Saturday, March 2, 2013

THE SHIITE AND SUNNI STORY


THERE ARE ONE BILLION MUSLIMS WORLD WIDE.  THE SUNNIS HOLD A MAJORITY IN
SAUDI ARABIA, EGYPT, YEMEN, PAKISTAN, INDONESIA, TURKEY, ALGERIA, MOROCCO AND TUNISIA.

SHIITES, HOLD A MAJORITY IN IRAN, IRAQ, AZERBAIJAN AND BAHRAIN BUT MAINTAIN SIZABLE MINORITIES IN AFGHANISTAN AND KUWAIT.
THE BILLION MUSLIMS  ARE DIVIDED THUS: 85% ARE SUNNIS AND 15% ARE SHIITES.

STILL WITH ME?  I TRAVEL ON TO THE MAIN THRUST OF THE STORY  --  STAY WITH ME.  THERE ARE  DIFFERENCES BETWEEN THE TWO.

WHY DO THEY NOT GET ALONG?
SUNNIS ACCEPT THAT THE THE FIRST FOUR CALIPHS, INCLUDING ALI, WERE THE
RIGHTFUL FOLLOWERS OF MUHAMMAD.  SHIITES N ON THE OTHER HAND BELIEVE
IMAMS ARE DESCENDANTS OF THE PROPHET.  THERE YOU HAVE IT.  SO THEY KILL
EACH OTHER.  SINCE THE SUNNIS ARE IN THE MAJORITY THEY KILL MORE SHIITES.

CATHOLICS AND PROTESTANTS DID NOT GET ALONG FOR HUNDREDS OF YEARS (AND IN STRAGGLING CASES STILL AREN'T GETTING ALONG). AH THE MYSTERIES
OF RELIGION.  THEY ALL PROFESS TO BELIEVE IN ONE GOD.

Monday, July 2, 2012

DID YOU KNOW THAT?

The the USA debt exceeded 8 trillion dollars in 2006.

The Americans have higher infant mortality rates than in Canada
even though they spend more per person on health care than any
other nation.

One third of Americans fought alongside the British Redcoats.

Some Africans were involved in the slave trade.

Latinos were involved in genocide of Native Americans.

One year on Mars is the equivalent to two earth years.

The equator has no seasons, at least as far as sunlight is concerned,
but if you lived on top of it, you'll see about 12 hours of sunlight
every day.

To clean a microwave: fill a medium bowl with water and sliced lemon,
cook for 5 minutes, let sit for 5 minutes, door closed.  Then use a paper
towel and wipe clean.  Presto!

Each year scientists identify more than 15 thousands new species out of
the more than 10 million different kinds of plants and animals believed to
exist on the planet.

That's all folks for now.  Now you can sleep.

GALAXIES

THERE ARE, BELIEVE IT OR NOT, 10 BILLION TO 1 TRILLION GALAXIES IN THE UNIVERSE.  WE UNDERLINGS HAVE ONLY ONE, SHUCKS.  I GUESS  WE'LL HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT.  NEW PLANETS ARE SHOWING UP REGULARLY.  WHAT'S UP?

BREATHE THIS IN


TRY THIS FOR SIZE  --  TAKE A SHORT INHALATION FOLLOWED BY A LONG INHALATION.  THIS WILL EMPTY MUCH MORE STALE AIR FROM YOUR LUNGS.  IT'S
CALLED TRANSFORMATIONAL BREATHING.  FEEL THE DIFFERENCE?

AS YOU AGE YOU LOSE ABOUT 30,000 BRAIN CELLS A DAY THAT IMPACTS ALL OF
YOUR LIFE, HOW YOU THINK AND HOW YOU FEEL  DON'T AGE, YOU DON'T LOSE.

THE WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION TELLS US THAT RADIO FREQUENCY ELECTRO
MAGNETIC FIELDS CREATED BY CELL PHONES HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO CAUSE
CANCER IN HUMANS.  IF YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, DISREGARD THIS MESSAGE OR PUT
YOUR PHONE ON SPEAKER.

GENETIC CODE = 25000 GENES AND 100 TRILLION CELLS.  THAT'S A HELL OF A LOT
OF CELLS TO CARRY AROUND, DON'T YOU THINK?

