Them!

I’ve long lamented the loss of old-time, pre-cable television. No, I don’t miss the old antenna on the roof (ask my dad about trimming branches or chipping ice off that one) or fuzzy reception, but I miss the variety. Yes, variety.

With our basic cable, I think I have like a million stations compared to the about seven (VHF and UHF) we had before cable, but the real variety isn’t there. True, I can get 24 hours of gardening or Paraguayan soccer semi-finals, but I can’t get variety. By the way, no one asked me if I wanted those stations, so it’s not variety. It’s like going to a buffet and being told what to eat. It’s not real choice.

In the old antenna days, I saw movies like “Casablanca” at 2 p.m. Saturdays, or the Woody Allen classics “Bananas” and “Take the Money and Run” at 5 a.m. weekdays. I saw The Beatles “Magical Mystery Tour” at 11:30 p.m. You name it, I probably saw it (Even a cleaned-up “Midnight Cowboy.”)

My favorite day of those old antenna years was Sunday. Those Sunday afternoon movies ran the spectrum from Academy Award to trash, and I think I watched them all. Where are you going to see Charlie Chan movies now? Or “Land of the Giants”? I loved just being stretched out on the living room floor watching Westerns, a World War II movie or the best – sci-fi horror.

Reliving the old days

The closest I come to that now is on American Movie Classics. AMC does offer a variety – I caught “The Sand Pebbles” a few weeks ago and “MASH” before that. But Tuesday at 7:30 a.m., I relived those glory days of pre-antenna TV thanks to AMC. I watched “Them.”

How guilty I felt stretched out on the couch watching this classic! I should have been doing a million other things, but I couldn’t tear myself away from this film.

The 1954 film is about ants that mutate after the 1945 nuclear explosions and grow to enormous sizes. As a kid, I loved the idea of mammoth ants rampaging through the Los Angeles sewer system. How cool!

Now, I love the film for all subtleties it has and, like the original “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (which I first saw on an old Canadian station on a Sunday afternoon), that it isn’t about giant ants or, in the latter case, pods. It’s about American Cold War fears.

The film stars James Arness and James Whitmore. Fess Parker makes a great appearance as an “insane” pilot who sees a queen ant. Even Leonard Nimoy pops in for a cameo. I also think I had a crush the curvy female scientist played by Joan Weldon

Watching it the other day, I caught so many small things I just love:

-- The guys roll up their pants when they walk into the sewers.

-- They investigate a sugar theft on a Sunday morning, and the rail yard executive is holding a Sunday paper under his arm.

-- The drunks haggle and one of them sings about being in the Army.

-- James Whitmore’s character confuses the names of some low-level beat cops and can’t understand why the old scientist can’t work the airplane radio. Here’s a key because the police complain the scientist can’t talk “like everybody else,” but uses Latin phrases and technical jargon. But the police use their own language that the professor can’t follow. Man, this is great film making!

I love the pre-sexual revolution sparring with the female scientist and James Arness, including a few consciously sexist jokes. The debate about when the public should be told about the ants is relevant today, but substitute “terrorist threat” in place of “ants” or “Cold War.”

I don’t like that all the characters smoke constantly and that minorities don’t exist in this film, save the shoe-shine man who is African American.

I recommend you watch the film on a cold, snowy Sunday afternoon. It’s oddly relevant for the black-and-white era it comes from. And it’s entertaining.

Thought: Next is my analysis of "Gilligan's Island."

Winter welcome

All you readers in Western New York can just chuckle, but we got our first snow here overnight. I think there was an inch or so on the grass. No, it wasn't the 2 feet you got, but, hey, it was enough to send the local meteorologists into a panic:

Snow! Snow! Storm of 06! Slippery roads! Chaos! Dogs and cats living together!

Headline exaggeration notwithstanding, the snow gave us cause to break out the new hats and scarves my mom sent. The kids just love the hats -- the picture should be above.

Also, as the snow came down last night, I took the solemn occasion to prepare and hang up my bike for the season. As I respectfully slid the tarp over it, I swear I heard Taps playing in the distance.

Thought: It's a major award!

I like potatoes

My wife calls me the other day and says I have to take the camera to Respite, the coffee shop in Douglas where we hang out. She gives me no other hint, but says Renee, the owner, has something I have to get a picture of.

I rush over before I had to work -- Oh, you had to twist my arm on this. What? Me? Stop for a cup of coffee? Renee tells me her mother was peeling potatoes and came across one she just couldn't throw in the pot.

Ta-Da! It looks like Michigan.

Yes, I had the same reaction, but I'm a fun-lovin' wild man at heart, so snapped a picture for posterity. Above, then, is Renee holding the immaculate spud and Heather, who had the misfortune of pouring me a cup of coffee, seemingly awed by the Idaho that looks like Michigan.

