Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Let's Party on Line

Back in the day of wired telephones with rotary dials and three-letter combinations, excluding "Q" and "Z," that took their place beside the numbers 2 through 9, there were "party lines." Contrary to what some historians claim, the party line was not a peculiarly rural phenomenon. My family lived in a large metropolitan area and had a party line, which was a phone line that we shared with a family which lived down the street. We had a different telephone number than the neighbor down the street; so, we didn't get calls for them on our phone. But oftentimes, when I picked up the telephone, Mrs. Stralka was yakking with someone. I interrupted with a "sorry" and hung up. I never listened in on a conversation -- of course, fumbling with the telephone's handpiece, dropping it, and hanging it up were disruption enough for those on the phone. And I didn't know anyone who had a party line who did listen in on the line when the other party was on the phone. It was something that was not done because telephone conversations were considered private affairs ... party line etiquette, so to speak.

In our neighborhood, only one family I knew had a "private line." Of course, private lines were available to anyone for an added monthly cost. Most in our neighborhood looked at a private line as a luxury; and while party lines could be an annoyance at one time or another, the cost of the private line far exceeded the gravity of the annoyance.

Come to think of it, the phone company charged a little more for a wall-mounted phone as opposed to one that was not. And two phones added money to the bill. And if the wall-mounted phone was a color, red, maybe, as opposed to the standard black, then the phone company charged extra. The telephone company owned the actual telephone and everything that went with it. Any problem with the phone and the phone company sent a man out; and it was a man, not a woman, who came out to the house. The phone lines inside the house were the phone company's problem back then ... it was all the same, inside, outside ... it didn't matter. The phone company was the phone company, the one and only phone company.

Telephone numbers weren't all numbers, either. There were "telephone exchanges" with names. Our phone number was MO2-4312, the "M-O" standing for "Montrose." We were nowhere near the city of Montrose, which was in another county; but that was our telephone exchange name. My grandparents, the ones who lived close by, had the "Ludlow" exchange. I don't know how the phone company distributed the phone numbers because some people on our street had a different telephone exchange from ours.

Then, in the name of progress, the phone company sent out a notice that it was doing away with the letters in the phone numbers; and, thenceforth, all telephone numbers were composed of only numbers. I know there was a notice because the phone company sent out the all-number combination for our "old" number on a little piece of cardboard to stick on the rotary dial, as if it took a rocket scientist to figure out the "number" without it. My mother, because she was in charge of things like this, never replaced the phone number insert on the rotary dial; and when I moved out, the rotary dial on the white wall phone in the kitchen still read MOntrose2-4312. As for the party line, I don't know what happened to that. A few years after I moved out, my parents sold the house, moved to a new place, and got a new phone number.

Years later, when one of the boys was playing hockey, I noticed the phone number of the contact person of another hockey club in the area -- 662-4312.

Doctor Visit

I volunteered to drive my lovely wife to her appointment to see her doctor at the Cleveland Clinic, which needs more than one Starbucks now that it has spread over 40 city blocks. Parked next to the City EMS truck and a line of hearse-like ambulances with several names on them at the emergency room area of the Cleveland Clinic was "Martin's Ambulette."

What the fuck is an "ambulette?"

Is it an ambulance with tiny instruments? I don't know. So, when I got home, I looked it up on dictionary.com because while I was waiting in the waiting area for my lovely wife to get done with her appointment, I couldn't look it up because they -- yes, the nameless, faceless "they," were jamming my Motorola Q and I couldn't get any reception. They stopped telling people to turn off cell phones, finding it was cheaper, in terms of time savings, to simply generate a magnetic field to cover the entire Cleveland Clinic, thereby preventing cell phone use and the resulting explosions of sensitive medical equipment.

I didn't expect the word to be in the dictionary, but it is there. Dictionary.com defines ambulette as "a specially equipped motor vehicle for transporting convalescing or handicapped people." Well, where the fuck have I been that I never heard of this development in the English language until today? I learned something new, but that wasn't the first new thing I learned today.

While sitting in the waiting area after getting my parking voucher stamped at the intake desk, I noticed that the television was tuned to the Cleveland Clinic channel, an "educational" station, starring MSNBC talking head Natalie Allen.

