[A repeat from August 16, 2018] Today is the Day! September 19th is “International Talk Like a Pirate Day.” Do you know about this special day?
In 1995 two guys from Albany, OR (John “Ol’ Chumbucket” Baur and Mark “Cap’n Slappy” Summers) proclaimed September 19th as the day everyone in the world should “talk like a pirate.” The whole idea stemmed from a racquetball injury. One of them reacted with an “Arrrggghhh” as he lay on the floor in pain – and along came an idea. For seven years, it remained an “inside” idea but in 2002 they sent a letter about their “holiday” to humorist Dave Barry. Barry liked the idea, pushed it in a few columns and the rest is history.
Actor Robert Newton (who starred as Long John Silver in the 1950 Disney film “Treasure Island”) is considered the patron saint of Talk Like a Pirate Day. So remember, on September 19th, when anyone says anything to you, tilt your head, give them the eye and say “Avast you scurvy lubber. Prepare to be boarded. . . . ”
I suggest writing your Congressmen and Senators to make this a national holiday. Since all politicians are scurvy bilge rats, this should be a natural for them . . . . .
Uncle Walter
[A repeat from December 14, 2017] I wonder if every family has an “Uncle Walter.” My Uncle Walter was my father’s father’s brother. He was born in Denmark and moved to the United States just in time to be conscripted into the United States Army – and shipped off to France – in World War I. When Uncle Walter finally got home, he behaved strangely. He only wore white clothes and he refused to sleep in a bed. He always slept on the floor. He was committed to a veterans’ hospital in Milwaukee. My father said Uncle Walter was “shell shocked” [PTSD] from the War. And that was that for Uncle Walter. My father’s family never talked about him and only once that I recall did anyone go to visit.
I’d heard about Uncle Walter but I’d never met him. So when I was in my late 20’s – rebel that I was – I decided to go find him. I called the Veteran’s Administration and learned that he was in a halfway house for veterans on South 27th Street in Milwaukee. And I drove up to see him. As I approached the address, there was an old man in white clothing walking slowly on the sidewalk. I stopped the car. Got out. “Are you Walter Petersen?” He looked at me. I said “I am Willy’s [my father] son.” And Uncle Walter began crying. . . . .
A few months later, I brought my father up to see Uncle Walter. And just about every week from my first visit, I sent him a care package of Copenhagen snuff [he loved it], some candy and a couple of dollar bills. When he died at the Veteran’s Home in King, Wisconsin, his will left me “everything”: his large print Bible, his veterans benefit (about $1,700), the cross on his coffin and a brand new stuffed bunny for my daughter. The Bible remains on my shelf. The cross is on the wall in my den. The bunny is still in Lauren’s old room. And the money purchased a memorial tree that sits in our yard. I’m glad I reached out to my Uncle Walter. Though I suspect there are more than a few Uncle Walters out there. . . . . .
Lydia the Tattooed Lady
(A 10 year old – 9/11/14) I was on the train yesterday and a young couple got on and sat down. The guy’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Both arms and both hands were covered with tattoos and his legs were similarly adorned. Tattoos crept up the back of his neck and around toward his throat. Not sure how you view it but to me it was pretty weird. But you see this new body decoration frequently. Men with tattoos covering their arms, necks, torsos, legs. Even facial tattoos. And there are tattooed ladies.
In 1939, Groucho Marx sang “Lydia the Tattooed Lady” in the classic Marx Brothers’ film “At the Circus” (enjoy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4zRe_wvJw8). In 1939 as well as in 1977 when the Muppet Show had Kermit singing the song to a bedecked Miss Piggy, tattoos were an exception rather than the rule. It violates the Torah (Leviticus 19:28) and the hadith in Islam where tattoos are haram (forbidden). Nonetheless, guys had the occasional anchor or “USMC” inked on their arm and a woman might have a small flower or family name. But tattoos were modest – and tasteful. Heavily tattooed ladies remain a part of “Freak Shows” at the circus (or reality shows) even now. As recently as the 1960’s and 70’s tattoos were associated with bikers and criminals. In Japan, only the yakuza (the crime syndicate) has tattoos. In China, tattoos are taboo. In Europe, tattoos are still very unpopular. And then there’s America.
According to a recent article by Miriam Jordan in the Wall Street Journal (June 27, 2014), 71% of young people today are now ineligible to join the military (see http://online.wsj.com/articles/recruits-ineligibility-tests-the-military-1403909945). The reasons? Bad grades, obesity, criminal records, ADHD (and other issues), drug use, and now under a new regulation – excessive tattoos. Great. Makes you feel safe.