Two things

If you've watched TV, the above anecdote must remind you of "Cheers." On one episode, Cliff, the know-it-all mail carrier, sends a picture of some vegetables with human characteristics to The Weather Channel. One of the meteorologists writes back and says that she can tell from his hand writing that Cliff must be a big boy of 8 or 9 years old.

The other show this tuber reminds me of is on Cartoon Network called "Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends." It's a kids show, but I enjoy watching it more than my daughters (surprise!). A character named Eduardo, a giant purple monster who is afriad of his own shadow, really loves potatoes. In one episode, he faces off with an obnoxious character named Cheese who says he likes cereal. All Eduardo can respond with is, "I like potatoes." So is the genesis of my new rallying cry.

Thought: Good news everyone. I like them mashed, baked, fried, chopped ...

I don't get it

When I came home from work the other morning, there wasn't much on TV. The channel that carried "Blind Date" had gone south of a while, so I stopped at "Sex and the City."

I heard this show received some accolades, so I thought I'd sit through it despite the fact that Sarah Jessica Parker plays a prominent role. (She was cute in "Square Pegs" all those years ago, but I'm sure Matthew Broderick married her for her personality)

The praise for the show was off target. It seems to me the plot is bunch of selfish, confused, rich women who seek sex, sex and more sex (thus the show's title, right?). Nothing wrong with that, I admit, and it's the premise of many a good porn film, but here it gets old (like the characters) pretty fast. This one trick pony (well, it does have Tawny Catain who starred in "Bachelor Party" with that donkey scene) finished its act in the first five minutes I saw.

OK, perhaps I saw one bad episode. In the spirit of fairness, I flipped from "Blind Date" the next night to watch it again. Same old, same old. Very old.

It seems the producers were trying to mimic the "Friends" experience, but this time with older characters. The writing wasn't there and the pettiness was just painful. "Seinfeld" pulled off the minutia bit pretty well, building episodes on the high-talker, the man-hands, the Jerry-forgetting-his-girlfriend's-name (Mulva?), for example, but "Sex and the City" missed it, especially in this one scene:

It was a cocktail party and one of characters came in crying. All her friends surrounded her in a bathroom stall and asked her what the problem was. She said her boyfriend had a small penis. That's the scene. Come on, Hollywood. They're at a cock-tail party! Play this out. Why didn't they put her near one of those tables with the tiny hot dogs, or some other visual element, and instead of coming out and saying it, use props and witty dialog to make it funny.

If I want to watch a bunch of superficial rich people worry about where their next orgasm comes from, I can watch CNN any time for the real stuff.

Thought: I should know better than to believe the praises of "Entertainment Tonight."

Bad Poetry Corner No. 3

Good news everybody. I've scribbled a new poem.

I was up at Oval Beach again yesterday watching the waves through the sprinkles of rain. Fearing I'd fall asleep and not wake up in time to pick up my daughter from dance, I started scribbling some lines to stay awake.

Here's what you get:

The gull thinks on shore
With white waves at its feet
Not of souls lost to wintry sprays,
Not of love-starved nights nor lonely days.

The gull shrinks over swells
With white waves at its wings
Lost to souls of wintry ways,
Lost to night-lone love and day-starved thoughts.

Thought: It's for the birds.

Good news everybody

I've decided to start all my meetings at work with the phrase, "Good news everybody." It's from the show "Futurama." The professor always says this when he enters a room or starts a meeting, even when there is no good news, which is normally the case.

But the good news is that the power has been restored to my family's home in Western New York. A freak snowstorm hit the area, dumping about 2 feet of heavy, wet snow around Buffalo Thursday night. The snow pulled down trees still heavy with leaves which, in turn, yanked down power lines. My folks didn't have electricity until late Sunday night.

The house was heated by the fireplace and people went out to the cars and warmed up there and charge their cell phones. My niece will now have stories to tell decades in the future, just like the ones I won't bore you with now about the Blizzard of '77 and the ice storm that followed.

More good news everybody

This was Goose Festival weekend here in Fennville. So, therefore, it rained and was cold. Jayne and I took the girls Sunday afternoon for a few rides and games. It was all expensive so we didn't do a whole lot.

The festival is fun, really, in small-town sort of way. I enjoy it because I get to socialize a bit and observe the people who show up. You see, unlike Holland's Tulip Time, which is really for the more well-to-do seniors, or Saugatuck's events, which are for the artsy and/or middle class white folks, the Goose Festival is for the rural poor, the working class and minorities. In Saugatuck, for example, I find it rare to see a Hispanic face or hear Spanish spoken at an event, but here in Fennville, it's the norm.

Thought: Did you get your goose in Fennville?

A break in the day

Tuesdays have become a pretty hectic day around here. In the afternoon, I have to pick up the kids from school, get back home so Jayne's mom can get the girls dinner, take Elspeth to dance then, yesterday, take her right to Girl Scouts. That's a stretch from about 2:30 to 8:30 p.m.