Here's what I learned while watching: (1) music played in the operating room has been shown by scientific studies to be beneficial to the surgeons who were operating; (2) women who get at least 7 hours of sleep per night have been shown by scientific studies to gain less weight on the average over a two-year period that women who get 5 hours of sleep or less, if neither is on a weight-loss program; (3) listening to music has been shown by scientific studies to be beneficial for one's overall health; (4) in scientifically examining 50 studies on the effect of alcohol on heart health, all of which claim that there are substantial benefits to drinking alcohol for heart health, all of the studies exaggerate the benefit and are flawed because they do not account for other variables; (5) optimistic men have been shown by scientific studies to be more likely to be free from serious heart problems than those who are pessimistic; (6) women have been shown by scientific studies to visit doctors more often than men for examination and treatment; (7) kids with something to do have been shown by scientific studies to be less likely to become drug abusers than those kids who are not active; (8) for baby boomers, 12 miles of walking per week has been shown by scientific studies to have the the same benefits as and less adverse effects on health than 12 miles of running per week; and (9) burning 1000 calories per week exercising in some way has been shown by scientific studies to extend life; and (10) three women who know each other have much, much louder conversations, by many magnitudes, than two women who know each other.

It's all scientifically proven, except the last one. They were very loud.

Hernias and Headaches

I'm watching the Ohio State -- Wisconsin basketball game; and a television commercial comes on warning people about an abdominal hernia patch that was recalled and how those who have the patch need to call immediately because the patches could fail and cause perforation of the bowel and "EVEN DEATH." I'm a firm believer in lawyers championing the cause of those injured by defective products. I've represented clients who have been injured by defective products; so, I'm aware of the role that lawyers play in the consumer product regulatory scheme.

The company, Davol, Inc., that makes the patches, Large Composix Kugel Patches, voluntarily recalled the patches. The patches are generally "installed" laparoscopically while rolled up and then uncoiled in the abdomen once in position to cover the intended area. The plastic ring that helps the patch uncoil has broken in a few cases. In connection with the large patch, out of about 26,000 patches made, six failed. Nobody died. Two people had bowel perforations. One person had a perforation of the abdominal wall. One person had pain. Two of the coils failed during surgery, one before it was put into the patient and one during the procedure; so, there was no problem.

The company makes smaller patches, too, and recalled those, even though none had failed.

The television commercial is troubling. Did it misrepresent that there was a recall? No. Did it misrepresent that some people had been injured? No. Did it misrepresent that DEATH could result? No.

So, what's the problem?

Presumably, doctors have notified all their patients, according to protocol. Well, they have notified all their patients who have these particular recalled patches. They haven't notified the large number of patients with other types of patches that have repaired hernias, abdominal, inguinal, or otherwise, who will, after seeing the television commercial, be alarmed and who will call the attorneys. The ads are designed to generate fear and, then, contact with fearful consumers.

Do you think these attorneys are going to ask whether the potential clients have one of these patches and stop with a negative answer? Leeches stop sucking only when they are sated.

e-Bay

FYI. Drove by The Casket Store this evening. No specials.

I bought an amp for the J-Dogg on e-Bay once. And I had an e-mail discussion with a fellow blogger about something I saw on e-Bay, but the guy selling the particular item has a store a little south of here; so, I said I'd pick up one of the items. Probably head on down tomorrow.

With e-Bay, there might be several auctions of substantially similar items. You know what I mean. And a person, really, really wanting one of the items, could bid in each auction and end up with like two of them ... or three ... or four ... or maybe even five of them.

Could happen. Especially if the substantially similar items are from Starbucks.

AM I BEING A BUMMER?

even with all the compassion and love i have for my own addict, i say: kevin federline ain't lookin' so bad at this point.

i know what it feels like to be an enabler as a parent. the babies need somebody tough on their side. britney needs not to be enabled. she's got too many people around her saying that WHATEVER she does is perfectly fiiine. witness her bodyguards/assistants telling the salon owner that britney can do what she wants.

mom? my little prayer today is that you're there and strong. believe me, I KNOW IT'S NOT EASY.

imho. or maybe not so "h."

update: britney has checked into rehab again. she and kevin reached an agreement that he would keep babies while she's in rehab, and the emergency hearing was canceled.

it won't look good if she checks out again before 45 days.