BOTH GUINEA PIGS AND HAMSTERS SUPPLEMENT THEIR DIET BY EATING THEIR
OWN FECES.  TO EACH HIS OWN.  AREN'T THEY JUST ADORABLE?

CATS NOT SPAYED CAN PRODUCE 100 KITTENS IN HER LIFETIME.  SPAY FOR CAT'S
SAKE.  OKAY?

Saturday, June 30, 2012

SENSE THIS

FIVE SENSES PLUS FIVE SENSES

vision
hearing
touch
taste
smell

WANT MORE?

pressure
temperature
pain
balance
motion

DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

THE NEW MAN

MEN HAVE LATELY DISCOVERED COLOR ASSISTED BY THE CLOTHING INDUSTRY WHO NEED MORE BUSINESS, MORE DOLLARS ROLLING IN. NO LONGER DO THE COLORS OF WHITE, BLACK AND BROWN DOMINATE.

SOCKS, SHIRTS, TIES, SLACKS, JEANS, SHOES, CAPS AND FEDORAS ARE ALIVE WITH
BRIGHT SHADES.  HERE ARE JUST SOME TO PLEASE YOUR EYES.  FOLLOW ME.
SCREAMIN' GREEN, VIOLET, YELLOW, SALMON, HOT MAGENTA, OLIVE, GRANNY SMITH APPLE, AIR-FORCE BLUE, PINK, RED, ORANGE, GINGER, HOOKER'S GREEN, ECRU, EGGPLANT AND  TONS MORE. 

GROOMING IS IN WITH A PLUS.  FINGER AND TOE NAILS ARE NO LONGER DONE AT HOME, HEAVEN FORBID.  FACIALS ARE IN VOGUE,  BODY WASH IS THE TICKET, WHAT HAPPENED TO GOOD OLD SOAP? SHAVING CREAM NOW RUNS AT 35 SMACKERS FOR
THE SUCKERS WHO BELIEVE THAT MORE IS BETTER.  MINE COSTS AROUND ONE OR TWO BUCKS AND MY FACE SMILES.

IN THE WINGS WE HAVE THE COSMETIC GIANTS: CALVIN KLEIN, KENNETH COLE, JACK BLACK, MARC ECKO AND HANS DE FUKO, TO NAME A FEW.  THEY INSIST THAT MEN SHOULD SMELL NICE AT A PRICE.  EAU DE COLOGNE HAS ARRIVED WITH A VENGEANCE.  ADS USE FRENCH NAMES FOR SOME OF THEIR PRODUCTS.  POUR LES HOMME IS A COMMON LEAD-IN AS WELL AS SEDUCTIVE HOMME. AMERICANS GO GAGA OVER ZEE FRENCH. PRICES RANGE  FROM $35 TO $75 FOR THREE OUNCES.  BY THE WAY, DON'T FORGET ZEE SCRUBS, I SPEAK OF LES EXFOLIATING SCRUBS. RUB, SCRUB IN A TUB.

GOT TO SING ALONG WITH ME; HERE COMES THE GROOM  SMELLING BETTER THAN
THE BRIDE.
 

Friday, March 9, 2012

THE CLOCK IS TICKING, MARCH 2012

I HAVE DONATED, MY BODY FOR PURPOSES OF MEDICAL  EDUCATION AND RESEARCH.
MY BODY WILL BE OF SOME USE.  CONSIGNING MY BODY FOR BURIAL WAS NOT AN OPTION. MAKING FAT WORMS FATTER DID NOT APPEAL TO ME.

MY BODY SPEAKS TO ME LOUDLY AND CLEARLY ---  IT SAYS YOU'VE GOT WEEKS, MONTHS, OR AT MOST A YEAR.  I AM NOT SUICIDAL, ALTHOUGH MANY IN MY PAINFUL CONDITION WOULD OPT FOR IT.  EVERY PART OF MY TORN BODY WANTS OUT BUT THERE ARE SOME UNFINISHED TASKS I MUST ATTEND TO FIRST.

I AM NOT A  RICH MAN BUT I CAN LEAVE A LEGACY OF WORDS AND I MUST TRY TO BROADEN THIS LEGACY BY ADDING MORE  BLOG POSTS AND COMPLETING ANOTHER STORY, A TRUE STORY OF ARMY DAYS PRIOR TO BASIC TRAINING.  I CAN VISUALIZE MY FAMILY GATHERED AROUND THE LIVING ROOM, CELEBRATING  MY SCRIBBLINGS WITH LAUGHTER MIXED WITH SOME TEARS PERHAPS.