Burglary
I grew up in a small family business. Around 1960, we moved from 137 South Albany to a 3 story building at 2330 West Van Buren Street in Chicago (see July 26, 2022). I worked there on weekends and during the summer months. One of our employees had graced the office with a monstrous glass cage full of happy canaries. Maybe a dozen or more. They were cute. They provided wonderful choruses of chirps and tweets. We fed them each day. Cleaned their cage often. Fresh water. And sometimes let one fly around the office – only to lure him (her?) back with a special treat.
We were not in a great neighborhood and from time to time, there would be damage to a window or door. It was when I was in college that serious problems began. During one summer, we were burglarized three times. The last time was the worst. We came in and found the office ransacked. Papers all over. Ripped. Typewriters destroyed. Excrement on walls. Urine on the floor. And. . . . each one of the little birds had been murdered. Thrown against the wall. Stomped on. Dismembered. And we all cried and shared our grief with employees who stood in the office. It was then I told my father that from that day forward – I would be spending nights in the office. With a 12 gauge shotgun and a few other things. I wanted to be there – when they came in. I still remember my rage. I wanted to do to “them” what they had done. And so much more. My father – wonderful man that he was – patiently calmed my spirit and convinced me to “not” do that. And fortunately – we were never “hit” again. . . . .
What do we do with the people who do things like that? Destruction of property (I think of those who smash and grab small family businesses). Sure – it was an office. And yes – they were “just” little birds – but they were murdered. Would a shotgun have been the answer? What would you do? What if it was your home?
Gardens
I like flowers as much as any guy. They’re easy on the eye. They smell good. And they make a decent gift in a pinch. For me, I like a landscape chock full of flowers. Thus when I drive, I’m often attentive to the gardens I pass. When my granddaughters were little – and I was the chauffeur – I would always have them look for interesting sites along the way. One thing I would ask was for them to point out was “gardens” that they might see. There was never a wrong answer. A few flowers to one might be “look Popi! It’s a “garden!” Thus we would turn a simple ride into a botanic journey.
Now my definition of “garden” and yours may differ. Mine requires an aggregation of different flowers in an actual flower bed. A few daffodils in a pot or a line of petunias along the driveway is nice but it doesn’t qualify – for me anyway. I like gardens. . . . . .
When I drive to play golf, I often take a shortcut on an assortment of north-south streets in Skokie. For the most part, the homes along the way are nice-looking, well-maintained and landscaped. Some may have gardens in the back yards where the owners can enjoy them. But there are only a handful of (my definition) gardens in the front yards of those streets. One is an uber garden which is quite beautiful. And there are a couple wild natural gardens. Many homes have a few flowers out in front which is still very nice. Most offer grass and some bushes (a few wildly overgrown). But the gardens I pass make the ride pleasant and get me in the mood to whack the elusive white pellet. It’s only when my golf ball gets lost in a flower bed or bushes that my enthusiasm for gardens diminishes. . . . . those $%#&^X*! gardens. . . . .
Golf is 70% Mental and 30% Mental
[Given my golf game – a timely repeat from December 8, 2016]
The only time I ever took out a one-iron was to kill a tarantula. And I took a 7 to do that. ~ Jim Murray
The only sure rule in golf is – he who has the fastest cart never has to play the bad lie. ~ Mickey Mantle
Sex and golf are the two things you can enjoy even if you’re not good at them. ~ Kevin Costner
After all these years, it’s still embarrassing for me to play on the American golf tour. Like the time I asked my caddie for a sand wedge and he came back ten minutes later with a ham on rye.
~ Chi Chi Rodriguez
Give me golf clubs, fresh air and a beautiful partner, and you can keep the clubs and the fresh air. ~ Jack Benny
Professional golf is the only sport where, if you win 20% of the time, you’re the best. ~ Jack Nicklaus
The only time my prayers are never answered is on the golf course. ~ Billy Graham
If you watch a game, it’s fun. If you play at it, it’s recreation. If you work at it, it’s golf. ~ Bob Hope
If you think it’s hard to meet new people, try picking up the wrong golf ball. ~ Jack Lemmon
You can make a lot of money in this game. Just ask my ex-wives.
~ Lee Trevino
Hurricane Donna!
Hurricane Donna was the strongest hurricane that took place during the 1960 Atlantic hurricane season. Donna was a category 4 hurricane that intensified as she smacked Florida and the Eastern United States. Hurricane Donna was . . . . wait a minute. . . . did you think I was gonna talk about my “Donna”? Whoa . . . I’d be in big trouble if I did that.
