BEST OF...2008

2008 - THE BEST OF THE YEAR

Album : Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - The Beatles

Book : Mastering The Art Of French Cooking - Julia Child

Cereal : Raisin Bran

Dog : Lassie

Earthquake : San Francisco, 1906

Fried Food : Latkes

Game : Snakes And Ladders

Head Injury : Little Bump

Itch : Lower Back

Jar : The Urn

Knick-Knack : Head Planter

Lawn Ornament : Smoochy Elves

Movie : The Godfather

Noise : The Little 'Ting' The Toaster Makes

Oval Object : Egg

Pencil : Ticonderoga # 2

Quart : 2% Milk

Reason To Stay Home : Too Cold And Rainy

Sign : 'For Sale By Owner'

TV Show : The Twilight Zone Marathon

Unfinished Manuscript : The Mystery Of Edwin Drood

Vaseline : 16 oz. Size

Word : Furtive

Xylophone Player : Lionel Hampton

Yin : Yang

Zelda : That Chick From 'Dobie Gillis'

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A YEAR AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A NUMBER

Dear Readers,
As the old year winds down to it's final few hours, most people pause and take a quick look back at everything that's gone down in the last few months (No more top ten lists, pleeze). After we've tallied up our gains and losses, it's time to take the broader view and look at the events that made our world what it is on this New Years' Eve eve. To me, this year, moreso than most, has been about the sheer size of numbers. The newscasts and conversations of the nation were stuffed with numbers, numbers getting bigger or smaller, better or worse. Hardly any number remained static.
One number that remained the same was the 270 electoral votes that it takes to elect a President, and more citizens voted in a general election in history to select the first African-American (the 44th over all) as our next commander-in-chief. Wall Street, that Mount Olympus of numbers, looted the U.S. Treasury to the tune of at least 700 billion dollars, and probably one trillion dollars, once the bonuses are added in. The real number will probably never be known. Meanwhile, all the Stock Markets posted record losses (almost on a daily basis in September-October) and Americans set new records in tossing away unopened 401K statements, lest the numbers contained therein drive them to despair. While unemployment numbers haven't reached record levels yet, it's not for lack of trying. Plus, our national deficit has so many numbers in it, Apple and Microsoft working together couldn't accurately calculate it, let alone give it a name.
Some guy named Madoff made $50 billion go poof, while the 'Detroit Three' asked for $25 billion so that they could keep making 17 million cars that nobody really wants. The New York Yankees got themselves a $1.5 billion new stadium built, then went out and spent $500 million on contracts for three players! Shoppers who went to malls to buy for Christmas found themselves looking at 70% discounts on popular gift items, then were told they did not spend enough to keep dozens of retailers out of chapter 11. Oil went to $147 a barrel and gas soared to $4.00 a gallon, then went to $38 a barrel ($1.70 a gallon) and is headed back up again, making us all nauseous. The music industry struggles to sell recordings in the same numbers they used to, and good old consumer technology gave us more numbers of not-so-needed gadgets with more gigamemories - like 3G iphones, or, whatever - so we could never be alone with our thoughts ever again. Perhaps they have saved us all from contemplating the sheer weight of the numbers in 2008 (Which was also the biggest A.D. year, ever.).
Since I never bother to do any research or fact-checking on these blogs, I may have got a thing or two incorrect, but if you stop and think about it (stop twittering for a second, will you?) this year's numbers were quite staggering. If only there were some cosmic bailout available to us all as recompense for the blizzard of numbers stinging at our faces, we might feel more positive as we head in to the first day of a year with yet another big number - 2009. Calculate that.
Well, I know how many times I put the kettle on this year, because I've carefully counted the teabags (because they're from England, they cost more this year, too). And, I'm always watching the numbers on the clock, because somewhere on this planet, it's about 4 o'clock, and time for a nice cup of tea.

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SAME TIME, NEXT YEAR

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PUT THE BLAME ON FAME, BOY

THEME TIME RADIO HOUR WITH BOB DYLAN - SEASON 3, #9 "FAMOUS PEOPLE"
Broadcast December 10, 2008

In this episode, Dylan presents a theme he knows more than a little about: Being famous. I guess there are any number of songs about famous people, but judging by this collection, not very many of them are any good. The best example of this is the leadoff song, Jack Palance, by The Mighty Sparrow. I don't know if he's fallen off his twig, but a song about the resemblance between older street prostitutes(' I'm looking for youth, not experience', says he) and the fist-faced actor is not worth writing, let alone performing. Nice beat, though. Does anyone remember Janis Martin? No? Well, she was the 'Female Elvis', apparently, and her My Boy Elvis does no credit to old snakehips, in spite of the solid efforts of a great rockabilly backup band. King Stitt checks in with Lee Van Cleef, a tribute to a 60's movie hardman with the refrain ' I'm ugly, I'm ugly'. Not a great candidate to be your next ring tone.

Neurotic Belgian painter James Ensor gets an unmemorable tribute by They Might Be Giants, and flashy fifties fruitcake, Liberace, gets the country-and-western nod from Charlie Adams, a version he might have considered buying up the rights to and destroying, sparing all of us with intact hearing. One of those early-sixties 'response' songs, The Beatles Got To Go by persons named Ken Lazarus and Keith Lyn only comes alive when they parody a Beatles harmony at the end, reminding us again of how, back in the day, those lovable Liverpudlians stood out like a poppy in a field of corn. Bill Cox's The Fate Of Will Rogers And Wiley Post is my favorite track, a singin' newspaper account of the accident that claimed the lives of the stars who set the standard for celebrity plane crashes to follow. Bob wraps up the set with probably the worst song Simon & Garfunkel allowed to see the light of day, So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright, about missing the flamboyant modernist architect (missing an architect?). Simon must have wrote it after - in desperation - smoking a page torn from Jansen's History Of Art, then tripping down the aisles of Rizzoli's Books.

Artists are continually inspired by famous people, but not to write good songs about them. Once in a great while, a really good one comes along, though. As is becoming a frequent feature of TTRH lately, Dylan leaves out one of his own - Hurricane - that actually helped to get an innocent guy out of jail. Plus, it was a very good tune. Still, Bobby D. remains the most interesting and engaging deejay on the planet, in spite of turgid material, like The Clash doing their tribute to Montgomery Clift, The Right Profile. Gee, I was hoping it would be about John Barrymore, but it was just another song about a fame fatale.