Yesterday was a nice day -- the last for a while -- so Alyssa wanted to come along to enjoy the playground while Elspeth danced then went to Scouts. Alyssa had a blast on the playground in Saugatuck, then we dropped Elspeth off at Scouts. By then, it was getting dark so the playground was no longer an option.

After grabbing a snack at DeMond's grocery store (who doesn't love Cheetos and chocolate milk?), I drove Alyssa up to Oval Beach.

Lake Michigan was calm -- hardly a wave -- and the beach was wide open with not a tourist to be found. There was no wind and the air temperature was in the mid-50s. Perfect for a walk on the sand. The best part was, as we tossed rocks into the water and Alyssa chased some gulls, was that a freighter was coming into the channel up in Holland.

Holland is several miles up the coast, but we could see the lights of the big lake freighter as it lined itself up with the channel. For a time, it was framed between the red and green blinking lights of Saugatuck's channel (Frighters don't come into to Sauagtuck -- it's really a recreational harbor now). Both Alyssa and I were focused on the ship as we watched it slowly glide out of sight into Holland Harbor.

This whole walk on the beach really calmed me down. You see, as I continue to be belittled and marginalized at my place of employment, and my self worth there is chopped away with each day, I was reminded yesterday as I stood in the sand along Lake Michigan what a true strength I have in my family. I hope that Alyssa will have a memory of this walk on the beach, maybe even just a feeling, really, she can think back on when she's older and I'm dead, and maybe she'll feel good.

It's already helped me.

Thought: Be here now.

A bridge close by

Another great morning for a bike ride. I made this one short, though, becaue of time constraints, so I headed out to the New Richmond Bridge.

The route up 56th Street north has been improved since mid-summer. The road has been repaved -- the first time, I swear, since the early 1900s.

My goal was just to stop at the bridge and enjoy the view. That I did. Though the morning was overcast, the colors on the trees were still pretty and the river was calming. I spent about 30 minutes at the bridge, just enjoying it.

The swing bridge was built in 1879 and is the last working bridge of its type in the nation. It's been recently refinished and turned into a pedestrian-only walk over the Kalamazoo River. You can ride your bike over it, but I choose to carry my bike over the wooden walkway. Call me sliver shy.

When I first moved out here, driving over the bridge was permitted. In fact, I took a car load of folks during my wedding weekend over the bridge. I think I scared the crap out of them. You see, the trick then was to keep the wheels of the car on the wooden tracks so you didin't drop into the rusty metal mesh. And, the bridge arches in the middle, and it was just wide enough for one car. I was living on the edge then.

New to the bridge: I see an information kiosk, of sorts, is being built on shore next to the bridge. This will be a nice info center if the county can keep the spray paint off it.

Thought: Like a bridge over troubled water ...

Rock and roll, and rocking chairs

Great bike ride this morning. I'm getting more miles in now that the kids are in school. I'm up with them at 6:30 a.m., so by the time Jayne takes them to school on her way to work, I've had coffee and breakfast and can hit the road.

Today was just great fall riding weather -- little wind, a mist still hanging about the fields and the smell of wood burning from fireplaces still fresh.

Leaves are falling steadily, like a rain shower in some places, and I could reach out and grab them as I rode under the trees. And, of course, the colors and view are just stunning.

Get a look yourself. It's Goose Festival weekend. See the parade Saturday and enjoy the ride through the game preserve.

Old time rock and roll

Someone at work asked me the other day if I was going to see Bob Seger in Grand Rapids. I gave him the same reponse I gave someone else who asked me if I planned to see Eric Clapton, and the other person who thought I might enjoy seeing The Who:

No. They're all has-beens. I'm not paying $50 to $75 a ticket (plus parking and something to eat, and gas!) to see what was once great. I have their CDs and can listen for free. And the CDs sound better.

That's a little harsh, I admit, because these guys were great. They played huge rolls in rock music. Eric Clapton's links to The Beatles alone, not to mention his roll in Cream, put him high up the ladder, but he's not breaking new ground anymore.

Same with Bob Dylan (talk about a dinosaur!) and Paul McCartney (still creative, but in an esoteric sort of way). Greats, but I might as well go to a museum instead of a concert.

This really hit me when I went to see The Moody Blues a few years back. Great show. They played all their hits, but that was the problem. Nothing new, just the oldies. When I saw them 20-plus years before, they had a new album out, "Long Distance Voyager," with some stellar new material that now is their greatest hit parade.

Thought: Rock and roll never forgets, but sometimes I wish it would act its age.

