the county's most important roads. It links southwest Allegan County -- which is growing by leaps and bounds -- to Holland. I think the county ought to take better care of it, maybe plow and salt a little more or add snow fencing or start a tree-planting program to cut down on the drifting. In my world ...

Eventually, if the population and transportation trends continue, this road will have to be widened to four lanes most of the way and straightened and levelled at some key intersections (136th Avenue mainly), but that's decades in the future.

For now, I'll just have to be careful and make more prudent decisions for safety.

Thought: Slip sliding away.

Don't get flushed reading this

There's one room in every house or apartment I've lived in that I seem to spend most of my time in -- the bathroom.

I'll dispense with the reasons for my frequent visits to the restroom and focus on the key to any bathroom. That's comfort.

The bathroom I used while growing up was small. I go back now and hardly fit, but it's designed with a window overlooking my folks' backyard. I could sit there for hours on a summer evening looking out over the field of the junior high school while watching the traffic lights come down Amsdell Road. Ah, the wind in the hickory nut tree, the sound of the train whistle from down the street and a clean toilet. Who could ask for more?

When I moved to Douglas, the apartment had a great design for the bathroom. The toilet sat right against the sink so I could rest my head on my folded arms while I sat down. Jayne caught me sleeping several times -- and she thought I fell in!

No laughing at the sleeping part. Since I average about five hours of sleep a night -- seven hours is a luxury -- I'll take a nap wherever and whenever I can. I'm not proud. I'm just tired.

In fact, I dozed off at the end of my shift the other night at work. After we send our last page to press, there's about a 25-30 minute delay before copies come off the press in Allegan and we get the "all clear" call. I usually do prep work for the next edition, but the other night I was so tired and so sick that I put my head down on the desk and was asleep in seconds. The call from Allegan woke me up and the poor guy at the other end must have wondered what I was on when we talked.

Anyway, bathrooms have offered a place of quiet in an otherwise busy world. I think Comic Book Guy on "The Simpsons" called the bathroom his "Fortress of Solitude." Oh, yeah.

I've been in bad bathrooms, too, of course. The Toledo train station stands out as the worst public restroom I've been in -- even worse than those little gas station restrooms in the Upper Peninsula. Ick. And a friend in Columbus, Ohio, had a bathroom with a floor so weakened by a leaky shower that using his bathroom was like surfing in a thunderstorm. And going in the wild -- remember, I bike ride and sometimes when you gotta go, you gotta go -- is overrated by the nature nuts. Bears go in the woods because they don't have access to the Saugatuck public restrooms on Butler Street.

And port-o-potties? What fool thought these up? Little plastic closets with a base of human excrement. Nice. They ought to come with oxygen masks.

My bathroom in the house I'm in now is not as comfortable as my Douglas facility, nor does it offer a scenic view like the one I had growing up, but it is peaceful. The kids know to leave me alone and use the "good" bathroom downstairs. Only the cats bother me now when I'm relaxing and reading (the bathroom is the best place to enjoy a book) because I share the room with their litter boxes.

In fact, I caught one of our pets taking a cat nap there the other day. You go, Melvis. You go.

Thought: As Dr. Seuss said, wash your hands after you use the euphemism.

Freedom's just another word

I was reading an article the other day by James Pinkerton of Newsday about the differences between The West and Islam. Seems the latter relishes spirituality while The West puts emphasis on freedom.

I disagree. The West (and that's the U.S.) does not worship freedom above all else. The West worships money above all else, and freedom can often offer the best means to make that money. And, of course, you can act freely within the boundaries of making money. As long as you have money.

Now, I'm not addressing this from the spiritual view point. No one is free when they are tied to material objects. But I'm thinking about this from a practical point of view:

My wife called me from the store last week because I asked her to pick up toothpaste. "What kind?" she asked.

"Just toothpaste," I replied.

"Do you want the whitening kind? The tartar control kind? The germ-fighting kind? The kind with breath-freshening built in? The kind with sparkles? The kind that plays 1970's pop tunes while you brush?"

"I just want toothpaste," I whimpered.

So, I guess that's freedom, but, you see, it's the type of freedom I don't need. It's the illusion of freedom tied to consumerism and, therefore, money. Without money, I wouldn't have the choices of toothpaste to begin with.

I guess that's why we invade countries, put people in jail, torture them, bomb them, burn them, harass them, scar them and belittle ourselves and tear ourselves apart. It's about choosing something from the toothpaste aisle at Meijer.

Thought: I got the breath-freshening mint kind.