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CAROLINE, NO

Dear Readers,
Politics is not an arena for the faint of heart and New York State politics is an arena where it's best to not have a heart. So it was with a certain amount of bemusement that I began to notice that famous nice-lady, Caroline Kennedy, was undertaking a whirlwind tour of New York State this past week to tout herself as the replacement in the U.S. Senate for the soon-to-be-kicked-upstairs incumbent, Hillary Clinton.
For people of a certain age, Caroline will be - in perpetuity - the cute little six-year old daughter of President John F. Kennedy, and all that she has done in the intervening years between 1963 and 2008 matters not a whit to the average person. Marrying Mr. Schlossberg and creating a lot of new, little Schlossbergs, plus all the charity work and fund-raising has not exactly burned itself in the public mind, as beneficial as it might all be. Chiefly, she is known by most people as the sister of People Magazine's 1988 'Hunk Of The Year', dimwit scion of the JFK mantle and editor of a now-defunct, pointless vanity magazine, the late, dead John-John, Jr.
Once known as 'America's Royal Family', the Kennedys have multiplied out of all proportion and have seen several of their members in and out of political office since the arrival on the scene of the 'three brothers', John F., Robert F., and the Shemp of the trio, Teddy. But aside from the originals, the next waves of elected family pols have been more notable for their appearances in police blotters and rehab centers than for championing any great issue or legislation. The grandchildren of the defeatist anti-Semite head of the family, Joseph P. Kennedy, have done far better outside elected office. They have been of some benefit to the nation in the private sector, running environmental and energy-assistance non-profits, while keeping up the family traditions of inebriation and adultery.
Caroline, however, has pretty much avoided the limelight, stayed free of scandal and has worked quietly behind the scenes effectively promoting her pet projects. But now, she has suddenly developed an interest in the U.S. Senate, and has begun to openly campaign for a job that only one person has the power to grant - The Governor of New York, David Patterson.
She's making it look like her selection is now a fait accompli by running around 'introducing' herself to a state she has barely seen, except for a 12-block radius around her Park Avenue apartment. Patterson, who is a dyed-in-the-wool New York political creature, was going to make some enemies no matter who he picked, but if he doesn't pick Caroline now, he's going to wish that he'd been caught out with a high-priced hooker instead of his nerdy weirdo predecessor, Eliot Schvitzer.
My question is why would Caroline even want to be a Senator? Why join that pack of gormless, fame-hunting, fortune-seeking mish-mash of scary clowns known collectively as the U.S. Senate? She's already famous, already rich and doesn't have to see her life story played out on the front pages of the newspapers every day. The seat she seeks has been used as a springboard to a try for the Presidency once or twice, but it's an office usually held by hard-core policy wonks (Moynahan, Schumer, Javits) who would rather attend a subcommittee hearing on recycled-concrete storage facilities planned for the Buffalo suburbs than fanny around with socialites and film stars. I recall a memorable photo of Hillary, during her early days in the Senate, that appeared on the front page of The New York Post. She's shown, sitting in a Senate committee hearing, looking like she was about to slip into a profound coma, she was so bored. Do you want an image like that on your resume Ms. Kennedy?
Maybe she's intending to park herself in the Senate for eight years, then take a stab at the White House in 2016. If that's her plan, she'd better hope that Hillary doesn't get wind of it. Having sweated out Sarah Palin's historic run that would have made her the first woman elected on a national ticket, she's not going to watch the next shot go to some broad who got where she was because of her last name. No siree. So, did Caroline catch 'presidential fever' while campaigning for Obama? Is this what it's all about?
My advice to Ms. Kennedy is to get out of the way and let a real New York sleazeball get the job, someone who will really work hard to get that bridge to nowhere in Schenectady funded, who will be happy to make sure a wind farm doesn't get built within 100 miles of a rich campaign donor's lakeside mansion, and who won't bat an eyelash when some lobbyist slips a fat wad of $100's under the table to insure the death of a bill to regulate upstate toxic-waste dumping. Getting into politics now, Caroline, would harm your reputation, like all those awful films Shirley Temple made after she hit puberty did hers. Your himbo brother nosedived into the Atlantic for no clear reason, (probably because he realized that you were the smart one) so please, Caroline, don't do your own nosedive. Let us remember you the way you were - a cute, bit player on the good ship Camelot.
At least I'm smart enough to know that I need a nice hot drink on this cold Winter solstice, so I am announcing that I will put the kettle on, because somewhere, it's about 4 o'clock, signalling that it's time for some tea.

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YAWN OF A NEW AGE

Dear Readers,
I heard something on the radio the other day about a research project that sought to figure out why it is that we yawn. Apparently, according to the conclusions reached by the scientists conducting the study, we yawn in order to get more oxygen to the brain, not because we're bored or tired. In the researchers' view, this extra oxygen helps us to become more alert and to concentrate better(like first thing in the morning), thus we gather more information. Plus, the reason that one yawn will trigger other yawns in a group of people is an atavistic trait of self (or group) protection like, ooh, he's getting more air to his brain so he can be more alert to a saber-toothed tiger attack, so I'd better get more air so I can stay alert, too. Sounds reasonable, eh?
If that theory holds any water, we all ought to be yawning like crazy. The current economic crisis threatens everybody to some degree, and being more alert to dangers is not a bad idea these days, as it seems that too many of us have been semi-dozing in a fog of insouciance and material excess. (I can feel that you're all yawning now, but perhaps that's because your mind wants to stay alert, and think this all through.)
The head of the English Anglican Church, Archbishop Rowan Williams was interviewed recently and said that the financial crisis was 'good for society' as it was time for a 'reality check' of our irresponsible spending and get-rich-quick schemes. A little preachy, (what else could he be?)yes? Trouble is, he lives quite a comfortable life, in his palace (Lambeth) where minions are available 24/7 to do his bidding, so while you have to admit that the bugger is right, he's pretty insulated from ordinary life - plus, he's got God well on his side. But maybe it is time for some sort of reality check, especially since real checks - the kind you can deposit - are getting rarer. After years of go-go, gotta-have-it, don't-know-why-exactly, don't-care-how-deep-in-debt-I-am living, it may be time for a collective yawn.
Maybe the best role model for this need of an oxygen rush is our own President Obama. Here's a guy who thrilled crowds during the campaign with his impassioned speeches, his inspirational vision and his ability to connect emotionally with our better instincts. But since his election, he's turned into a serious, sober and unflashy leader, one who is seeking to tone down the bitter partisan rhetoric and try and defuse the rancorous ideological divisions in order to seek the best solutions for our country's problems. Some people are now finding him boring. Yawn - hey, maybe he's right!
America has been and always will be a pretty kinetic place. By the world's standards, we're still a fairly young nation - a rambunctious adolescent - so that's to be expected. I'd like to think that all that's happened in the last few months - including what is to come in the next few months - has been like we're a teenager who's had a car crash caused by driving too fast and too recklessly. We're alive, but shaken, and have a day in court to(not) look forward to. But I sense there's still an arrogance there, a belief that 'what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger', and no one around with the authority to order us to grow up. I don't know that our new President is the guy who wants to tell us that, maybe the best he could do would be to create an atmosphere where we can figure it all out for ourselves. I'm hopeful, but doubtful, too.
In the endless loop of coming-of-age stories that is the USofA, there probably will be a time where growing up actually happens, and perhaps then, a new age of nation-wide responsibility will gain some traction. But it will take a working majority of people who will accept that less is more and that greed is bad, and like the beardy English Archbishop said, that 'we can't spend our way to a healthy economy'. We're nowhere near that majority at present. Yet can a collective, concentrating yawn fix things? It's a start. Hey! We're not bored, we're just needing some extra air to our brains. Stay alert, kids.
Well, I need to add some extra water to the kettle, because, even without yawning, I know that somewhere, it's 4 o'clock, and time for a nice cup of tea.

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HELP IS IN THE LIMO

A STATEMENT FROM THE WHITE HOUSE

In the wake of the fraud allegations in the matter of the Bernard Madoff investments scheme, I believe that it is the Federal Government's responsibility to step in and rescue those who have been hurt by this tragic situation. Therefore, this morning, I have signed an executive order to create a new government agency, called the Federal Ponzi - Scheme Assistance Program, or P-SAP.

This program will be funded by $500 billion in taxpayer dollars that can be used to compensate those who invested in Mr. Madoff's scheme and have found that they have lost enormous amounts of money, with no chance of recovery. As President, I feel it is my duty to protect the nation's billionaire investors from losses that would seriously affect their lavish lifestyles, put at risk their third and fourth homes, undermine their ungrateful children's huge trust funds and jeopardize their ability to hire the best divorce lawyers when they decide to trade up to a younger model. I would be derelict in my duty, as their President, to leave them with only 75 to 90% of their fortunes at this holiday time of the year. Defrauded investors will be able to draw from this fund immediately, with no restrictions, and restore their vast family finances to pre-Madoff levels, insuring that our nation's richest families will not have to endure additional hardships as they bravely face the coming economic difficulties. My government wants to guarantee that our nation will retain it's reserve of investors who's sound and reasoned judgement has made our country what it is today.

