Penalty: Delay of game

I've shuffled my life's problems into two separate packages: those I can make some effort, however feeble, to control and those I can identify but not influence.  The latter include global environmental regulations that are necessary to make human life on our planet sustainable, the behavior of political officials to act responsibly for the best interests of their constituency,  and making the trains and buses of Portland's Tri-Met operations run on time. 

The former category includes maintenance of my mental and physical health, the nurturing of my relationship with friends and relatives and the pursuit of satisfying activities to fill hours not spent sleeping.  Television and reading are active players  in this last life-plan.

I just just turned off the lights and left the stadium seat in my living room where I was watching a football game. It was mid-way through the 3rd quarter with the LA Rams 9 -- SF 49ers 21.  I declare the season over.  Advertising fatigue wins.  I get it. The Covid-19 virus has shut down live fan viewing in the nation's NFL stadiums with a consequent loss of millions in ticket sales so to support the operation TV advertising has to carry the load. Sorry, coach, I can't play this game.

Rams run three plays, don't make ten yards, punt.  Here come the commercials, one after another. Back to live action. Niners make a first down, then run three plays and punt. The commercial train is back. Rams run two series, punt. Car ads. Pills for joint pain. Cute kids throwing food around. On and on.

I can't do it.  There is no game flow.  Just a tsunami of repeating commercials that have nothing to do with entertainment.  Hello, Netflix.

Hey, Joe and Kamala, after you solve global warming, dead economy, racial strife and the Covid 19 epidemic,  let those people in America who have enough money left to buy a ticket find their seats in a stadium so TV can look in with their advertising share of the action adjusted back to normal. And find some way to outlaw teams using the prevent defense.

Who Said That?

 Who doesn't admire a line of words that stick in your mind and magically recreate a dramatic scene or sequence of scenes that never get out of date?  Secure in a timeless vault in your mind.  This came to me when I saw Jaws on Turner Classic Movies and, of course, that classic line, "You're going to need a bigger boat."  I did some research on how the line got into the movie and turned up a delightful vignette. 

Stephen Spielberg was a little known director when he took on the troubled production of the movie jaws in 1974. It was his third movie as a director.  The producers rented a huge barge to hold all the camera gear and props used in the filming that was all on water (the crew named the barge SS Garbage Sale). The cost-cutting producers hired a small boat to push the barge around and it was inadequate for the job.  Everyone picked up the phrase, "You're going to need a bigger boat." and it was used on the set when anything went wrong from breakdown of equipment to late food delivery.

In the movie after the first sighting of the shark, the Brody character ad-libbed the crew's line, "You're going to need a bigger boat" and they kept the line in the movie.

Other great lines came to mind. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn " was Clark Gable's Rhett Butler's reply to his manipulative wife, Vivian Leigh's Scarlett O'Hara's pleading, "What's to become of me?" in the 1939 movie, Gone With The Wind.  The curse word, "damn" in a movie shocked the nation but became a movie classic.

Whose heart doesn't beat a little faster upon hearing Humphrey Bogart say to the gorgeous Lauren Bacall in the 1943 Casablanca, "Here's looking at you, kid?"

Listen to Don Vito Corleone in the 1972 movie, The Godfather: "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse."

Bette Davis in 1950's All About Eve: "Buckle your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night."  

There are so many more from wonderful flicks: Dr. Strangelove. Taxi Driver. Wizard of Oz. On The Waterfront.  Sunset Boulevard.                                      Name your favorites.

Trick or Trick

 Scroll back to October 31, 1943. Halloween night.  It doesn't require a Sherlock Holmes to discern that the 5-pack of Goblins crossing the Redwood Highway just west of Art Schneider's machine shop is up to no good. The Frame brothers, Harry and Bob.  The Wardrip brothers, Lee and Bob.  And Billy Landers.  Heading to their first strike.

Harry and Lee were the same age, 15, two years older than the Bobs and me (Billy).  The Frame family had recently moved to Jerome Prairie but the Frame brothers had known the Wardrip brothers from some years back when they all lived in the same community. So any friends of my friends were friends of mine. Harry in particular was a good friend to have because he was a big kid who carried a certain swagger that suggested messing with him might be your least best option.

Bob Wardrip told me at school that morning that there was a plan for the five of us to do some Halloween business that night so I met up with them after telling my parents I was going trick or treating with Bob and Lee.  At the Frame home I learned Harry and Bob had no interest in treating but they showed real enthusiasm for tricking.  Their first target was their uncle who lived next door to Art Schneider's machine shop.  They were not fond of their uncle and the plan was to tip over his outdoor privy.

The object of our disaffection was not a single traditional outhouse.  It was, insted, a toilet hole in the ground that the uncle had surrounded with large packing boxes stacked two high with an opening on the side  to a jerry-rigged seat board. The raiding party looped around through the field in back of the house and approached the strange structure.  Harry instructed us to surround the boxes and on his signal push everything over and in.

Like many best laid plans, this one had flaws. At Harry's signal boxes started going every which way and I felt a push to my back that sent me spiraling into the hole as a box hit me on my head driving me down. The loud banging of the structure coming down triggered a big yard light to go on and a furious uncle came out the back door of the house screaming ugly words at the fleeing raiders. The box that hit my head covered me up and I just hunkered down with my heart racing in its attempt to leave my chest.  Uncle stomped around, still cursing and after awhile returned to the house.  I feared he might return as I fought my way out from under the box and crawled out of the hole.