I LEAVE YOU MY WORDS, AND ALL MY LOVE



     

Sunday, December 26, 2010

WHY THE RAGE?

Too many people become angry for the wrong reasons.  Rage always at the ready.  I'll try to unravel the here and the why; the utter minutiae involved simply boggles the mind.  Listen in and comment at will.

Traffic is held up for nano seconds but our worthies are gnashing their teeth nevertheless.
Meals are not served on time.  Children are screaming.  Wives are not dressed on time for a night out.
Waiters don't grovel.  Cars don't leave their parking spots in timely fashion.  The list is endless.

Mental health experts agree that these people see the world angrily,  believe everyone is out to get them,  see up as down, light as dark. who see constructive criticism as destructive.

These people are angrily marching towards sudden heart attacks, devastating strokes and an early death.

Re-examine your priorities, your real needs and those of your loved ones.  Smarten up, breathe deeply, do some meditating and live a healthy life physically and mentally.  Okay?

Monday, November 15, 2010

INTELLIGENT DESIGN?

Volumes can be written about INTELLIGENT DESIGN but I am going to concentrate simply on the word, INTELLIGENT. If mankind (a big if) is created in God's image, then God is a hell of a designer, a design that is more of a laugh than anything else. Let's consider this design as a total failure first of all. No intelligent designer would design humans laden with parts, a multiplicity of parts that are subject to pain and failure.

Why not design eyes that work so that over 50% of the population don't need eyeglasses. Or design a heart that works so that heart disease is not the number one killer in the United States.
Why not design a digestive system that works so that people are not bothered by diarrhea, or constipation? Or a brain that functions and does not surrender to addictions, to alcohol, nicotine, heroin, cocaine, gambling and the list is endless. Why the common cold, cancer, chronic pain, back trouble? Why thousands of brain cells that can go awry and lead to Alzheimer's disease?

So who were these people that re-introduced the term, INTELLIGENT DESIGN in our modern era? Oh so clever, a design that was hatched by the true believers to challenge true science and replace it with pseudo science celebrating the phrase as one that would: Mask it's real aim of divorcing it from religion and creationism and building the two words into a more acceptable way, one that would parade as simply a forward thrust into the realm of architectural design that happened to be lauding a designer but they are not telling who it is at the moment.

Meantime, back at the theological ranch, they would circumvent the little thing known as SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE, and sneak into the halls of learning as the legitimate
science challenging the upstart Darwin and his theory of evolution. Alright, alright they finally conceded, we'll have both their, ahem, science and our true science side by side -- while somehow allowing 75% devoted to our side and the rest for evolution.

Your writer, an evolutionary oldster, who managed to evolve into the over-ripe age of 87 all the while relying on reason rather than faith to reach conclusions. Now a word to the faithful; Please don't tell me that "god works in mysterious ways, that she, he it, cannot be questioned, that god loves us all, one in all equally and that all calamitous events were not god's doing but were brought about by sinners. Holocaust sinners? Haitian sinners? The 50 million dead sinners of world war two, sinners?

I welcome all comments, favorable of unfavorable. See you if I see you. The thing is I'm blind in one eye and the other makes a show of seeing but kinda falls short.

Friday, November 5, 2010

BRAHMS 4TH

I was wounded during world war two. Patched up, I was ready to go back to the front. Somehow I was sidetracked and landed up at the home of a wonderful Belgian family and  Brahms 4th. was played.  I listened, transformed, uplifted, warmed, temporarily at peace. I play this piece often. I am 87 years old and plan to hear more Brahms before I die.

I must add a comment written by a "NEPHETULA" regarding Brahms 4th. I was blown over by this person's prose and excitement. Listen in:

This is my favorite piece of classical music! It flows - seamlessly - from one mood and image to another; it breathes, it almost sighs. It queries, it protests, it explains, and it laughs, all the while lilting up and down in a graceful but simple call-and-answer melody with wonderful dynamics. In the exposition, i can almost visualize some unknown hero or heroine's chest heaving while chasing (or being chased) and glancing furtively this way and that, while asking "Which way shall I go?"
I think "Nephetula" (whoever he or she is) and Brahms are going steady.