God Bless America, (signed) George W. Bush

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NO TAPS ON MY MAPS

In this Theme Time Radio Hour, broadcast the first week of December, Mr. Dylan sets out on a trip he's been on once before. "Street Map" is almost the same theme as "Map" from the first season of TTRH, but heads off on some interesting new sideroads as he broadens the journey to cover not only streets, but roads and highways as well.
I don't like to criticize such a unique and inspired deejay, but, for my taste, he could have left Laura Cantrell's soppy 14th Street in a roadside trashcan. I know what I would have replaced that ditty with, but Bob remains modest and leaves aside maybe the best 'highway' song ever, his own Highway 61.
In spite of that weak start, I can't quarrel with any of his other choices, which are uniformly classic. Roger Miller's King Of The Road was one of the first 'crossover' hits of the modern era and cemented his reputation as not only a great artist, but a fantastic wordsmith. Ray Charles' Lonely Avenue is a reminder of how edgy and wicked his early sound was -Do Not Pass. The surprise turn in the set is provided by an acapella demo rendition of Hit The Road, Jack done by Percy Mayfield. You can hear Brother Ray (and I think, a Raylette or two in the background) road-testing one of his big hits, trading verses with Mayfield.
Remember Green Day? I forgot how good they can be after a quick glance in the rear view mirror at Boulevard Of Broken Dreams tailgaiting me. And we get to hear Willin', the hopped-up, long haul trucker's anthem, first mapped out by Little Feat, a version that is streets ahead of anybody else's. The Nat Cole Trio gets on the map with - what else - (Get Your Kicks On) Route 66 and Dylan finishes up the journey with Woody Guthrie, Cisco Houston and Sonny Terry driving home an earthy version of Going Down The Road Feeling Bad that makes The Grateful Dead's concert-staple version sound like The Ray Coniff Singers.
I'm still a little turned around as to why this episode was called "Street Map". Shouldn't it more properly been titled "Highway" or "Road"?. Still, you don't argue with a genius (especially one who gives tacit approval to the bootlegging of his show) and Bob fills in the gaps between songs with stories and pertinent trivia, like the origin of familiar words, such as skid row and hobo. Plus, we get rare treats like a clip of Jack Kerouac reading from On The Road and even a snippet of Kraftwerk's synth-driven Autobahn. And, in his roster of show-biz legends who have died on the highway, we discover that Tom Mix (1930's cowboy star) was killed by his luggage. I did not know that.
Thanks again, Mr. D., for the great directions.

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STOP BY A LANGUAGE COP

Guest Column by Sgt. Abelard Z. Webster, US Language Patrol

Can I see your license? Did you know you were using the English Language in an extremely careless way? My problem with you people today is the way you use the word 'gentleman'. Do you have any idea of what you are doing?
For instance, how many times have I heard, on TV or radio, an eyewitness to some bank robbery or some other horrific crime, talking to a reporter saying "well, the gentleman pulled out a gun and shot the teller between the eyes". Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds? The dictionary that I keep in my back pocket describes 'gentleman' thusly: 1. "A man of gentle or noble birth or superior social position" 2. " A well-mannered and considerate man with high standards of proper behavior". Does that describe any perp you can think of? In my whole history of tracking down language abusers, I can only think of one lawbreaker that might fit those descriptions: The Scarlet Pimpernel, and I think that guy was made up.
When, will we ever stop describing the guy who just killed his entire family as 'the gentleman who is accused of the crime'? I must admit, even many of my fellow brothers and sisters in law enforcement will describe the suspect in a terrorist arson as the gentleman in custody. Oh dear, how one does cringe.
I can't do anything about my superiors, but while I have you pulled over, I ought to put you in mouthcuffs, but I'll let you off with a warning this time. Just promise me if you are ever interviewed by anybody about some stabbing or abduction or drive-by shooting that you will restrain yourself from describing the miscreant as a gentleman. Use any of the following descriptions when describing, say, the unknown bank-robber : the thug, the cretin, the nasty man, the bad guy, the twinkie-eating creep, Mr. Stinky, the brute, that Republican, my ex-husband, the commie, the criminal mastermind, that Wall Street Stockbroker, the poop-for-brains, the Little Elvis, the putz, the anti-socialist, the Captain Kangaroo, the silly-billy, the loser, the naughty, naughty boy or the green booger - but pleeeeeezzzeee, NOT 'Gentleman'! Almost anything else will do.
Well, take care now, and think a little before you speak.

Tea With S.B. prints guest columns from time to time but the views expressed are not necessarily the viewpoints of this blog...err...except for this one.

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WHAT'S AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR BIRDCAGE?

ODE TO A NEWSPAPER

I see you on the stands,

Your headlines make demands -

To buy you and to read you.

Your ink gets on my hands,

Yet I'm your faithful fan -

This Ode's to you, Newspaper.

You're in such troubled climes,

A-heading for lean times -

The world no longer needs you.

Your price is paid in dimes,

Your stories do not rhyme -

Yo-de-lay-de-hoo, Newspaper.

Now we read our 'pods,

See you as useless bods,

We've turned our backs on you.

The techno-savvy gods,

Have turfed you 'neath the sod -

Koo-Koo-Ka-Choo, Newspaper.

May you stagger on for years,

And even as fate nears,

I'll say my prayers for you.

But don't expect the tears,

Of modern man - oh dear!

This Ode's for you, Newspaper.

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A BRILLIANT IDEA

Dear Readers,
As I continue to observe the U.S. economy skidding out of control like a drunken skier, the Alice-In-Wonderland qualities of the 'rescue' and 'bailout' priorities continue to amaze me. While Wall Street gets piles of cash with no strings attached, the poor, bewildered Detroit Three have worn out several good pairs of trousers crawling on their knees to Congress - a group of sleazy dissemblers that make sex workers look noble by comparison - and still have nothing to show for their pains.
The latest auto bail-out proposal continues to flounder as southern Republican Senators keep insisting that the UAW workers voluntarily turn themselves into slave labor in order to remain 'competitive' with the foreign automakers who have installed themselves on southern U.S. soil - stealthily subsidized by unknowing southern U.S. taxpayers. Meanwhile, the Congress continues to lavishly fund military white elephants like the F-22 fighter (which nobody seems to want) because to cancel that would risk 'thousands of jobs'.
So let's recapitulate: Zillions to Wall Street - no conditions. Trillions for an airplane that no one's even sure we need - jobs saved. Is there a secret grudge against Detroit? Can you say hypocritical?
As an ex-Detroiter, I grew up surrounded by cars. Cool cars. With that in mind, I propose a solution to all autoland's problems. Ever hear of Legacy Acts in the music world? Well, they are singers and bands and groups who used to rule the record charts. Acts like The Who, The Rolling Stones and The Fugs are indulged by big music because, while they don't have blockbuster hits anymore, the sales of their back catalogues of recordings are steady and respectable, and their names on the company's roster of contracts helps the label maintain a certain legitimacy, while causing no real harm. SO, what if, as a sop to the reptilian sybarites that call themselves legislators, the auto companies announced, as a condition of a bailout deal, that they were going to suspend the creation of new vehicles and instead, return to making replicas of their greatest hits? I give you - The Legacy Line.
Just imagine, Ford dumps the homely Focus in favor of the 1964 Mustang. Chrysler announces the abandonment of the pointless Sebring to revive the spaced-out 1959 Imperial, then, General Motors checks in by scrapping the feckless Aveo to reproduce the peerless 1957 Chevy or the still radical-looking 1959 El Camino. (For you 12-year old 'know-it-alls' out there, go directly to Google Image before reading any further). Can you imagine the deafening applause from the general public? I mean, these are freakin' classics! Sure, Detroit can still make a few modern-looking pickup trucks (with gunracks) - some guys will never give up those testostero-rides. But the general public would take new pride in their home-grown products. Half of us would feel happy nostalgia and the other half would respond much like the public did when they first came out - 'I Gotta Have One!' Everything else on the road would look like leftover junk from the old East German GDR. I can't imagine one congressman who wouldn't support a plan of such brilliance. The Detroit Three could even promise to revive some old, personal Congressional favorites in order to secure support. Some Southern Senator probably has fond memories of a classic sedan where he received his first kickback. There's certainly a few Western Representatives who recall what car it was where they seduced their first intern. Their lead hearts would surely soften and they couldn't vote for the bailout fast enough!
An additional benefit would be that the automakers would be able to update the 'legacy' cars with the improvements in reliability and materials that have evolved since the original designs were manufactured. And with the Detroit Three up and running and turning out profitable popular classics again, their engineers would have the time and money to work behind the scenes to develop new electric, solar, wind, french fry fat or Diet-Coke-and-Mentos powered automobiles that would be ready for market by the time the public tired of the 'legacy' models. What true American would buy a featureless, worker-ant Honda when they could be seen cruising down the road in a brand-new, fully-finned faultless Ford Fairlane?
I offer this solution free of charge to the nation. I think the workers, the buying public and an envious world would applaud such a innovative response to these troubled times. Building and buying cars would be fun again. I'm sure the old blueprints still exist somewhere, it's just a matter of a bit of re-tooling. Bring some of the old geezers who built the originals out of retirement to help with the re-launch! India and Pakistan could have a nuclear exchange and it wouldn't knock the return of Detroit's greatest hits off the front pages! America is still the native land of the big idea, the big shot and the big scam and this way, the big three can get bigged up again.
Well, that problem's solved, so let me fill up the kettle and plug it in, because I can feel the welding sparks on my face, coming from the direction of the rust belt. If not on the assembly line, then somewhere in this auto-frenzied world, it's four o'clock, and time for some tea.