NO WORDS : NO TITLE

the saddest part of this story is the last fucking paragraph. don't misunderstand me: i believe consequences are essential. but how do you rehabilitate the lack of conscience in this kid?

you know that i'm a crazy liberal; but i don't know if people like this are "fixable."

fuck.

Moral Waivers and the Military

An editorial in The New York Times today decried the U.S. Army about "lowering its expectations" and granting waivers to those convicted of "lesser" violent crimes, such as robbery, burglary, aggravated assault, and vehicular homicide.

Where I come from, a conviction for robbery can carry with it a pretty stiff prison term and is not considered a garden-variety serious misdemeanor. It is a crime of violence, a felony, no less. Vehicular homicide, while ending in the death of an innocent person, is usually caused by a drunk or impaired driver. The two crimes are not comparable.

The editorialist points out that 125,000 waivers have been granted by the four branches of the military service and implies that sex offenders are among those, but points to no proof of that. I don't know if that is true.

I am aware that a couple weeks ago, I was in court in an upper middle class suburb representing two individuals, one a young woman who was charged with a misdemeanor attempted drug possession (drugs found in the house after a "911" call) and the other a young man charged with a misdemeanor hit-skip (left the scene after hitting a parked car). Neither had prior records; both had been good students; both had done well in testing; both were enlisting in separate branches of military service; neither was being permitted to actually enlist unless and until the charges were dismissed. I realize that this example will be lumped with other stories as anecdotal; however, the respective recruiters said there was "no way, sir" that they would be accepted and could not be granted waivers.

Although I do not doubt that waivers are granted, I wonder if the author of the editorial has some definitive proof he or she is holding back because my experience did not come close to that reality.

So, instead of The Dirty Dozen, we have the Dirty 8,129 ... or the Dirty 125,000.

Peeps Place

It had to be a black bag job. I was unfamiliar with the territory, and my friend, Dave, mercenary extraordinaire, begged off because he had to paint. I can understand that, but it would have been much better if he came along because he was familiar with the terrain. But I did make my way to a perch in Rockland Park across the street from the Just Born plant. Mission: Free the Sugar-Free Peeps.

Without going into the particulars of my arrest, I didn't realize the river was so far away -- the cuffs weren't too tight, and the 14 officers were very nice, and Police Commissioner Miller seemed like a pretty nice guy -- everyone was very understanding.

Anyway, there is now such a thing as Sugar-Free Peeps. Well, I guess the official name is Peeps Sugar-Free Marshmallow Chicks because they have all those other abominations that come under the Peeps logo.

Here's the package I smuggled out. I ate the contents.

WHAT I'M THINKING ABOUT

Driving Tractors

I sent an e-mail to my friend, DT, wondering if he could teach me the ins-and-outs of driving a tractor. I've driven a tractor once before, and I know I need a lot of practice and pointers because I know there are secrets, driving shortcuts and radical techniques, so to speak, that only experienced tractor operators know about. You see, it's about time that I started on a new career path. I read an article a long time ago in which the author said that most people have three careers in their lives; so, I figured I better get going.

I've been at this lawyer career for quite a while. I don't know if, under the career rules, this is my first or my second. I was a dishwasher for a few months at a restaurant once and drove a lift truck at a factory for almost a year ... one of those might qualify, especially the lift truck job, since I had to take a test and was certified. It was only after I was certified that I forgot to lower the forks and pulled down part of a wall above a doorway, brickbats cascading down over the protective cage above my head.

Who better but my friend, DT, to help me get onto my new career path as a gravity tractor operator, who will save mankind and the world from asteroids and meteors and comets that are on a collision course with Mother Earth. I will motor around the solar system in my gravity tractor, on the look-out for those offending items that might bring doom to our planet. And I suppose that if I forget to "lower the forks," so to speak, there might be a problem; but, then again, the way things are going with 37 wars, half the population starving, and the other half infected by all kinds of diseases, how could the result be any worse?

My New Hobby

There was a time when the world record in the 100-yard dash was measured in tenths of a second; and it was during this time that I decided, probably with some cattle-prodding by my mother, to collect stamps. I don't remember much about my collection -- there were some stamp-collecting books in which I mounted stamps and a bunch of stamps, most of which were in bags because I didn't feel like mounting them and most of which came from a place called Magyar, some a pinkish-reddish, some orangey, and some bluish in color, as I recall. I didn't know, at that time, the stamps were from Hungary and that some of them probably depicted some of my ancestors. I was a kid. What did I know? I wasn't interested in collecting stamps, but I was able to raise my hand in class when the teacher asked if anyone had a hobby.