The history of hurricane names is interesting. During the 1800’s hurricanes were often identified by the places they hit – the year they occurred – or the name of a saint. In 1953, the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) – an agency of the United Nations – began to name hurricanes using female names. The names were adopted in alphabetical order – a practice borrowed from the military’s phonetic alphabet. However, for some inexplicable reason, in 1979 male names were included to identify Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico hurricanes. Today, hurricanes are named on alphabetical lists alternating between male and female names. Even so, in 1986, the Washington Post had an editorial that lamented “many of the male names don’t convey either the romance or urgency that circumstances might warrant.” I mean Hurricane Mortimer? Hurricane Chauncey?
In any event, Hurricane Donna was a real troublemaker. Yet to this day – the world has yet to see or experience Hurricane Scott. For that bad boy – you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet. . . . . .
Wordle
When I get up in the morning, I head downstairs to make the coffee, open the blinds, get the newspaper, organize my breakfast (normally cereal and blueberries) and turn on “Squawk Box.” When Donna comes down – if it’s after 7:00 a.m. – we turn on the “Today” show. Before I open the newspaper, I usually check my Fitbit sleep score, take a few sips of coffee and settle back to do Wordle.
I suspect most folks have heard of Wordle — the New York Times word puzzle to guess a 5 letter word in no more than 6 attempts. The Wordle prototype was first developed in 2013 by a Welsh software engineer – Josh Wardle. On January 31, 2022, the New York Times acquired Wordle from Wardle (say that three times real fast) for a “low seven figure” amount. On November 1, 2021, there were 90 players. On January 2, 2022, there were 300,000 – and one week later there were over two million!
For me Wordle is a way to get my small brain activated in the a.m. The game usually takes me two or three minutes. So far, my statistics show 882 games played, a maximum streak of 86 and a win percentage of 97%. My first word usually contains 3 vowels (“Radio” “Ratio” “Raise” or “Ocean”) though occasionally I enter a quirky pick. I’ve never gotten it in one guess – but I have 41 in two (one was “Acorn” after entering “Ocean”); 210 in three; and 332 in four. I have “lost” (not done it in 6 or less guesses) 23 times. If you’ve never done it – give it a whirl. I mean wordle. . . .
Beer for my Horses
[A repeat from April 16, 2015] When I was a State’s Attorney at 26th & California, I prosecuted very bad people. It was 40 years ago but I still go back every year or two to testify in parole hearings – objecting to release – for the really bad ones (3/20/14). Murder trials – jury and bench – were very emotional. Think of your worst nightmare and know that there are people out there who are worse. In one capital case, a chap had one-by-one murdered perhaps 15 people (or was it 18) as a hired killer. He would slit your throat as easily as he would hold the door open for an old lady. Jury verdict: guilty.
Our culture of violence is a breeding ground for bad stuff (1/2/13). We glorify the new “Game of War.” There is horrific violence in video games for children. Hollywood offers disturbing brutality and immorality. And some cheer the blood and guts in ultimate fighting (who can watch this stuff?). Yet remember that we are often reminded – it is Bibles, the American flag and the Pledge of Allegiance that present shocking dangers to our Society! But I digress. . . . .
In 2003, Toby Keith and Willie Nelson released a music video that most can relate to. “Beer for my Horses” won the Country Music Awards “Best Music Video” award later in the year. It’s a first since in this video – no one sings! It’s the kind of music that will make you narrow your eyes and smile. You’ll want to raise up a glass – and share a a bottle of Dos Equis with a large four-legged pal. Watch – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o1JOFhfoAD4 Maybe this is a way to deal with the boys and girls from ISIS, Boko Haram, Al-Shabaab, Hezbollah, Hamas, Al-Qaeda, the Taliban, and the bad people on our own shore. Beer for my horses . . . .
Naps and Cold Showers
Until the time of my retirement, you could probably count on one hand then number of naps I enjoyed since the age of 3 or 4. It was a seventy year hiatus. And then. . . . .
Maybe it was the weather. Perhaps the Covid bugs flitting around. Then again, maybe it was . . . . ummm age. I haven’t changed much since I was in grade school (and I weigh what I did in college) but these days the sandman starts knocking on my door in the late afternoon. And I often relent. It’s usually a 20 minute doze but when I awaken from my siesta – I’m usually ready for. . . ummm . . . . dinner.
In talking to others of my vintage, I have learned that naps are not an uncommon event. They are well-received. And appreciated. One friend said that his nap is the “best part” of his day.
As to cold showers, let me offer some context. Over the years, I have enjoyed hot showers — especially in cold weather. I like saunas, steam rooms and sunny days when toodling around the golf course. But lately my druthers in that department have mutated a bit. While I still enjoy a toasty shower whatever the weather – my new custom is to end with the water on as cold as it will go. It helps get my 190 pounds of protoplasm somewhat awake. And moving. Then I dry off, brush my teeth, comb my hair (no smart aleck comments), get dressed . . . . yawn. . . . and think about taking a nap. . . . .
Renaissance Hombre 