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IT'S ONLY WORDS

Dear Readers,
Yesterday, in the British Parliament during question time, Prime Minister Gordon 'Mr. Bean' Brown, who was giving an answer to a query by the opposition about the (what else?) state of the economic crisis, made a slight verbal blunder and said that his government had 'saved the world', when he meant to say that they had 'saved the economy'. Well, you would have thought he had just announced that he was Napoleon, or Batman's sister, the way the Conservative caucus exploded in a cacophony of hoots, hollers and farmyard noises in reaction to what was such a small slip of the tongue. (Anybody who still thinks British Politicians are all erudite and reserved should listen to some of the goings on at Westminster. If food was allowed in the chamber - one shudders...). The leader of the opposition, David Cameron, leapt on the flub, then spent the better part of a half hour lambasting the hapless PM for his gaffe while his backbenchers carried on like they had just found out they'd been granted free, unlimited drinking rights to every pub in England. Such an uproar over one little misplaced word.
I've been thinking a lot about words lately - more accurately, their modern usage - in a society where hand-sized computers allow us to do texting("OMG"), Twittering ("I'm twittering, what are U doing?") and make utterly pointless cell-phone calls ("I'm in the supermarket, where are you?") that seem to have monopolized the national conversation. It's nice, in a way, that we're all checking up on one another, but do we have anything much to say? Was the invention of all these giga-gadgets really necessary?
I find it quite ironic that in a modern world where we have the most incredible communication devices (Flash Gordon and Dick Tracy didn't know the half of it!) that compliment, confirm and cross-pollinate each other, the most popular use of all these melanges of microchips comes down to a few insipid words in a Twitter message or a 2-minute clip on You Tube. In a prophetic phrase, the late Marshall McLuhan (no, he's nothing to do with Lindsay LOhan) once famously remarked that 'the medium is the message'. Now, I gotta tell ya', I didn't know what the hell he was on about - until now. He was talking about TV a couple of generations ago, but he could have just as well been gassing on today about the IPhone or Blackberry ( if he wasn't...err.. dead). Words still deliver most of our messages,(often, a funny face or a middle finger will suffice) yet it seems as if fewer of them, over a shorter period of time, is just fine with most people these days, written or spoken - especially tailored for the new technology.
Ah, words. I think it was Adam who first lamented the death of the written word, and I guess every generation since has felt it's imminent demise as new inventions have pushed it farther out towards the margins. Yet it survives, albeit in much less challenging forms. Would James Joyce find a publisher today? (He just barely found one in 1922). He'd probably have to blog. How many times I have heard that the script of a play or a movie or a TV show is 'talky' (meaning 'wordy') and therefore uninteresting or unworthy. Take, for instance, the new movie based on the play Doubt, which was considered talky on the stage, but has apparently been 'rescued' by Hollywood - with the addition of some car chase scenes as the Nun played by Meryl Streep, in her Aston-Martin DB 5 hunts down the Priest, as played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, driving his Formula One Ferrari. Now that's dialogue relief. The ironic thing is that half the people in the movie theatre will be texting - i.e., using words (sort of) while viewing the action.
Maybe I'm too sensitive on the subject, since recently, I have become the 5 Billionth blogger in the blog-o-world. But I'm keenly aware that my ramblings must seem like La Recherche Du Temps Perdu compared with Twitter-ers and texters - and most bloggers, for that matter. But as new technology gives us less for more, old technology like the humble newspaper seems destined to join the Rosetta Stone as an object we can appreciate, but wouldn't have in the house. Newspapers have tried to save themselves by putting their content on the web, but reading a story or an article on some I-Thing just isn't the same. I mean, isn't a relief to have a dirty great huge, full-page underwear ad on the page opposite some horrific story you just read about a cholera epidemic in Zimbabwe? The same experience on a Blackberry? No can do.
Yet I'm content to let the universe unfold as it should. Thoughtful commentary and information is still widely available to those who seek it out and the current trend of reducing language to grunts and words-without-vowels will eventually lose it's cache. It's just that, as technology is making the world a lot less mysterious than it used to be, it seems to me that it's making it's inhabitants a lot less interesting.
Well, all I'm interested in at the moment is the kettle coming to a boil at last, because somewhere in this less-interesting world, it's 4 o'clock, and time for a cup of tea.

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DOES ANYONE REMEMBER CARMEN MIRANDA?

Dear Readers,
Finally catching up with last week's Theme Time Radio Hour, 'Fruit'. I believe this is the first time Dylan has featured an entire category of victuals, but it's a sweet mixture, to be sure. Even though Bob's corny humor sometime borders on the overripe, he manages to keep the theme colorful and fresh with his usual mix of eclectic tunes and pips of wisdom and information.
I liked the fact that he included a few evergreens from the 1920's and 30's among his ambrosia of sound. The Memphis Jug Band gets a rare airing with it's 'Peaches In The Springtime', a track that oozes with the joy of making music that seems lost on today's calculating artistes. I don't know much about Sam Montgomery, but his 'Where The Sweet Old Oranges Grow' seems to channel the spirit and sound of Robert Johnson. Who knew that 'W-P-L-J' meant a workingman's drink of white port and lemon juice? I thought it was a defunct New York City Rock N' Roll station. Props to The Four Deuces for setting me straight. The Beatles check in with Strawberry Fields Forever, a record that never fails to impress me with it's genius. And to think those guys were singing 'Yeah, Yeah, Yeah' only 24 months before! The 1930's make another appearance with Crown Prince Waterford's joyful 'Eatin' Watermelon', a song that takes back the pure pleasure of devouring that particular southern fruit from the old-timey racists (who I know for a fact loved it, too). I'll skip lightly over Bob's inclusion of the hoary 'Banana Boat Song (Day-O)' to the finale of Billie Holiday's eerie 'Strange Fruit', which remains one of the most unsettling songs in musical history (after 'Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron', obviously), delivered by Lady 'Day with her unique mixture of accusation and sadness.
Dylan uses the theme to provide lists of desserts and ways of consuming fruit that would put Martha Stewart to shame, but all in all, it's a show that whets one's appetite on many different levels.