My shoes had paid the price of trespassing in troubled waters and I lit out for home where I pondered the deep conundrum, in the final accounting, who is the trickster and who is the trickee? 

Skin, It Keeps Our Insides In

 James Hamblin stopped taking showers five years ago. And he didn't keep it a secret (maybe he didn't have to, ha, ha). No, listen, James is a serious dermatologist who studies skin and has written a best-selling book about what he believes is true regarding our largest organ: our skin. The book is CLEAN (Riverhead Books).

Hamblin believes we are all nuts to be making a ritual of daily scrubbing off the precious bodily fluids our bodies are courageously producing for us to protect our remarkable outer wrapping.  And if you're a fan of long words that are hard to pronounce, Hamblin has a seemingly endless supply as he instructs us about the composition of human skin.  He tells us a lot about our skin that we probably could get along fine without knowing.  Such as mites in our face.

Yes, Susan, your face is a veritable zoo of various microscopic organisms that includes mites who burrow into your pores and feast on your past-their-shelf-life skin flakes. What would we do without those little rascals in there eating for us 24/7?

James has a light writing style that deals with a lot of complex science in a truly easy to understand flow.  Early on he removes an elephant in the room regarding personal hygiene: it is OK, he tells us, to take soap and water to what he refers to as the "bits"-- that is, under arms, groin and feet. Thanks for that, James.

It's a good read that will give you a great supply of material to brighten your conversation vault.  Keep a watch to see if there is a reduction in your water bill.

Scrambled Eggs

This place where I live feeds a lot of people every day. One breakfast option is to go through a free bar for coffee, bagels, muffins, oatmeal, or scrambled eggs.  I say to the guy in charge of breakfast production, You must spend a lot of time breaking eggs every day.  No, I'm told,  egg breaking time is a matter of a few minutes.  There's this big blender that liquefies a couple dozen eggs, shells and all, after which they strain out the shells and bring the heat. 

I'll bet you didn't know that.  I'm sticking with poached.

Smoke

 smoke (smok) n A suspension of particles in a gaseous medium.  Like when the place where you live is in flames day after day and the resulting gaseous medium is the only option you have for continuing an exercise essential to staying alive: breathing.

Somewhere along humanity's march to future adventures, smoke became associated with, among other things, romance: 

"I dim all the lights and I sink in my chair, the smoke from my cigarette climbs through the air, the walls of my room fade away in the gloom and I'm deep in a dream of you.  The smoke makes a stairway for you to descend. You come to my arms, may this dream never end..."

Or:

"They, asked me how I knew, my true love was true? I of course replied, something deep inside cannot be denied...Now, laughing friends deride, tears I cannot hide, I just smile and say, when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes."

If not romance-connected, it can be a dire warning:

 "Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette. Keep on smoking 'til you smoke yourself to death.  Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate that you hate to make him wait but you've got to have another cigarette."

If you are the platoon leader making an assault on an enemy emplacement you call on a smokescreen to hide your advance.

If you are a Chicago gang member you  hide in an alley waiting to smoke a member of a rival gang.

Pick-up line at meet market: "My friends over there wanted me to come tell you they think you're smokin'.

Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em (disambiguation).  Slang for "Do what you want if you've got the means." Origin: World War II overseas officer telling his troops,  "Smoke 'em if you got 'em" (cigarettes were hard to get) meant take a break.

If you are an elderly Pilgrim staring out your Russellville apartment window, day after day, at the dim outline of a tree that is all of ten yards away, hoping it will not explode into flames, then you acknowledge this is atonement for some long ago indiscretion.

There were, indeed,  many trespasses and now so little time to seek forgiveness.  Send more smoke. 

Sing, Sing, Sing

Who doesn't like mob singing?  From "Happy Birthday to You" to "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" there is something feel-good about joining others in a united, harmonious expression of shared goodfellowship pretending our off-key creation is akin to the magic of an angel choir.  My bad notes take cover in my neighbor's true pitch.

Few probably remember sitting in a movie theatre just before the main feature and following the bouncing ball as the words scroll across the screen.."sweeeet Car o line..."  Hey, it was more fun than watching commercials for the snack bar.

Churches offer opportunities for lovers of group vocalizing, but those writers of hymns who had been spiritually moved to please the Heavenly Host with the fervor of their lyrics never seemed to know when to still their quill and give the organist a break.  It's not irreligious to admit that going into the 14th verse of "Onward Christian Soldiers" causes the most devout members of the flock to clutch the pew in front of them for support.

One of life's small but intense pleasures is watching my Ducks play football in Autzen Stadium and no matter whether my favorite lads are ahead or behind as the third quarter ends,  I'm going to be jacked-up when Otis Day & the Knights appears on the Jumbo screen and crash into "SHOUT."  Listen to 40 or 50 thousand partially sober fans give Otis thundering backup.  Spine chilling. Sometimes the officials will delay the start of the fourth to let Otis and his gang finish.

Ever been to a Cubs game in the seventh inning?  "Take me out to the ball game, take me out in the crowd, buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don't care if I never get back..."

OK, everybody,  grab your mouse and join me on three...one, two three:

"You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine,(see the little ball bouncing) you make me happy when skies are grey, you'll never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my Sunshine away."