That's sports

Imagine a nasal, squeaky voice on the low-quality local AM radio station giving the morning sports report. At the end, this announcer signs off with, “That’s sports.” Now, imagine him saying “sports” as if someone had just yanked his underwear in an atomic wedgie. It haunts me. I used to listen to this guy because it was part of my job. That’s a chore I’m glad is gone.

But I’ve been thinking about sports because of my lack of activity. I’ve been ill the last few weeks and haven’t been able to get to the gym to work out.

No, I’m not bench pressing and curling. I ride the bicycle and do the elliptical walker to build my legs and heart. I found this is a great way to be prepared for bicycling in the spring. Last year, I worked out through the winter and felt fantastic the minute I hit the road in March. This year doesn’t look so promising.

Olympics

I’ve also been thinking about sports because I’ve been inundated with images from the Olympics. As you could guess, I’m not a fan. The Olympics embodies many things I find repulsive – egoism, nationalism and greed.

Note: I don’t mind professional sports because these are about entertainment. Football, hockey and the Tour de France are like watching a movie. Those people get big bucks and big backing (like Lance Armstrong) to entertain me, to give me a good game I can talk about the day after (and I feel kind of dirty even being part of that!). The Olympics, though, dons a garb of history and puts on airs like it’s better than anything else. So, back to the Olympics:

First, the games aren’t fair. There’s a reason certain countries do well and it’s not because their people are better than anybody else. It’s about money and, to a lesser degree, geography.

Second, I hate nationalism. I despise flag-waving jingoism, which is what the games are about. It’s the same thing that leads to wars and the denigration of races and cultures.

Third, the Olympics is about competition. Competition makes me ill. Why must someone be the best at skating? Or luge? I don’t understand the need to stroke the ego with a gold medal, with media attention, for such trivial things. Why can’t the events be about cooperation? That’s much better than competition, but certainly harder to sell to corporations and to wave a flag about. Can you see a stadium full of people screaming, waving foam fingers and chanting “U.S.A.” because a group of people managed to end hunger in Sub-Saharan Africa with an equitable food distribution system?

Thought: From George Harrison’s “Faster,” about a race car driver:

Now he moved into the space

That the special people share

Right on the edge of do or die

Where there is nothing left to spare.

Still the crowds came pouring in

Some had hoped to see him fail

Filling their hearts with jealousies

Crazy people with love so frail.

Beatles follow

After my youngest daughter asked me about The Beatles, I put my otherwise lazy mind to the task of categorizing my Beatle tastes.

Favorite song: “A Day in the Life.” It’s a shining example of Lennon and McCartney mixing songs (McCartney was the middle). Also, this song fits Lennon’s voice – who else could sing about the absurdity of counting holes then using holes to fill something? A dental hygienist told me once that I had enough cavities to fill the Grand Canyon. I responded by asking how a hole (a cavity) could be used to fill another hole (the Grand Canyon). Man, I felt that drill next!

Second-favorite song: “Get Back.” Catch me at another time and I might say “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” or “I Feel Fine” or another song, but “Get Back” is just nice guitar and keyboards by Billy Preston.

Least favorite song: “Mr. Moonlight.” This is a remake. The original never charted, so why would a remake? Lennon’s voice is out of place here, and that pipe organ is just jarring. This is followed by “You Know My Name (Look Up the Number).”

First song: First Beatles song I remember hearing is their remake of “Please Mr. Postman.” I was listening to the clock radio (the kind where the numbers actually flipped – not digital) in my parents’ room and was taken by the vocals

Favorite album: “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Innovations in music, appearance, design and marketing – what more do you need. Also, the album is great because it’s linked by The Beatles acting as muses in a Greek tragedy telling the story of Billy Shears, a man who seeks love but confuses it with lust.

Second-favorite album: “A Hard Day’s Night.” This was the first album complete with original material. It’s typical pop of the time, but all songs are well executed and creative. Not a dud on this one. If The Beatles disbanded after this album, it would have been a good note to end on. If I had to have a theme song, the title track would be it. Heck, it’s been 15 years of weekend and night work, you bet it’s been a hard day’s night.

Least-favorite album: “The Beatles” (aka The White Album). There’s lots of good stuff on this, but the splits in the band are evident. This is the first Bealtes album (yes, vinyl) I ever bought. I purchased it up in the village of Hamburg and carried it home about 7 miles on my bike.

Best album: “Revolver.” The songs on this are excellent. I think this is the highest a pop album as a collection of singles alone could go. The songs are individually stronger than “Sgt. Pepper’s,” but the latter as a whole has more impact.