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BIG THREE, BIG DEAL

Dear Readers,
I was born and raised in Detroit, so I have very mixed feelings about the trouble the so-called 'Big Three' automakers have gotten themselves into. On the one hand, it was a delicious sight to watch Rick Wagoner, Robert Nardelli, and the other guys squirm as they went hat-in-hand to Congress last week, but on the other, I hate to see working people's jobs in such jeopardy.
The lead-brained CEOs haven't a clue. Much has been said about their first trip to Capitol Hill, taken by each, separately, on corporate private jets, but I thought the second begathon where they got into cars and drove themselves to Washington was an even bigger mistake. In my opinion, if they were trying to look so contrite and desperate, they should have ridden into D.C. on the backs of asses -very symbolic and in keeping with the seasonal theme. But oh no. No such inventiveness from these out-of-touch mendicants.
Still, it was a treat to watch them having to sit and listen to that barrage of hot air from the Congresspeoples. I found it interesting that the 'Big Three' were constantly being referred to as the 'Detroit Three', a change in moniker that puts them on the same level as the Chicago Seven or the Gang Of Four - basically, rogues on trial. Yet the politicians are such huge hypocrites. They have conspired for years to thwart any sensible attempt to raise gas mileage, and are now asserting their right to tell Detroit's knuckleheads how to run a business - and this after they've given away the entire U.S. Treasury to Wall Street. Pity the poor soul who will become Barack Obama's Treasury Secretary, as he will open up the safe and find nothing but cartoon moths flying out.
So, as Citigroup's board of directors continue light up their cigars with $100 bills, auto workers sweat it out, knowing their big bosses are fools, but praying that Congress comes up with the dough to save their jobs. I guess the pols should go ahead and do the deed, but I would suggest a caveat to the plan. What if, as a condition of bailing out the 'Big Three', Congress insisted that every single employee in the auto industry- from top to bottom - got paid the exact same salary until Ford, GM, and Chrysler paid back all the money they 'borrowed' and became profitable again? Let's see if the real-life IQ of the executives might not get bumped up a few points, having to live on a workingman's wage. It might be interesting to see how executives react to the steep learning curve of reality, as luxuries bit the dust, one by one, for the big-shots. I can hear it now, Dear Readers, 'S.B. is a socialist'! No I'm not! I just think a practical lesson is better than this '$1-a-year' jazz, that's all. Besides, I think if the auto executives screw it up anyway, they should all be deported. To Cuba. That's not socialism, now is it?
But, I wish Detroit well, because it's the city that made me what I am today - an under-appreciated blogger. Even though my next car will almost certainly be another Toyota, I want to see the U.S. auto industry survive, as we need more innovations from the people who brought you the Corvair, the Edsel and the K-Car. Party on, Motor City, can't wait to see what you come up with next!
Well, the old kettle is rusty and breaks down a lot (guess who made it?) but it still eventually comes to a boil, which is convenient, as somewhere, it's 4 o'clock, and time for some tea.

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THE BIBLE AND BLACK FRIDAY

EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK OF ST. NICHOLAS

Chapter 7

1. And the two wise men did sayeth to the newcomer: 'third man, how didst thy cometh to be upon this road, late this night, didst thou see and follow the star?' 'No, wise men', spaketh the newcomer, ' I cometh to be here not by any star that thou hast spoken of, but byeth the wayeth of a dream I have had during my nap this very afternoon.' The other two wise men did frown and were skeptical. "But third man, if thou was guided by a vision, how cometh ye to be amongst our progress, this is too much coincidence. Ist thou also a oracle?' 'No', said the stranger, 'but I haveth a sensitive nose, and thy camels hath partaken of too much fiber lately. I did not wish to travel alone and merely followed thy scent.' The first wise man nodded knowingly, 'then I can see thou art a wise man also, as you hath spaken the truth. Pray join us on our journey.'

2. The third wise man nonetheless lookethed troubled. 'Friends, in my dream, I have but seen of what is to come, and it is frightening. Doest thy know of a Friday? Well, as my dream has made me to know, that in times yet to come, it will be known as black.' 'But why?', saideth the first wise man, his camel having again passethed the wind, 'how can a Friday become black? Didst thou partake of too much tahini sauce before napping after lunch?' The third wise man ignored the pong and hangethed his head low. ' I knowest not', he saideth, 'the meaning is lost upon me.'

3. 'My dream', the third wise man did go on, 'was of natural origin, but it's message was unnatural indeed. The journey we three are on will become legend, but it's meaning will falleth into a vast misunderstanding, and our gesture will become an joke - something to do with an exploding cigar'. The other two wise men descended from their beasts and bade the first wise man to continue to relateth his vision of doom. 'Our images', we continued, 'will inspire great folly, as man and woman and child venture forth, in the dead of night, to vast palaces of trade, and will setteth up tents outside these palaces, and hanker to be allowed in, and will gladly giveth up their gold for worldly goods, constructeth in China, of materials yet unknown to us, and they will point to our night's journey, and sayeth that we are to blame.'

4. 'But wise man', saideth the second of the wisest, 'how are we to be blamed, and for what? Are we not guided by the star with a mission of honor and humility?' 'Yes', saideth the third wise man, 'but our humble progress will taketh on a proportion that we shall never be able to understand, let alone accepteth. Thou cannot imagine the scale of it. Tell me, good men, do thou seek the town of Bethlehem to pay visit to a newborn child, and does either of thou happen to be bearing a gift for the one we seek this evening? Well, I got something for him, nicely wrapped it is too, and if thou both hath also brought something , then I fear greatly that mine dream spaketh nothing but the truth.'

5. The other two wise men looked at each other and the first of them spake: 'Well, yes, as a matter of fact we do maketh our way to Bethlehem bearing gifts for the babe, tell me, third wise man, what hast thou got the child? I hope we have not got the same thing. We then would not look all that wise, would we?' 'Pray, tell me what thy has brought first', said the third wise man with a sly smile creeping across his face, 'as I do loveth surprises.'

6. The first wise man then did pull out of his cloak a wrapped parcel. 'Behold, I have purchased the child some socks, as I thought his feet might feeleth the sharp cold of this night.' The second wise man, startled, then drew from beneath his cloak an identical parcel, 'Whoa, for I hath too bought the child socks, as I am sure he hath come upon this world without them.' Then the third wise man did hang his head in dismay. 'Alas, I, too have brought socks for the blessed one we seek. Thus my dream hath become prophesy. We have all bought the same present.'

7. Then the first wise man did sayeth, 'But as we are wise men, we hath bought practical gifts that one must certainly need for the seasonal nature. Yet, we three have all decided identically. How shalt this look? 'Badly', saideth the sorrowful third wise man. 'We must emend this error, lest we look as if we had not given sufficient thought to the gesture.' Then, the second wise man's face took upon it a bright smile. 'Doest thy both recall the roadside market we passed not ten miles previously? And did it not have a sign upon it's closed doors that sayeth it shall become open for a doorbuster special at five of the clock in the morning?' 'Yes, I do recall', saideth the third wise man, 'And doest thy remember the attractive prices advertised?'

8. Thus the three wise men did turn their camels about and headed the ten miles backwards. It was only eleven of the clock in the evening and they had plenty of time to set up camp outside the market and waiteth for the the doors to open at five A.M. Then, having exchanged the socks for new presents, they then could proceed to follow the star back to their intended destination and present the newborn with three different gifts. As they turned their mounts around, the third wise man saideth, 'Alas, mine depressing dream hath now fullfilled it's ring of truth, but it is better that we offer up unique gifts, more attractive than socks, lest we look like asses riding on the backs of camels.'

Thanks to Rev. Jerry Lee Swigger for the scholarly research.

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WAR DECLARED AT THEME TIME

Dear Readers,

Bob came up with a pretty explosive theme this week: War. For once,"Night Time in The Big City" became "Fight Time in The Big City" as Dylan found a 'conflicting' mix of tunes. March along to tracks like "Fightin' In The War With Spain" and "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" for bummer reminders of the folly of conflict. Also included are some songs that weren't exactly 'number one with a bullet', but recall the greatness of somewhat forgotten artists like Joe Tex, The Bailes Brothers and Wilmer Watts & The Lonely Eagles.
What a blast it was to hear again Bob Marley & The Wailers doing 'Buffalo Soldiers' with Dylan filling in the song's backstory. Tom Waits nails the despair of the young soldier in Day After Tomorrow' and the great Freida Payne gives us 'Bring The Boys Back Home', a song that has clearly come back into fashion. Another track from (I kid you not) a rock 'n roll version of 'Othello' has Jerry Lee Lewis musically demanding to 'Let A Soldier Drink'. What must 'The Killer' have looked like in doublet and hose?
Bob keeps up the attack for over 90 minutes (as opposed to the usual 60) but brings the show to a successful outcome with Los Lobos' 'Peace'. Interestingly, he shows considerable modesty by leaving out 'Masters Of War' and 'Talking World War III Blues', but displays his wicked sense of humor by adding in 'The Cold War With You' by Floyd Tillman (Whaaat?).