My extra favorite composers all start with the letter B. I list them in order of my favorites.
Brahms, Beethoven, Bach, Bartok and Berlioz. The B's have it but of course I have other favorites. Stop everything and go to Youtube and start listening.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

REACHING EIGHTY PLUS

I AM EIGHTY SEVEN AND I'M NOT AS YOUNG AS I USED TO BE. IN FACT I AM AS OLD AS I AM AND IT IS NOT GOLDEN. I INVITE YOU TO LISTEN TO THE WOES AND TRIBULATIONS OF THE MAJORITY OF US OLDSTERS -- IT SHORE AIN'T PRETTY.

WE TREAD WARILY, VERY WARILY AS WE WALK THROUGH OUR HOMES --- "WATCH OUT FOR THAT CHAIR, THE SOFA JUTTING OUT, THE TOY ON THE GROUND ANY OBJECT CAN BE PERILOUS" --- BENDING DOWN FOR ANYTHING IS A NO NO, WE USE THE SERVICES OF YOUNGER PEOPLE IF THEY ARE AVAILABLE OR USE OUR TRUSTY PICKER-UPPER.

LADDERS ARE FOR FIRE FIGHTERS AND YOUNGSTERS UNDER EIGHTY, EVEN TWO STEPPERS CAN BE HAZARDOUS --- WALKING UP OR DOWN STAIRS WITHOUT BANISTERS TO HOLD ONTO ARE AVOIDED LIKE THE PLAGUE --- CHAIRS ARE DRAGGED, NEVER LIFTED.

HILLS ARE FOR ANTS AND ASSORTED ATHLETES BUT NOT FOR US. ANY HILL COULD SIMPLY BE TOO MUCH --- NO PATHS ARE SAFE WITH OUT TRUSTY WALKERS OR MOBILE CHAIRS, OR A GOOD SHOULDER TO LEAN ON.

OUR EYESIGHT LEVEL IS DOWN, OUR HEARING IS LOWER, OUR THINKING IS SINKING, OUR COPING HAS TAKEN A NOSE-DIVE -- WE TEND TO DROOL -- WE ARE EITHER TOOTHLESS OR RELY ON FALSE TEETH -- WE LOOK AWFUL CHEWING SO WE MAY CALL UPON FEWER VISITORS, BESIDES WE ARE GENERALLY TOO TIRED OR IN TOO MUCH PAIN.

ARE YOU STILL WITH US, MY MY, YOU MUST HAVE THE PATIENCE OF JOB OR YOU HAVE TOO MUCH TIME ON YOUR HANDS. ONE LAST WORD OR TWO AND WE'LL LET YOU NOD OFF. WAIT, WAIT, DO YOU WANT TO HEAR ABOUT OUR COLLECTIVE CONSTIPATION? ANOTHER TIME? OLD PEOPLE LOVE TO TALK, PARTICULARLY ABOUT
THEIR ACHES AND PAINS. THANKS FOR LISTENING.

Monday, November 1, 2010

IS SPITTING FITTING?

I'm looking at the fifth game of the baseball world series and even though I am engrossed in the game, one that looks like the Giants, (my favorite team) is going to win, I begin to see another pattern, a repeated pattern; the entire field is being decorated by pure, unadulterated spit and every player is guilty, a veritable deluge. Are the players unaware of the millions watching? Do they give a damn? Absolutely not, this is simply a rite of passage -- you play the fine sport of baseball and you water the field.

The managers are nervously chewing gum at 60 miles an hour and letting one watery stream fly every few minutes, double dipping so to speak. They must show leadership in the art, one that they are very adept in.

Then there are the old experts in the dying art of "tobacco" chewing. One can see one or two at the plate, a wad nestled in the right cheek, ready to chaw down once they are free to do so. This one time "manly" art is mainly passe now. But one that is not the manly art of unflinching or showing any pain once they are hit by an erring pitch. They take it and walk or run to first base.
They shake it off, not an easy task. That's all folks, see you at the San Francisco victory parade.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

SOMETHING HAS BEEN ADDED

Women will do anything to bring out their "natural" attributes. Eyelashes have been made to look longer, breasts made to be smaller or larger, waists made to be smaller and bodies made to be taller, enter spiked heels.