Office anecdote

In my 15 years at my job, I've had to supervise a variety of people with personalities that ranged from the mellow and Zen-like to the all-knowing dictator and psycho. I've gotten people angry at me, I've had them throw things at me, storm out of the room, curse me out, sit in stunned silence for 15 to 20 minutes, laugh and cry. But here's a first, and something I really had nothing to do with:

An employee came out of her annual review with her supervisor (not me!) in tears. I've seen this before. But she walked through the office, sobbing the entire way, came over to my cubicle and promptly crawled under my desk to continue weeping.

What a male supervisor does not want is a female employee under his desk while he sits at his computer. The chance for misunderstanding and rumor are all over this.

I pushed my chair back, stood up and handed this person a box of tissues. I spoke to her a bit (I knew that the review would upset her -- no special information here) then told her I had to go to a meeting.

She evenutally extricated herself from my desk to continue her day.

This incident is really sad. I felt ashamed, but not for the employee who felt the need to hide. I was ashamed that I work with other people who can't seem to handle a subordinate who has obvious emotional issues. She is intelligent and can be worked with, but not like other members of the staff. She requires lots of attention to get work done, I know that, and it has to be done in a different manner -- dictating edicts won't work here.

For me, the question is: If a supervisor is not going to put the time into helping a staff member grow and better herself, then why keep her on staff? All the supervisor is doing is hurting that person and embarassing the people in the office and diminishing the quality of the product.

And I'm running out of tissues.

Thought: Another entry in the file cabinet of things I don't understand.

My mind's file cabinet

I used to tell a coworker that I had, in my mind, a file cabinet. In this file cabinet, I said, I kept folders loaded with all the things I just don't get, the things I don't understand.

Now, this file cabinet is huge, overloaded really, with papers, blueprints, news clippings, photos -- you name it.

I've jumped into the 21st century and have been converting the old paper folders into computer files in my mind. In this transition, here are a few minor things I've come across, the things I just don't get:

-- Watching radio on TV. Imus does this, sitting in his studio with his cowboy hat on, talking to people on the radio. He's live. Most of the people he talks to, though, are represented by still photographs as they talk on the radio. Same with ESPN's Mike & Mike in the Morning. Two obnoxious guys talking about sports on the radio, but ESPN shows it live on TV. See, here's the thing: Why would I watch radio? It's just people talking, and for that, I watch C-SPAN.

-- Football interviews: I was watching Monday Night Football last night, the Packers vs. Eagles. I want to watch the game. I expect the announcers to not be a hindrance to this. I expect them to brief me on what's going on as I watch, maybe toss out some key stats. So, why did the announcers last night feel the need to interview Steve McNair while Brett Favre was rolling out as the pocket collapsed on a blitz? McNair droned on in the typical football voice -- emotionless, almost Orwellian, really, in its banality -- while a great pass play is developing on the field. The announcers kept twaddling on with McNair. Why? I don't want an interview during the game. I want the game.

-- Baseball: There's a longer blog in this coming some day, but for now, I just don't understand this sport. I mean, I know the basic rules. I played Little League. I loved playing softball behind the firehall on Route 5 and Rogers Road. We'd get together with friends, play for beer and have a great time. But professional baseball? True, it's boring, but I like boring things. I watch curling and enjoy it. I watch four-hour bicycle rides, so I know boring. But my animosity toward this professional sport just grows every year, especially now during the endless playoffs. I don't know why.

-- Morning news shows: Oxymoron. There's no news on "Today" and "Good Morning America." It's useless pop psychology, superficial catharis by Ann Curry for some single mom who won an award for overcoming some disease that there's now a walk for on Saturday. I don't understand why I watch this!

Thought: I better just keep filing.

Up the right alley

The family plans for Sunday changed a bit. The folks we were going up to the Grand Rapids area to meet were feeling ill, so our afternoon was suddenly open.

The kids had plenty of suggestions, none of which involved me lounging about the house watching football or hitting the road in my bike. I was crushed.

Jayne thought bowling (not boweling, as Mr. Burns on "The Simpsons" once said) would be fun. I had my doubts but agreed.

I'm not much of a bowling fan. I have memories of crowded, smoke-filled places with obnoxious people. My mother bowled weekly, and my sisters also participated in leagues. I avoided this, but would bowl for fun with others but not on my own initiative.

Anyway, Sunday bowling at the Holland Bowling Center at Ninth and College was a pleasant time. It is a no-smoking facility -- a huge plus for me and my lungs -- and there were only two other lanes being used at the time. Those folks finished up quick when we arrived -- two young kids make more noise than a bunch of drunken Pin Pals -- and we had the place to ourselves.

The girls enjoyed it, as did Jayne. Since we had the rails put up along the gutters, Elspeth and Alyssa would hit something each time they rolled. I took advantage of the guides as well and even got a strike. Jayne is a good bowler without the rails to help.

After the game, we went to get ice cream and walked about Holland, admiring all the closed stores. It was Sunday, remember.

Thought: How often can you say, "I've got 14-pound balls" and not get slapped?