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RADIO, RADIO

Dear Readers,
Call me old fashioned, but I've always been fascinated with the radio. With so many more listening options these days, the free airwaves still thrive, and like a maiden aunt who you can borrow a twenty off of now and again, we appreciate it being around without having to make a big fuss about it. Yet I am finding it harder and harder to find stuff on the radio that I can actually stand to listen to. The irony of ironies.
Morning radio especially is an American national embarrassment - that is, if embarrassment was still possible in the age of Bush, Bailouts and Britney. I concede that people need to hear something 'peppy' to make bearable the solo, 100-mile auto trip to work each morning, but listening to the juvenile antics of otherwise grown people is disheartening, to say the least. NPR (No Point Radio) at least offers a serious alternative, but they are losing listeners daily, bored into narcoleptic one-car wrecks by the drone of the adenoidal hosts and the endless 'audio reports' about local village water-treatment awareness days in Bolivia. See that Volvo suddenly veering into a guardrail? That's another NPR listener down the drain.
But surely there must be a middle way between programs hosted by the class a**hole and the class nerd. 'Morning Zoo Crew'-type shows are the hardest to listen to. They usually consist of a mouthy duo who crack each other (and their witless sidekicks) up with crude and unfunny comments, make ham-handed prank calls and create lame song parodies. The French seem funny after 5 minutes of listening to that. To hear human beings reduced to hooting, slathering, leering idiotic jerks makes me want to belong to another species altogether.
And it's not so-called 'bad words' or 'taboo topics' that I'm against, either. In fact, I believe there should be no censorship at all (well, maybe I'd ban one topic - any mention, joke, report, speculation or comment by or about the current Governor of Alaska. She's so October!). But using 'off-color' humor on the radio is an art that should only be practiced by a select few, and not allowed for the pond life that dominates morning drive-time.
I used to be a big fan of Howard Stern before he deserted free radio. The fun of his show was testing the limits of what could be said and done over the airwaves, and the frisson of listening to him as he neared the electrified wire of the censor's bleep. I don't know what he does over at Sirius Radio, but I hope he hasn't descended to all-in smut, just because he can. Stern revealed how unique he was by the way he used bawdy humor on the radio to get us to use our minds and free our senses. But the 'morning crews' that pollute radio these days makes the fart the intellectual pinnacle of comedy. What they offer up as free-form, no-holds-barred spontaneous radio is actually a dumb-headed formula. Plus, they are way too loud. And ignorant.
Speaking of loud and ignorant, the other loathsome species on radio is the Right Wing Talkshow Host. These personalities pollute bandwidth from coast to coast with commentary that borders on the insane. I admit that I used to occasionally listen to some of them because - give them credit - it's truly stunning how they can gas on for 2 or 3 hours without even so much as one "err..." or "umm..." or "like". Rich, bloated misanthropes like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity are the worst (or the best, at least at what they do). Yet they reap the rewards of their success not by making people better informed or smarter, but by making them dumber. An underused mind can easily be persuaded by unchallenged argument. Neither host brooks any dissent, and reverts to schoolyard insults when thoughtfully challenged. Therefore, listeners softened up by the inanities in the morning are prime victims for the the fact-free simplicities of the Hannitys in the afternoon. And while the talk show titans live insulated lives of disaster-proof splendor, we get corporate misfeasance and Iraq, wrapped up in a leak-proof American flag. As for the various musical formats that are offered up, they are like your local McDonald's - pretty much the same no matter where you live, and about as nourishing.
Lately, I've been reduced to listening to Bloomberg Radio - especially in these days of financial guacamole. It's interesting to hear all these experts dispassionately report and discuss the machinations of our economy like they're describing the goings on in an ant farm. It gives you sad perspective on how the corporatization and homogenization of radio exercises such deadening control over the American mind.
So am I saying 'don't listen'? Not exactly. Radio - like all corporate media - needs advertising dollars to survive as it is. What if, when you get called by one of the radio ratings surveys, you told them you were listening to the voice of the man inside your head instead of the usual stations? Maybe, after a few months of these responses, programmers would begin to experiment again, trying new things to attempt to find out what all us crazy people really wanted to hear. And maybe, we'd really listen.
I was tuned to BBC Radio 3(on my compooter) as I typed this, which put me in mind of old blighty, and the sight of a stained and battered kettle. Warm up the teapot, Mum, (loose, not bags) because right here it's 4 o'clock and time for some tea.

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IT'S OFFICIAL: LENNON IN HEAVEN

Dear Readers,
Just in case you haven't heard yet, The Vatican has announced that they have forgiven dead ex-living person, John Lennon, for his 1966 remarks about The Beatles being more popular than Jesus. This can only mean that our John has been released from his stay in Hell that has lasted almost 28 years and has quickly been re-assigned to Heaven. Lennon could not be reached for comment but we presume he is well pleased with the new arrangement, as it's hoped that he will now have access to at least one musical instrument, the Harp.
It's not known who originated the idea to forgive, but my sources tell me that Pope 'Eggs' Benedict is a huge Beatle fan and has been following their career since he first saw them in Hamburg in 1961. People close to the situation say that the Pontiff wanted to add a rider to the forgiveness document that would also absolve the group for breaking up in 1970, but that would have caused further discussion and delay and he was keen to get Lennon out of Hell ASAP.
It's believed that this edict will pave the way for further forgiveness orders that are said to be pending for Marilyn Manson, Sinead O'Connor and The Jonas Brothers, but it's certain that they will all have to die first and spend some time in Hades before any official statement can be issued.
Anyway, enjoy the new wings, and 'Imagine there's no Heaven' no longer, Mr. L!

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GUNFIGHT IN DEALEY PLAZA

A Tale Of Fantasy
The big Presidential limousine began to ponderously navigate the sharp turn onto Elm Street towards Dealey Plaza, and from the back seat, John F. Kennedy gave a slight wave to the 25 or so people gathered at the corner. "You can't say Dallas thinks you're a piece of communist crap now, can you Jack", said Marilyn Monroe, also waving at the throng from her spot next to the President. "Yes I can" said JFK , testily, "I know they're really all out to get me." Texas Governor John Connally and his wife, Nellie, sitting in the jump seat in front of the much-more-famous couple, ignored both the remark and the riposte. It had been a long day and they were both tired of Jack and Marilyn, and wished they'd been able to ride in the parade with Vice President Johnson instead.

Standing near the curb, right-wing crackpot Joseph Milteer took his Remington .303 rifle out of his golf bag and aimed at the President. He was fed up with the liberal Kennedys, and finally, here was his chance to do something about it. As the car completed the turn onto Elm, Milteer fired. The shot whizzed past Kennedy's head and lodged in a sapling just to the left of the triple overpass, 500 yards away. JFK turned to his right and saw Milteer beginning to take aim for a second try. The President quickly reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his trusty .357 Magnum, loaded and ready. He squeezed off three quick shots before Milteer could steady his aim. All three rounds struck the aging rightest square in the chest, and he fell limply to the sidewalk. Marilyn cooed "great shooting, Jack, what a President you are!" John and Nellie Connally, at first alarmed by the shots, instead slid quietly to the floor of the limousine, disappointed that Milteer had missed. But they knew there was more to come.

Just behind a tree to the right of the Presidential car as it sped down Elm at 5 miles an hour, Sam Giancana reached into the pant waist of his sharkskin suit and pulled out his revolver. Drawing a bead on the President, he pulled the trigger of the .38 snub nose, but nothing happened. It had misfired. Kennedy, who was still holding his smoldering Magnum, caught a glimpse of Giancana and refocused his aim on the Mafia chieftain and squeezed off a single round. Giancana disappeared in a red haze. Marilyn looked at Jack and said "I used to know him, he was such a nice man. I wonder what made him want to be so mean?" Jack scowled at her and replied, "I should have had Bobby deport him to Cuber with all the rest of those ungrateful rats. Sinatra didn't know the half of it." JFK ordered the limo to a halt and scanned the plaza, looking for more.