Enter the American entrepreneur, always looking to make a buck or two. They have cleverly devised a way to make an inferior exterior blossom into a superior REAR AREA by adding a padding that adds the adding. This has women looking more bold and more men looking without being told. What else is going to be new to attach men to women like magic glue.

You can fool men only so far. The fake of course is exposed when the lady disrobes and her exterior is shown to be inferior.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

THE TIME HAS COME

The time has come for me to pack my bags and stumble into oblivion. At 87 my body is no longer my buddy. We used to go steady but there comes a time and the time is now. We are born and start dying with each passing day. Like machines, we wear out and we are all mortal.

I have been married to a wonderful woman for 64 years. Like most marriages, ours has had ups and downs, but oh those merry-go-rounds that kept us tied like magic glue. I look back with the one good eye I have left and memories wash over me -- children three, grand-children four and great-grand children two in the prime of their lives and life goes on. Marcia, we have done well to create such gems.

But I tire now and must finish this story. Old age is not golden but one still has memories. Pain has entered into every pore and refuses to leave despite my pleadings.

Shakespeare said it like it is in his famous, "All the world is a stage" and I quote his last few lines.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventual history,
is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

I have willed my body, to science. Hopefully they will accept this wreck. On with the scalpels and the drills. "Now students look closely as I expose the brain and .................

I am ready. Ta ta and all that. It's been nice talking to you.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

SOMETHING NEW HAS BEEN ADDED

Women will do anything to bring out their "natural" attributes. American entrepreneurs have been at it again. They have cleverly devised a way to make an inferior exterior blossom into a
superior rear area by adding a padding that does the adding. So what else is new to make men stick to women like magic glue? Men are transported into slobbering idiots when it comes to the opposite sex.
We have accepted longer eyelashes, larger lips, longer torsos that or more so (heels), narrow waists, wider hips, colored hair and the list is endless. We march blindfold into the chasm.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

WHAT PRICE BEAUTY?


What dost thou do in the name of beauty? Most everything the ladies reply in unison. Let's break it down into categories, shall we? We shall.


HAIR: All hair must be removed from every niche and corner without fail with the exception of head hair (I'll deal with the latter, later.) Off with upper lip hair, nostrils, ears, face. chin, arms, under arms, and legs. Special consideration must be given for bikini wearers. Removing body hair is no easy task. There are so many tools of the trade, so to speak. A multitude is available. So many to choose from. All manner of creams, depilatories, clippers, razors, lasers, lotions, sprays, and body wraps. Specialty shops are ready to assist you with electrolysis treatment to painfully remove both your hair and your money.


SCALP: There are good and bad hair days. So many things can go wrong. Hair can be too short, too long, too frizzy, too curly, too greasy, too dull, too colorless, too flat, or just, je ne sais quoi. So many things must be done to make a bad hair day into a good hair day. Hair must be brushed, teased, washed, combed, ironed, shortened, lengthened, or dyed. There are a battalion of experts urging you to amplify your hair, to make your hair breathe, to shape your hair, to make your hair sexy, to make your hair shine, to change your hair color to blonde, red, brown, black, gray, purple, or a mixture thereof. Want a wig for that special occasion or for beauty's sake, no problem, just open your wallet.


EYES: Eyebrows too bushy or wishy washy -- trim eyebrow hair, color them, spray them, or circle eyes with some pencil device and do not forget the eyelashes for heaven sake. The final result brings out the true you? The real you? Go further and change the color of your eyes from time to time -- unbelievable!! The true eye is one left mainly alone, say I, but what do I know.


LIPS: Ah, the lips, are they kissable enough? Are they too thin? No problem, get them estrogen vaccinated every three months and presto, bigger, fatter lips at the ready. Too colorless? Choose from a zillion shades and remember to make sure they are glossy enough, sexy enough, lasting enough, standing out enough, and ready to be kissed day or night. Are they ready to marinate with your date?


HANDS: The hands must eternally look and feel young. Veins? Get rid of them. Don't forget the fingernails -- they must be pared, polished, pruned, or you are doomed. Choose from dozens of shades. Be inventive.