I'm older now. My mother threw out my stamps and my stamp-collecting stuff, just like she threw out all my Topps baseball cards before they became a major item of commerce ... and just like she threw out movies of my wedding, opting instead to keep the 8 mm movies of two guys stealing large copper ingots from a place where my dad worked.

I need to start over. I read in a medical journal that the elderly benefit from hobbies. I need to start a hobby ... like collecting stuff. I started my new hobby today. I bought my first package of Limited Edition Double Stuff Oreos. I'm starting with the NASCAR collection, which has 10, count them, 10 cookie designs. The package urges me to "Look for your favorite driver's number!"

Here's the first problem I have encountered in my new hobby. Is it better to leave the package intact and NOT open it? Or is it better to open the package and then mount the cookies by gluing them to a display that I could hang in the living room?

Here's another problem. I know very little about NASCAR, other than (1) NASCAR is capitalized and (2) the numbers on the backs of the pick-up trucks are slanty. I don't have favorite driver's numbers.

My curiosity was aroused, and I opened the package to check out the driver's numbers. That leads me to the conclusion that I will be gluing them into a display case and exhibiting the mahogany-and-glass-with-green-felt-and-brass-plate display case in a prominent place in the living room.

There's a slanty "92" or a "26," depending on how I look at it. There's a slanty "6" or a "9," depending on how I look at it. There's a slanty "99" or a "66," depending on how I look at it. There's a slanty "16" or a "91," depending on how I look at it. There's a slanty "26" or a "92," depen ... whoa, my first package and already I have a repeat. And there's a "17."

This is a definite rip-off because I'm more familiar with these numbers as hockey player numbers; and there is no logo, such as NASCAR, on the Oreos with numbers that allow me to tell them apart from hockey jersey numbers. I'll give the Oreo people credit because there are Oreos with "NASCAR" printed on one of the chocolatey wafers and with "Ready, Set, Go" printed on one of the chocolatey wafers and with "OREO" and a car printed on one of the chocolatey wafers and "MILK'S FAVORITE cookie" printed on one of the chocolatey wafers and "TWIST, LICK, & DUNK" printed on one of the chocolatey wafers to complete the set. Those last two I looked up; and they had nothing to do with auto racing, but now they do.

As I've been writing this post, I've lost interest in my new hobby; but if anyone wants to take up this hobby, I have a starter collection for sale.

On String Theory and Black Holes

As you all know, the Large Hadron Collider is under construction under Switzerland. It will accelerate atomic particles and then smash them into each other at near the speed of light. I find this stuff interesting. Why, you may ask? Answer: It's a kid thing. Probably mainly a boy-kid thing. We'd get together and ram our toy cars into each other head-on at high speeds to see what would happen. We'd put stuff out in the road to see what happened when passing cars ran over the stuff. It's the same reason Dave Letterman threw stuff off the building and analyzed in slow motion what happened to things getting smashed.

It's interesting, fun stuff.

Physicists now claim that black holes might be created in the Large Hadron Collider. Physicists aren't worried because the almighty, super-brained, physicist-of-all-physicists Stephen Hawking proved way back in the 1970's that black holes evaporate, giving off a lot of radiation, which is called Hawking radiation. A better name is "Steve's radiation," but physicists keep things all mysterious and hard for us undereducated folks to understand.

Physicists say that if black holes are created in the Large Hadron Collider, they will be very, very small and evaporate in a split second.

So, I'm sitting here, trying to imagine a teeny, tiny black hole ... y'know, like how is it gonna look and stuff like that. Just for those of you who are first-time visitors ... the ones who Googled "Large Hadron Collider and black holes," and you are now here, thinking that I'm like some big physicist ... I'm not, y'know, like a real physicist. Hell, I'm not even a lame-ass engineer ... I'm not talkin' about railroad engineers, they're totally cool ... the other kind, the kind who think they know like everything because they went to college. I'm just a moron, as my wife affectionately calls me, pondering the forces of the universe.