A little farther up Elm, businessman Abraham Zapruder was standing on a grassy knoll in Dealey Plaza filming the parade as it approached his position. Seeing Kennedy kill two people in a matter of seconds, he screamed "He's going to kill them all", over and over while still keeping his super-8 camera trained on the carnage. Lying on the ground behind him, E. Howard Hunt of the CIA, had tracked the President's car through the iron sight of his Browning semi-automatic rifle, poking from between Zapruder's shoes. As Kennedy casually blew smoke from the barrel of his .357, Hunt fired. The shot lifted a wisp of blonde hair from Marilyn's coiffure, continued past the car and into a crowd watching the motorcade, killing amateur photographers Mary Moorman and Jean Hill instantly, Hill's just-taken Polaroid photo of the President brandishing his pistol was still grasped in her lifeless hand. It wasn't even dry yet. Hunt's shot had missed it's target because Kennedy had been reaching under his seat for the loaded AK-47 Premier Kruschev had given him as a birthday gift. The President trained and rapid-fired his new weapon in the direction of the prone Hunt, but hit Zapruder instead, sending the hapless filmmaker to the ground. Once he was out of the way, JFK had a clear shot at the panicking Hunt and dispatched him with a sustained burst of fire. "Come On, you bahstards, are there any more of you?", shouted the Commander-In-Chief as he reloaded.

There were. Behind a stockade fence at the back of the grassy knoll, three Cubans with beards and cigars were all aiming US Army surplus M-16's at Kennedy, who was now standing on the top of the back seat triumphantly pointing his weapon skyward, firing off celebratory shots. The President was now an easy target for Castro's men. With military precision, they all fired simultaneously. One bullet grazed the elbow of JFK's suit coat, opening up a quarter-inch tear in the fabric, but the others went wide. Looking in the direction of the fusillade, he yelled at the top of his lungs "Hey! do you know how much this suit cost, you Commies?" Kennedy looked down at Marilyn, re-arranging her hair in a compact mirror, and cried "give me a hand grenade sweethaht, there's one in the map pocket in front of my seat!" When she found it, she looked up and giggled "Is this it? This thing that looks like a little pineapple?", and handed it to him. Kennedy - the AK-47 in one hand and the grenade in the other - pulled the pin out with his teeth and threw it over the fence in among the re-aiming Cubans. The explosion not only disintegrated the trio, but killed five other armed men in the parking lot behind the fence, apparently awaiting their turn at the President. A toothy grin slowly spread across Kennedy's face as he watched the bodies fly up in the air.

Meanwhile, in a window on the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Suppository, just off Dealey Plaza, order clerk Lee Oswald was all alone, munching on a baloney sandwich and watching with horror the carnage unfolding before his eyes. "This has got to stop", he thought to himself. Propped up against the wall next to the window, wrapped up in a blanket, was an old rifle that he had brought to work with him that day and was planning to swap with a co-worker for some new curtain rods. Oswald wondered if maybe he could do something to bring an end to this violent situation. He put aside his sandwich and carefully unwrapped the blanket from around the rifle and checked to see if it was still loaded...

-Anonymous

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THEME TIME LATEST -"BLOOD"

Dear Readers,
Here's the latest graphic I made for Theme Time Radio Hour With Bob Dylan. The subject (November 12) was Blood. Bob's done it again, digging out a great collection of tunes that are definitely thicker than water. No thin sangre here, no sir. If for nothing else, hearing Jerry Lee Lewis singing a tune with lyrics by Shakespeare is worth the price of admission to this iron-rich hour, not to mention one of the best blues songs I've ever heard - Bloodstains On The Wall, by Honeyboy. Plus, recall the days when top 40 music was occasionally fun by digging on Transfusion by Nervous Norvus. Just an outstanding show that includes Bob's Bloody Mary recipe. A bloody good hour of radio, Mr. D!

Go to http://croz.fm/ and follow links till you get to it.

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WHEEZE FROM "THE GEEZE"

Born in the 19th century, still writing and commenting in the 21st, guest columnist Harry L. Geeseberger offers his sage wisdom as he squints at the issues of the day. Yes, dear readers, It's another "Wheeze From The Geeze".

Hello to all telegraph operators and ships at sea!

It's come to my attention that our new President Obama is going to be denied blackberries while serving in the White House...I happen to love blackberries and am sorry the President will miss out on them for the next few years...so tasty they are when they're fresh-picked... Shame!

What's all this balderdash I see on my old DuMont these days...a lizard selling car insurance? I think Geico is going up the wrong alley here...what happens when you have an accident?...Do you file your claim with a cockroach?... That's stuff we used to catch and play with when I was a kid.

I can't believe General Motors is going broke... it's the world's biggest company, but why in the world are they burning a billion dollars a month?...Isn't that illegal?... seems a wasteful practice...must make some blaze...But you know, they haven't been the same since the Corvair fiasco...I bought my Impala new in 1958 and never looked back, I can tell you.

This young gal actress, Nicole Kidman, I think she's had a nose job... I saw a video of "The Hours" just the other day - you know, the one where she plays Virginia Woolf?... Well, the nose she has today is an awful lot smaller than it was in that film...these Hollywood types - never satisfied!

I got a letter from my daughter Mabel the other day...it was in a nice linen wove envelope with very nice postage stamp on it...but she likes to keep up with the times... so she went and left all the vowels out of the words and sometimes used numbers for letters...can't make out a damn thing on it!...Kids today!

Have to laugh about all this faff concerning this so-called financial crisis - banks and investment firms going under and all that...I went to my local bank the other day to pay my electricity bill and withdraw twenty dollars - no problem!...Even picked up a pocket calendar for next year... Easy! I kid you not.

My great-grandson got me a cell phone for my birthday recently... I don't see the point...it's so damn small and the cord that came with it is about two-and-a-half feet long...Plus, every time I try and call someone a flash goes off...my granddaughter pushed a few buttons on it for me the other day and showed me 79 pictures of my ear...Honestly, useless!

I'll tell you a story...I was having dinner at my granddaughter's one evening and they ordered in some sushi...raw, uncooked fish...I just pretended to eat but was secretly putting my raw fish bits into an old soup can I had under my chair and just ate the rice...next day, I took my great-grandson fishing and used the sushi I saved for bait...eventually, I caught a 4-and-a-half pound trout with it and took it home and gave it to my granddaughter...so she cleans it and cooks it!...I just don't understand.

Until next time, my friends. Tell 'em kilroy was here!

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THERE'S GONNA BE HILL TO PAY