TOES: Don't forget the toes 'cause who knows. I know that pointy shoes and high heels are in vogue but play havoc with your feet by making making a mess of your toes, goodness knows. Let them breathe, give them space and they'll amaze.

Choose nail color that's not too garish, ones that can be taken to your parish or wherever.


BREATH: Bad breathe is a no no, one to be countered by sprays, mints, toothpaste and a good toothbrush. As a last resort, closed lips sealed tightly can be brought into play.


TEETH: White and only white is the color, the only color , the winning color. Brushing alone will not do it . Your dentist to the rescue, one who will have them polished, cleaned, scraped, and looked after in every way, including false teeth if and when necessary. Products galore in every store will keep your teeth shining as bright as a light. By the way, don't use your teeth to bite your nails, your nails will thank you and so will everyone else -- It is not a very nice sight by day or by night.


SCENT: Ladies, here you can use an ounce of perfume for a pound of money. There is no end of varieties -- a little dab, a very little dab will do you. Over-scenting makes no sensing. It's a powerful put down, one that will get you nowhere, so clear the air.

No need to trap innocent people in elevators, cars, trains, planes, restaurants, or gambling haunts. Go easy, go fresh. Use soap liberally.


DIET: Don't diet. Instead, eat healthy, eat wisely, eat regularly, don't starve yourself. Your body needs food not only to survive but to feel alive. Forget about being a size two, that absolutely will not do, please.


EXERCISE: Exercising like a demon won't remove pounds if it does not go along with a sound food regimen. A good policy is to not to overdo anything.


GENERAL: I advise all and sundry to do away with bright mirrors or floor mirrors. Ads and more ads call upon women to use their creams, unguents, and treatments to fight sagging necklines, drooping jawlines, stubborn liver spots, blemishes, freckles,

blotches, sunspots, on face, neck, chest, hands, arms and legs. The beauty ads scream for attention. Act now they blare from every source -- clarify, reverse, tone,and firm for a radiant you, a true you will make you look brand new they add. They are relentless: use more than one cream for your face, your body, every inch of you. Employ our diet programs, our lasers, our sure-fire plastic surgery. The clothes designers are out in strength. They busily design clothes for all the seasons. Styles so varied, so compelling, you are forced to feel that inside their clothes you should be dwelling. I say do not listen too hard. Don't be a follower, fight back. It's okay to add a little flesh, to use less rouge, to exhibit a natural face. a healthy face. No need to over-exercise. Try walking, running, skipping, dancing and a little romancing, all of which is kind of enhancing. Try aging, it's alright to get older. If you have stayed with me all this time, I salute you. Let me add a couple of things. Let us see the unadorned you, the real you, a product of nature, at least some of the time. You need not spend a fortune on cosmetics. Why not have torsos that are more-so, less bony, more tony.


Sunday, November 1, 2009

E.R.A. A NEW ERA 1968

E.R.A. A NEW ERA 1968

The other day I made the mistake of opening a store door for a young lady. “I am quite capable of opening my own door,” she said, giving me a withering look. I apologized, and slunk away, my tail between my legs.

Last week at a party, a woman challenged me to an arm wrestling match. Something told me to resist the temptation. I mean a woman does not challenge a guy with bulging biceps like mine unless she is into body building “I’ll pass,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“Chicken,” she said derisively.

“You’re on,” I said, rolling up my sleeve.

I was down in less than 10 seconds. What could I do? I congratulated her, a weak smile on my face. Was she originally a man --- a her who had been a he in this life or some other one?

The morning after my ignoble defeat, I was traveling down 80 west, singing in my bass baritone voice, while making sure I was not moving faster than sixty or sixty-five.
Suddenly, I heard what sounded like a train whistle, directly behind me. I almost hit the roof. A van trailer, a mile long, pulled abreast. Behind the wheel sat this teeny girl weighing maybe ninety pounds. She gave me the finger and was gone in a flash.

“My gawd! I said out loud, “they’re taking over.”
That very night I got into bed with a good book and my good wife. I was enjoying the book immensely, when I heard my wife say, “Put the book down.”

“In a moment,” I said, thinking she wanted to have me close the light.

“Put the book away,” she repeated softly. Her voice carried an unmistakable suggestion this time.