Best album cover: “Meet The Beatles” with the group in black turtle necks and pale faces is striking. I like “Sgt.Pepper’s,” of course, and “Abbey Road,” the only cover on which the group’s name doesn’t appear. Throw in “The Beatles” (aka White Album) and you have some of the most recognizable pop images of the 20th century.

Worst album cover: “Revolver.” I don’t like the scribbles (Sorry, Klaus Voorman). It’s too juvenile for the top quality of songs inside. Also, the American release “Yesterday and Today,” post-butchered babies, is terrible.

Best satire: “The Simpsons” B-Sharp episode. True, “The Rutles” and “Spinal Tap” are hilarious, but the short and sweet take off is great. The scene where Barney shows up with the Japanese conceptual artist and asks for the perfumed drink is classic. Also, throw in the “We’re bigger than God” crack and the concert on the roof (in which George Harrison shows up!), and you have a great satire. The crowning moment is the last line when one of the B-Sharps says, “I’d like to say thank you on behalf of the group and myself and I hope we passed the audition.” Laughter follows, just like on “Let It Be,” then Barney says, “I don’t get it.”

Honorable mention: The Ringo Starr episode of “The Simpsons,” when Marge gets into painting, is a great use of Beatle stereotypes.

Thought: Man, I spent too much time on this.

Beatle moment

There are key events in the lives of your children you remember -- first steps, first words, first day of school, first Beatles moment.

I picked up my youngest daughter from school and had left a CD -- "Rubber Soul" -- playing. I usually just play the radio on some harmless adult contemporary station because I want to avoid one of those awkward parental moments: "Daddy, who's Polythene Pam and what are jackboots?"

I thought "Rubber Soul" had few references I couldn't explain away, so I left it running. Here's the conversation in the car:

-- "Dad, is that The Beatles?"

-- "Yes, honey."

-- "Dad, why do you like The Beatles?"

-- Pause. Do I say it's the revolutionary impact on music, culture and politics? That four guys with no formal training could change the world? That they really rock? No. "Because, honey, their music makes us all feel happy."

-- "Dad, what's your favorite Beatles song?"

-- Pause because my favorite song isn't about happiness. "They all make me feel happy."

-- "Dad?"

-- Yes?"

-- "Could you turn off The Beatles and put on the radio?"

-- "Yes, honey."

Thought: Get a dose of her in jackboot and kilt. She's killer diller when she's dressed to the hilt. She's the kind of a girl who makes the News of the World. Yes, you could say she was attractivley built.

New covers

I finally decided on a book to pick up. My destination did not come easily.

After I finished "David Copperfield," I felt lost, as I do whenever I finish a good book. I thought of reading "Moby Dick," but couldn't find a copy about the house and I take so long to read material that the library was out of the question.

Chain of thought, or

Be afraid, be very afraid

So, I picked up "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam." The volumne I have is from 1947, has beautiful illustrations and includes all five editions of the poem. A feast for mind, ear and eye.

A book of verses underneath the bough
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread -- and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness --
Oh, wilderness were paradise enow!

Such beauty from a mathematician. I recall bastardizing the above verse in high school while partying on the beaches of Lake Erie. Something like

A book of verses beneath the bough
A case of Steg, a bottle opener -- and thou
Beside me drinking on the beach --
Oh, if I had another case now.

Or whatever. Steg was a reference to a cheap beer out of Wilkes-Barre, Penn., called Stegmeier.

I chose the poem because I was shaving one day (and that's all I tend to shave anyway) and started thinking of Victor Kiam, the man who used to own Norelco. Remember the commercials during Sunday football games? "I liked the product so much, I bought the company." Then my mind jumped to the short from Rocky and Bullwinkle, the mystery of "The Ruby Yacht of Omar Khayyam."

Well, there you have it.

Destination

So, after reading that, I did my usual and read some Upanishads, some Browning (I love "Fra Lippo Lippi") and some Yeats just the other day. For some reason, though, I heard the Roman Republic calling me (It was in Latin, so I couldn't return the call right away). Lots of good choices here. Last year or so I finished Tom Holland's "Rubicon." Good stuff, but I wanted to go farther back.

The History Channel then told me. The station had a special on Hannibal so I remembered the book by Adrian Goldsworthy on the Punic Wars. I started that last night.

Thought:

Whereat some one of the loquacious lot --
I think a Sufi pipkin -- waxing hot --
"All this of pot and potter -- Tell me, then,
"Who is the potter, pray, and who the pot?"