Dear Readers,


If memory serves, it was Jennifer Aniston who said " keep your friends close, but keep your enemies in a cabinet or something...err...whatever..." - sound advice from a TV star. Now, it seems, President Obama is considering taking that advice by naming his former rival for the Democratic nomination, Hillary Rodman Clinton, as his Secretary of State in the new administration.
Sounds like a reasonable move, right? Hardly anyone else is as well-known around the globe as Mrs. Clinton and it could be a smooth move to placate her "pantsuit brigade" who Obama has not yet quite won over. While I think she'd do an OK job, she would come into office with a pretty toxic asset - her husband, Bill Clinton.
The 42nd President's reputation took a nosedive during the recent campaign because of his belligerent campaigning style and whispers of shady dealings concerning some of his pet projects, like The William B.J. Clinton Presidential Lieberry & Cigar Parlor.
Contributions from shady zillionaires with dubious international reputations, suspected illegal arms merchants and Michael Jackson impersonators have cast a cloud on the project that would not only house his personal papers, White House files and discarded interns, but would provide an awesome hangout for him and his aging, juvenile, high-flying buddies. How can Hillary do secretary-of-stating with such distractions? Also, Bill's activities during the primary season certainly brought no benefit to her historic campaign. Shenanigans like beating to a pulp reporters asking fluff questions, keying opponents' campaign buses and chronically parking his party-sized stretch limo in handicapped spaces paled in comparison to his infamous leaping up on to the stage at a debate in New Hampshire and placing John Edwards in a painful headlock after a sharp exchange of views with Hillary. How would such antics go down in, say, The Middle East? Whether or not she gets the job, I think she needs to get away from Bill anyway. He's like a spent booster rocket and needs to be jettisoned now that the payload has achieved orbit.
Hillary has baggage, too. During her Presidential campaign, she raised One Trillion Dollars in contributions, yet ended her quest nearly $50,000,000,000 in debt. She showed no knack for management and went through money like a drunken sailor (or a sober Wall Street tycoon) on liberty in Shanghai. She spent it like water - in fact, she spent an incredible $360 million ON water! (The Poland Springs plant in Bangor, Maine was on three shifts from July, 2007 through June, 2008 just to supply her account). The stories of other excesses are the stuff of legend, like color co-ordinated pantsuits with real strings of pearls bought new every day for each of the 105,000 women and men on her staff (it makes Sarah Palin's measly $150,000 department store raid look like a quick trip to Family Dollar). This buying spree was finally brought to a halt in late April by cash flow and credit problems and by chief aide Harold Ickes' absolute refusal to wear mis-matched earrings and pumps. Then there was the disastrous scheme of giving $1,500,000 New York City apartments to contributors who donated up to the legal maximum limit of $2,300. It's fortunate for this country that Mr. Obama is not considering her for Treasury Secretary.
The upside is that Mrs. Clinton is a known quantity and her husband's squalid doings are really not surprising anymore. Also, the two of them would suck up an awful lot of tabloid ink that might be used to investigate other cabinet members. Team Obama has asked all prospective cabinet members to fill out a 63-question disclosure form in order to expose any potential vulnerabilities or scandals that might damage the image of the new administration. I hear that the Clintons have been provided with a special form that has 2,845 questions - plus an essay - which considering how complicated their affairs are, should take about four years to fill out. Smart guy, Obama.
Even in Washington, D.C., the laws of physics apply and the kettle at Foggy Bottom should be reaching boiling point right about now. Because somewhere, it's 4 o'clock, and time for some tea.

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QUIZ MIXUP - AN APOLOGY

Dear Readers,
It has come to my attention that last Thursday's post, called Best Beatle Trivia Quiz, had a slew of incorrect information. Now, All I've Got To Do is to make good this mistake by either giving the test over again or admit that I was a Bad Boy. I Should Have Known Better than to create a quiz about The Beatles, as never In My Life have I created one before. If you Ask Me Why I did it, I don't know, because sometimes, blogging - well, It's All Too Much. So get your pencils ready again, 'cause here are the correct answers:

1. Yes, but only on alternate Tuesdays, with a repaired Lutheran.
2. It was a maraca, not what her cousin said it was.
3. In 1966, surrounded by John Glenn, 5 pairs of antlers and little regard.
4. The trouser press, not the Savoy Theatre, landed in the silo full of custard.
5. The cost was $875 worth of mufflers and hidden in a group of choristers.
6. It fell three stories and became the year's must-have butter.
7. Judy Garland, but only the top half.
8. They all thought it was real, but only when their hats were on.
9. Hardly. After Luxembourg?
10. The police and his grandmother, but some thought it was purple.

Getting Better for you? I made sure to check Every Little Thing this time, so Don't Bother Me any longer about it. I can honestly say that I Feel Fine about this palliative post and is it all worthwhile? Yes It Is.

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LATEST THEME TIME DESIGN

Dear Readers,
Just wanted to show you my latest CD case design for my 'Theme Time Radio Hour' series. It was a bit tricky, this theme, but I decided on the old acorn-oak-toothpick wheeze. (I gave ol' Bob a toothpick, for those with lo-res screens) It was another great show. TTRH is the one radio show I would take to a desert island, if I was going to one, which I'm not.
If you're feeling a bit low, please omit listening to Richard Thompson's The End Of The Rainbow'. It's so gloomy, it makes Eve Of Destruction sound like a song from PBS' 'Barney'. Even with the hokey humor and fake fone calls, Bob's show is @#$%! brilliant.

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CHARLIE DON'T SURF

Dear Readers,

Today is the 60th birthday of British King-In-Waiting, Prince Charles. The Prince is in the unenviable position of needing a close relative - namely, his Mother - to die before getting a job. And at sixty, he's getting a bit old to be a first-time King.

At 82, Queen Elizabeth II is showing no signs of slowing down. Her busy public schedule of opening shopping centers and looking at other people at work is augmented by her leisure pursuits, like bingo and running over peasants in her Range Rover. Still hale and hearty, she regularly beats Charles in their weekly handball match.

While he waits, the Prince must sometimes look back at a life of frustrations and missed opportunities. But whatever you say about him, he's a survivor. The challenges began almost as soon as he was conceived. The Queen, far too busy with her Royal appointment book, had the fertilized egg which would eventually become her eldest son transferred to one of her ladies-in-waiting for gestation. For the first year of his life, Charles never saw his parents due to their constant touring and had to be suckled by one of the family's Corgis. As a toddler, he began to explore his palatial home, Buckingham Palace, and soon, he became lost and was not seen by anyone for nearly two years. He wandered through the 4,276 rooms of the Palace un-missed and unnoticed, surviving on a diet of wallpaper paste and lead paint chips.

As a boy, his father, Prince Philip, thought he needed some 'toughening up'(as he put it) and had the 5-year old heir parachuted from an RAF jet fighter onto the ice at McMurdo Sound, Antarctica, and told to find his own way back home. Finally reaching London again in 1960, he was immediately packed off to a boarding school in Tasmania, well-known for it's cruelty to humans.

Graduating in 1969 with qualifications in science, mathematics and cannibalism, he returned to the United Kingdom well prepared to take up his non-duties as Prince Of Wales. But even then, he was to be denied. The Queen, who hadn't seen Charles in years, mistakenly crowned comedian Benny Hill as Prince at the investiture ceremony at Caernarvon Castle in Wales. Hill officially held onto the post until his death in 1992, when the mistake was corrected and Charles resumed his rightful place in the line of succession.

Once he achieved adulthood, the Prince was one of the most eligible bachelors in the world along with Prince Albert of Monaco, Truman Capote and pop star, Prince. In the end, Charles chose to marry Princess Diana, who charmed him by blowing chunks all over his ceremonial uniform at their first meeting. Their marriage at St.Paul's Cathedral was seen by hundreds all over the world and featured Elton John singing a very creepy version of Candle In The Wind at the couple's reception at the Dog And Duck pub in Bermondsey. It wasn't a successful marriage, but did produce two sons, Ronnie and Reg, (who looked remarkably like the postman). People claimed that Charles was cold and uncaring to his bride, but after Diana's death in a Paris car crash, Charles immediately flew to France and made arrangements to have her wrecked BMW fully repaired and restored. His equerry still drives it to this day.

Alone again, the Prince set out to look for a new wife. He is thought to have wooed a very long list of women, including Margaret Thatcher, Barbara Bush, Mother Teresa and Dame Edna Everage, but found them either unavailable or uninterested. Desperate, he found a loophole in British common law that allowed the Prince to have an old drinking buddy of his, Freddy Parker-Bowels, drawn, quartered and hung. Charles then immediately married the widow, Carmella.

Today, The Prince is said to be at peace with the world, while not quite up on it. For example, as a Royal, you have all kinds of people to do things for you, like shopping, going to the toilet and answering telephones. As a result, Charles knows very little about technology in the 21st century. One of his main problems is that he mixes up cell phones and television sets. He is frequently seen at gala balls carrying a 42" LG flat-screen TV, complaining to anyone in earshot what a nuisance having a mobile phone is. Don't even ask about computers or the Internet.

But his worst dilemma still remains the succession. He desperately wants to be King and to finally fulfill his destiny. Time is running out for Charles to be enthroned while still continent, but the Queen is said to have promised him she will die just as soon as she can.

Well, even at the Palace, they must take time from their busy schedules for a brew-up, and I think I can hear all 1,327 Royal timepieces sounding 4 o'clock, and teatime!

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