Okay, having disclaimed any knowledge at all about the subject, I can tell you that I'm like totally concerned about man-made black holes. It doesn't seem that we, and by "we" I mean "physicists," have a good grasp on this black hole stuff. They, and by "they" I mean "physicists," will smash speeding charged particles to smithereens, like toy cars in our kid-physics experiments; and I fear that the black holes will emerge from the swirling eddies of energy and junk of smashed sub-atomic particles, and through these teeny, weeny black holes, strings, the ones from string theory, will escape, spewing forth from the predicted 37 dimensions right into our three-dimensional world. They, and by "they" I mean "physicists," will have all these strings like totally tangled up in a multi-dimensional morass.

Then what do we, and by "we" I mean "physicists," real or surreal, do? I mean, like is there a plan for when this happens? What if I find a string flopping around on the side of the road and like, being all curious about physics, pick it up?

BRRRR

this morning (heh. 10-ish) i finally got out of bed and immediately went to my desk. i'm sure you all know what's going on weather-wise around here. a perfect day to hibernate.

freddie (my almost 7-YEAR-OLD aqua babies frog) was nowhere to be seen in his tank. i assumed he was hiding inside the snail shell as he sometimes does. i make a lot of assumptions. in my own defense, there are two reasons for this. one: i need to because information is not readily revealed. two: i'm mostly right.

i said to bill, "what did you do to freddie's tree?" the "tree" in freddie's tank was "uprooted" -- the base pulled out from under the anchoring of stones. if jax were here, i'd blame it on him. bill said, like always, "i didn't touch anything." whatever. so i kept looking for freddie, turned the tank around, and this is what i see.

holy crap, that is one determined frog. never mind the fact that he must be like 867 years old in aqua babies frog years. he freaking dug the base out from under the stones so he could hide underneath. unless bill helped.

he must be aware in some dim recess of his aqua babies frog brain that the weather outside is frightful (for frogs). this is his view to the outside world.

North Korea

Has anyone in the media pointed out that the deal with North Korea is the same one that was worked out by Jimmy Carter a long time ago? That's the deal that Bush the Lesser said was not a good one for the U.S.A. and upon which he reneged right after taking office. Oh, say, can you see?

It seems to me, and I'm no foreign policy expert, that Iran saw the deal that North Korea and its lunatic leader worked out after one of Iran's fellow members of the "Axis of Evil" blew off a couple dud nukes and sent a few missiles astray. So ...

Tabloids Today

The contention of the rather small woman, her gray hair peeking out from beneath a large hat made from some dead animal with clawed feet, was that the Nabisco graham crackers were two for four-ninety-eight and not two for five dollars. She pointed out that the "Keebler Elf" grahams were two for five dollars. She must have rummaged through the entire display of graham crackers to find the only two boxes without the little pink price label that was usually maniacally applied by some high school kid, who would, after this egregious error in mechanics, now be demoted to a less taxing, a less fulfilling job, forever marked as a slacker.

The girl behind the check-out counter called out, "Price check," and switched on the light bulb above her head. And she again called out, "Price check, register one." There was no unusual movement, which would have perhaps signaled a response to her price check request.

My mind wandered. I now missed the televisions over the check-out lanes tuned into a special CNN for people in line waiting to check out at the discount store. They were removed, just like the little TV's on the gas pumps at the Shell station, which were tuned into ESPN for gas pumpers, and which were long gone, probably shown to have caused numerous explosions, many in and around Baghdad, as the Enquirer once stated, due to static electricity build-up on the TV screens.

An older, large woman bounced over to the register, and the girl behind the check-out counter held up the box of graham crackers, which the older woman took in stride and pushed through several shoppers on her mission to check the price.

Back in October or November, the Globe, not to be confused with the Boston Globe or the Globe and Mail, and which can be picked up only from supermarket check-out racks, announced that Laura Bush was filing for divorce, that W was drinking, and that Laura Bush had walked out because of W's affair with Condoleeza Rice. The newest issue of the Globe says that Laura Bush is separated from the President.

This is old news, recycled and reworked just to sell newspapers. What bothers me more than the First Lady's personal life is that the President is more concerned about Iran than the alien training camp that was found right under our noses and the tofu mutilations and crop circles in soybean fields. And while the President ignores global warming and the dwindling polar ice, the National Oceanic Council is collaborating with the North Shore Adult Pick-Up Ice Hockey League in attempts to save and restore polar ice.