I am always open to suggestion. The thing is, the last time my wife indicated proceedings was just after the repeal of prohibition.

I put the book down. “My god,” I said, “It’s a revolution.”

At two a.m. the phone rang. I hopefully waited for my wife to answer. She did not budge. I crawled out of bed, my eyes still shut and groped for the phone.

“Hello,” I said crossly.

“Now, now, don’t be cross my great, big man,” the distinctly feminine voice crooned.

My mouth flew open. The voice continued to purr. “I would love to jump into your arms and caress you all over. And then I’d ……
I interrupted. “I can’t believe it,” I said, “Is nothing sacred?”

OH THOSE NAMES

As a rule, names of foreign tennis players do not phase me. I can rattle them off correctly, foreign accents right on key.

I breeze through Helena Sukova, Yannick Noah, and even Claudia Kohde-Kilsh. However, I have extreme difficulty with the names of two tennis greats, namely Martina Navratilova and Hana Mandlikova. For some inexplicable reason I cannot make them come out right unless I see them in print.

A ‘few’ years ago I had the good fortune of seeing Martina finally succumb to Hana, a nifty little tennis player, who finally came through after losing all seven of her previous matches to Martina. My head was still moving from left to right and from right to left as I drove home after the match.

Inspired by what I had seen, I arranged for a game of singles. While warming up, my friend asked, “Say Oscar, who won the match?” Hana,”I answered quickly, hoping it would end there.

“Who did she play?” He was relentless.

“Martina,” I said, as I lofted a warm-up lob purposefully behind him. It was no good. He persisted. “Martina who?” he shouted from the base line.

Go slow, I cautioned myself. “Naravlotiva” I finally sputtered.
“Repeat that please,” he said. I was anxious to get at his throat.

“Natralova,” I managed to squeeze out. He let that pass, for a moment, but only a moment and then he pounced again.
“Natralova?” he queried innocently. “Who is that?”

My hands were ready to kill. “You know,” I said desperately, “The one who played Malindovaka.”

He was on the ground a full five minutes, holding his stomach, while great gusts of laughter came bursting forth. I took him in three straight sets. He was silent as a lamb all through.

WHAT'S IN A NAME? wrote in '57

As a rule, names of foreign tennis players do not phase me. I can rattle them off correctly, foreign accents right on key.

I breeze through Helena Sukova, Yannick Noah, and even Claudia Kohde-Kilsh. However, I have extreme difficulty with the names of two tennis greats, namely Martina Navratilova and Hana Mandlikova. For some inexplicable reason I cannot make them come out right unless I see them in print.

A ‘few’ years ago I had the good fortune of seeing Martina finally succumb to Hana, a nifty little tennis player, who finally came through after losing all seven of her previous matches to Martina. My head was still moving from left to right and from right to left as I drove home after the match.

Inspired by what I had seen, I arranged for a game of singles. While warming up, my friend asked, “Say Oscar, who won the match?” Hana,”I answered quickly, hoping it would end there.

“Who did she play?” He was relentless.

“Martina,” I said, as I lofted a warm-up lob purposefully behind him. It was no good. He persisted. “Martina who?” he shouted from the base line.

Go slow, I cautioned myself. “Naravlotiva” I finally sputtered.
“Repeat that please,” he said. I was anxious to get at his throat.

“Natralova,” I managed to squeeze out. He let that pass, for a moment, but only a moment and then he pounced again.
“Natralova?” he queried innocently. “Who is that?”

My hands were ready to kill. “You know,” I said desperately, “The one who played Malindovaka.”

He was on the ground a full five minutes, holding his stomach, while great gusts of laughter came bursting forth. I took him in three straight sets. He was silent as a lamb all through.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

IT’S HIGH TIME

Written around 1957: Read on

Leaving my firm meant leaving all perks, including first class air travel—at four times the price of coach seats. What’s so special about first class seats aside from the inflated price you might ask? The answer is plenty.

No waiting, you board first, all four of you. You exit first, all four of you. While on board you are kingpins.

The prettiest stewardesses are specifically chosen to serve you. They can’t wait to tuck you in, to make you ever so comfortable. They light your cigarette, they clean your eyeglasses, they marinate you in hot and cold beverages. They serve you meals almost fit to be on real plates and give you portions large enough to feed three people.

You are showered with newspapers, magazines, and ever constant smiles, you are it, the one and only. They just love you to pieces. After all, you might be a producer, a director, a corporate giant, a crown prince, or best of all, a practicing surgeon. You keep them guessing of course.

And the seats, oh the seats, the kind you just sink into and stretch in every direction. You just have to fall asleep and dream nice dreams, even so-called naughty dreams about that blond gal that leaned over far enough to enable you to see her perfect 34 C boobs as she served you.

Fade away to the present. The scene opens with me wedged in an air coach seat, surrounded on either side by two men large enough to be Sumo wrestlers. My knees are gently nudging the back of the seat in front of me I get dirty looks. I am in a straight jacket, my legs are glued together. I long for sleep, for oblivion, with out success.

I wait for the “Fasten seat belt sign” to go off so I can proceed to the Blue room. There are a number of drawbacks. All the cells are occupied and there are four standbys waiting to serve their sentences before me. Finally inside, claustrophobia sets in. Airlines consider every inch of space and their standing-room-only bathrooms can easily be measured in inches. “Please, please, whoever is listening, don’t crash now, “ I plead, as I maneuver awkwardly in the mini-room designed for Lilliputians.

Returning to my non-smoking seat, I squeeze myself into my measured space just in time to inhale the so called second hand smoke of smokers sitting in the permitted area some three seats behind me. Die bold smokers inhaling deeply of the weed, relaxing as they smoke themselves to an early death. With some satisfaction I listen to the coughs and wheezes of the right to smoke enthusiasts before I suspend breathing.
There is nothing more righteous than a holier than thou former smoker. I plead guilty as charged.

There is an infant who took off the moment we took off. His cries are piercing enough to puncture the fuselage or even the ozone layer. I smile at the baby, I throw love at the baby, I whisper sweet nothings, all to no avail. The Sumo wrestlers are snoring, goody, goody gumdrops. What could be next. It’s movie time. Airlines have a committee of sadists who choose their selections. I opt out. Enough torture. There is one saving grace, the baby stops crying.

Our section stewardess is going through the ‘safety features’. “Kindly note the exits located in the nose, the middle of the aircraft, and the aft compartment indicated by the red exit signs.” I am not reassured. I simply refuse to jump out of a plane at an altitude of some 36,000 feet with or without a parachute. She goes on, “Also note that your seat cushion functions as a flotation device in the event of a water landing.” Water landing? Is this a seaplane?

I am a seasoned air traveler, but listen as she dutifully continues. “In the unlikely event that cabin pressure suddenly drops, kindly extinguish all smoking materials. An oxygen mask will drop from the overhead compartment. Place mask firmly over your nose, pull on the strap, and breathe normally,” Breathe normally as the plane gaily somersaults through space? Who are they kidding?

We are further instructed on how to loosen and tighten seat belts. (The belt will keep me anchored to my seat in the event we hit turbulence determined to hit back. If we crash I will be able to take off, securely fastened to my seat. How cosy.)

The food cart is coming down the aisle trapping all passengers in front of the device. The food, packed in foam and plastic containers, is fighting for space on my tray. (Even food fights for space in the coach section.) Eating this tripe, while my arms are pasted to my torso, is no easy task.
The fasten-seat-belt sign goes on followed by a voice telling us that we will be experiencing some minor turbulence for the next little while.

I struggle with my belt and get my ‘doggie’ bag ready. ‘Some’ turbulence turns out to be SOME turbulence. It’s fun and games as the food on my tray and in my system try to join hands. Some forty-five minutes later we begin our descent. Seat backs are up. Seat belts are on. Feet are anchored to the floor, and first-time fliers are biting their fingers to the bone. Veteran fliers like myself remain outwardly calm while experiencing some turbulence inside.

I know that one out of every three landings will be anything but smooth. I am prepared for the leapfrog, a specialty of some pilots. We land and hop, skip and jump merrily along. My statistics hold true. Thank you, I say as I stagger out. I now march some two miles to the baggage carousel.

I do not rush. I know I will get one bag right away. It’s the second or third bag that will be at the tail end some sixty minutes away.

I’ve been thinking. I do that from time to time. There is a thing out now that permits one to stretch full-length, walk about, luxuriate comfortably in washrooms and in dining room areas, it’s called trains.