The older woman arrived back on the scene, as a guy with a pencil-thin mustache just above his upper lip wearing a Boston Red Sox cap on his head standing behind me muttered something about Anna Nicole Smith making all the covers next week again. "Cleavage galore, poor woman," he added.

The older woman said, the syllables pouring out like molasses so that the cashier could get it right, "Two for four-ninety-eight."

And the tiny woman looked up at me and said, her bushy eyebrows scrunched down, eyes merely slits in her face, "Two cents is two cents."

Open Letter to Ron Artest

Dear Mr. Artest:

I read the rumors in Sports Illustrated on-line that you are unable to take care of your dogs at your estate in a gated community in Loomis, California. I realize that your real problem is that the caretakers of your dogs misrepresented their qualifications and have taken advantage of your celebrity status as a professional basketball player and have failed to perform as they had promised.

I am acquainted with several professional athletes who reside in my building, basketball players among them, several of whom have pets, and understand that you have a lifestyle that differs from your neighbors in the Sierra Ridge Estates Homeowners Association and that your dogs require special attention, care, and treatment.

I presently care for three dogs in an urban environment, after having lived in a community in which I was falsely accused, as you also have been, of harboring a vicious dog. Well, I guess you weren't falsely accused of harboring a vicious dog, but you were falsely accused of a vicious attack on a fan during a basketball game, which is much the same when you think about it.

I am highly qualified to care for your dogs and enclose several letters of recommendation. My rates are quite reasonable; and you will be pleased to know that I will not require you to pay first-class airfare inasmuch as one of my friends, who operates a commercial aviation firm, will be transporting me to the Mather Airport, where I have arranged for ground transportation to Loomis. We will, of course, need to firm up an ideal feeding schedule for your dogs; so, please give me a call to discuss that, together with my fee and the transportation cost estimates. I have enclosed one of my business cards for your convenience.

Thank you.

Very truly yours,

Bill

"I Love My Country!!"

The subject is "24." First, let me preface this discussion by telling you that I don't really care whether you haven't seen it or you TIVO'd it. Second, tonight's episode was 12 to 1 p.m. I haven't seen much of the rest of it, and I walked in at 12:16:53 or something like that, at which point I heard Jack Bauer, America's hero, say the word "newk-you-lerr."

There it is. It is obvious now that the script writers for George Bush the Lesser have been writing for "24," as well.

But, you say, there's talk of the "Rule of Law" and the "Constitution." That's a subterfuge. They are attempting to mislead you.

That is all.

-1 F

The Goodyear time and temperature sign along Route 21 by the bowling alley flashed a -1 F at about quarter to 10 tonight on the way back to the city. Driving south, before the Super Bowl game, which we went to watch with Mick and Betty at their place and eat a sit-in-front-of-the-TV meatball sandwich and french fries dinner, I saw something that ... and I'm searching for a word to describe what I saw ... let's say, disturbed me.

I have been wearing a hoodie the last few days as one layer of clothing for my treks outside with the dogs in sub-zero and close-to-zero temperatures. It is fucking cold, "dangerously so" as the TV newsman described it tonight as we rode the elevator with the dogs on the vertical way to our respective floors. As an aside, I am indebted to the person who invented Gore-Tex, which might be the same guy who invented the internet, and to Matt for leaving his Patagonia hooded shell I have been wearing as my outer layer introducing me to the material, since the wind has been whipping in off the lake the last few days, giving "wind chill" real meaning.

Heading south, passing the Goodyear time and temperature sign, the car up ahead in the right-hand lane was moving at some speed below my speed limit; so, I moved over into the passing lane as I was overtaking it. Up ahead in the passing lane, not passing anything but just moseying along, were a white, non-descript van, the kind of van for which we are supposed to be on the lookout because all terrorists drive them, and, in front of the van, a white pick-up truck, which was suspicious in that it was carrying a single piece of drywall, which looked like it might fly out of the bed.

Of course, the car I was starting to pass sped up, which is normal for pricks driving the roads of America. So, I hit the gas a little and pulled up alongside the car. In the driver's seat, looking straight ahead, intent on running me into the back of the van in the passing lane ahead of me, was a guy. He wore a hoodie, a white hoodie. He had the hood up over his head.

And on his head, over the hood, he wore a baseball cap, a dark-colored baseball cap. He wore the baseball cap over his hoodie's hood.

I have seen guys wear baseball caps and pull a hood up over the cap; and if you're at a football game or watching a game on TV or if you're at a late-October or early-November World Series game or watching a game on TV, this heady attire, which is restricted mainly to the manly set, can be frequently seen.

But the guy wearing his baseball cap over the hood was ... disturbing. I mean, if you wear a baseball cap, it usually fits snugly on your head. In cold weather, some baseball players, even going back to way before the turn of the century when I played, wear balaclavas with their caps over them, but that's not what I witnessed this evening. Even if you're into the gangsta look, the hat over the ears, the hat (because it's no longer a "cap" by definition of the baseball gods) kind of fits.

Here, driving in his car next to me, intent on running me into the back of the non-descript white van, I had a guy wearing his hoodie hood over his head -- and the baseball cap over the hood. Disturbing ...

Insane winter golfers don't even do that.

Environmental Insanity

I saw a magazine on the rack near the check-out yesterday. I am such a piece of work that I don't need magazines like this, but the sub-title above the title, NEW BEAUTY, caught my eye. It's part of the insidious virus that is going around which causes people to, for lack of a better description, lose their reasoning skills, or, as some would describe it, act like morons.

I might be totally wrong about this looseness of the mind that has spread across this country being caused by a virus. It might be some chemical in the environment causing these anomalies in human behavior to occur. After all, if lavender can cause breast enlargement in pre-pubescent boys, who knows what other chemicals can do.

But getting back to the magazine I saw, above the title, the cover announces: "The World's Most Unique Beauty Magazine." Now, I'm not a word-master, but this particular use of a modifier of "unique" bothers my sensibilities. Does the publisher mean that the magazine is one of a kind or "the most unusual?" The latter just might be, since the magazine is touted as informing the reader about the wide range of beauty-creating or beauty-enhancing choices available to man- and womankind, such as lipo-suction, injections of all kinds of substances, foreign and domestic, in various parts of the human body, plastic surgery, and the like ... let's say, drastic measures. I wonder if the magazine has designs on promoting the regular application of lavender to enhance breast size in some women.

I don't know if the plethora of news outlets has created the impression that the population of this country is infected with some disease agent. It could be that it has always been this crazy, this weird -- after all, Stanley Kramer made a movie about just that 40 years ago -- and we are being pelted day in and day out by the stories of killing, mayhem, and craziness. My profession brings me into daily contact with the strange and stupid; so, perhaps, that is the answer to my question. I can't really tell you whether the human condition has gotten worse from a professional standpoint.

Or maybe I've been infected. Whereas I might have taken, let's call them, situations in which people find themselves (You see, they find themselves in these situations. They never get into trouble by their own design. It's an outside agent acting upon them. It's the virus or other environmental agent, you see. As a lawyer friend of mine once said in defending a killer who got the death penalty, the Twinkies made him do it.) a lot more seriously in the past, now I can't help but laugh at most of them.

Let's take the guy who drove his car north on Moore Road across Lake Road, north onto the short stretch of West Shore, and then down, literally, the stairway to Lake Erie. He didn't make it to the beach. The car got hung up on the stairs. When the police arrived, the guy was trying to back the car up the stairs ... not successfully, mind you, but he was giving it a try. The police officer told him to turn off the car and abandon the attempt to extricate the vehicle ... the guy wondered why it works in the movies and on TV. He slurred his words in the way that people who have been drinking way too much slur their words and nearly fell down the steps when he got out of the car in the way that people who forget they are stopped on a stairway might fall down the steps and roll down to the beach when they forget where they parked because they've had too much to drink. He smelled pretty much like he'd been tipping quite a few for quite a while just down the street at the local publican. So, the police arrested him for drunk driving.

You might say, after a chuckle or two, "Why not? Makes sense." I'm not saying that the fellow who was arrested is the one who has been infected, although he may be. His lawyer was in court today arguing that the police had no right to arrest the guy. He argued that there wasn't any reason for the police officers to think that the guy committed a crime. Now, for sure, that's crazy.

I have been working on a potential cure, by the way, while writing. I just sprung the cheesecake from its pan. I should refrigerate it overnight, or I could hang it out the window and allow nature and her 15 F to take over for a couple hours.