I’m a big Yankee fan. I couldn’t watch them last night. Not on in my neighborhood, so I was looking forward to watching them tonight.
As always I looked around for my backup channel, to switch to while the commercials were on. That finished my Yankees watching for a couple hours, for there on PBS was the concert at the White House to honor Paul McCartney with the Gershwin award.
I was transfixed. Couldn’t look away.
First, as the Obamas walked in, I felt pride. I was so glad they were in the White House. I haven’t always cheered everything my President has done, but I couldn’t help but feel better about where my country is, despite the raft of tragedies and seemingly insurmountable problems facing it.
Then they introduced Paul McCartney. Sir Paul (an honor I’d never cared about before) and an eclectic variety of performers from Faith Hill to Elvis Costello and some I’d never heard of including a classical pianist each of whom took turns providing their renditions of McCartney tunes after an opening song by Paul of “Got To Get You Into My Life”.
Elvis played “Penny Lane”. Faith Hill sang “The Long And Winding Road” during which Paul could be seen nodding and smiling.
Somewhere in there it occurred to me that Beatles songs, McCartney songs, singing them in the car, listening to them on the record player and the radio, were like Dr Seuss books had been to me probably 6 or 8 years earlier. Something wonderful that would pop up to add a little joy and wonder to my life while I was growing up.
Its cliche’ now to say that Paul McCartney’s songs were the soundtrack of my life, but its true. So many songs. So often they can bring me back to a special and particular time in my life. Its strange to say but Paul reminds me of me. Never more pointedly than New Years Eve 1969 when I lay there in bed when the countdown to #1 (NUMBER 1,! number 1!) was playing on the radio and I had a reel to reel tape deck ready to record “good songs” for my brother, as the DJ played his way down the list. I was surprised my brother trusted me with, not the tape deck which probably was my sister’s, but with the choices. I knew when I thought about it, which song would be number one. And it was, and I recorded “Hey Jude”. Who knows where the tape is now. Tom has probably long forgotten that night, but I remember it.
So as I watched Paul McCartney, Sir Paul, playing “Hey Jude” for the first family, I realized that Paul McCartney’s time, was my time.
Here are the facts as presented by NPR. If you want a more detailed commentary, check out our upcoming show on Stienbrenner and Bob Sheppard on Countless Screaming Argonauts.
So Bruce says come up to my cousin’s lake outside of Smithville Flats. We’ll have some brewskies and fish. Sounds like fun so I say “yeah”.
And I’m thinkin’ “I wonder if its the same small private lake that that woman from work had a trailer on, and we all went to that party oh about 25 years ago. Lots of ponds in that area. What are the odds?
Sure enough, Katie Benton who was going out with Ralph the bartender at “The Pub” is Bruce’s cousin. We Katie would always go see Ralph after our 2nd shift shift and most of the people who worked at Universal Instruments would go along for beer.
So I see Katie, who always had a laugh. Looks exactly the same as she did 25 years ago and Bruce who I worked with for 10 years and shared a cube with for 3, in the same place at the same time.
Time tripping.
Looking at Katie was like being back in 1985. Then I turned my head and there was Bruce and today. It was just weird.
Here's me from Friday. Last time I was there I think I didn't catch any fish. But I could be wrong since it was a HUNDRED YEARS AGO! Just wierd.
My mind was just rolling through memories of my grade school class. Dunno why. Maybe its because things haven’t worked out quite the way I imagined. Or maybe I’m wondering what they’re doing now.
Susie Weiller. I had a crush on a different girl, pretty much through my whole grade school daze. Now I’m not even sure how to spell her name. Theresa Kuracina I think. Wow. I just remember always being in her thrall. Her mom lived with the nuns. She was therefore favored by the nuns. But as I recall. Rightfully so.
I always considered myself one of the smart kids in the class. I guess that’s what started me down this wayward path. That and Facebook. I met someone in that goddam Facebook from my grade school class who I never really imagined as a big success. Who is now, a big success. Sorry. My bad.
Now don’t get me wrong, world, this isn’t about vanity. I’m fully aware of my flaws, my lack of intelligence. And I’ve known for years that there is something more important than raw processing power, even raw storage capacity, in making someone a success. I just always figured I would be somewhere else in my life when I was looking ahead in those days. There’s a line in the Desiderata about not comparing yourself to others that I didn’t know then. Its good advice.
However I can’t help remembering. I can’t imagine remembering all the kids from my 8th grade class at Blessed Sacrament School, but I wonder what some of them are doing.
Like Theresa Kuracina. Stunned crush. I remember the day, that John Kozell asked her out. It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone ask anyone out on a date. I was crushed, but just a little bit. John was alpha male. No doubt. And a really good guy. Easily the best athlete in the class, I think a year older than I was. Something about a water skiing accident. I remember a story about a cow bone. Supposedly John had a cow bone in his leg. I still can’t remember who told me that. That can’t be true. Can it? Can John Kozell have really had his shattered leg replaced by a cow bone? Could he have had that and still been “the fastest kid in the class”?
What I do know is that when we boys played Hill-Dill (from Hill and Dale I guess) on the school parking lot, John was invariably the last one caught. I was usually the first. I was pretty smart. But I was definitely the runt of the litter in my grade school class. John was the best athlete by far.
But I wasn’t the shortest. Rick Scott was. And Rick was probably the richest. His dad was actually a banker. Rick looked like “Little Ricky”. Rick and I were rivals. Or maybe I just imagined we were. I remember Rick could sing, but sometimes in music class, I would get the solo. I remember being picked to sing the lead in “Joshua fought the battle of Jericho” and being surprised when the nun picked me instead of Rick Scott. Rick was handsome. Rick was rich. I remember our class debate in 1968. I don’t remember who Rick went up against. I do remember that Rick supported Richard Nixon. And he demolished whoever it was he was debating. I remember “Instead of a chicken in every pot my opponent would have a little pot in every chicken”. Great line.
I know its petty, but I’ve always taken a little satisfaction in Rick having supported Nixon. And him having to stand in the front of the line, two places ahead of me, when they lined us up by height.
I never liked my place in line and the nuns were always lining us up. I was either 3rd from the front, by height, or way in the back by alphabet. I always wanted to be in the back of the line with John McKercher and Mike Donovan when they lined us up by height.
Its funny what you remember. I remember John McKercher trying to trip me when I was on crutches after a year and a half of being home in bed. He went from someone I remembered fondly, to not so fondly. Probably was jealous of all the attention I got when I came back to school. John was always the second tallest kid in the class.
Mike Donovan was the tallest. And the smartest. I remember him winning a spaghetti supper from Father Toomey by getting some number of 100′s on his final tests. I think it was four 100′s! Mike was the smartest kid in the class, but Theresa Kuracina was a close second.
Ah Theresa Kuracina. She was merely perfect. I wonder what she was doing now. I wonder if all the boys had a crush on her. I know John Kozell did. I know I did. Of course I had a crush on Sister Janet too. They were both about equally unobtainable in my mind. Equally pure. Equally smart. Equally beautiful.
As I was tossing back and forth not sleeping, thinking about things long ago and wondering why I remember what I remember, my mind went back to Susie Weiller and just how stupid a young boy can be.
One of the strange things that I remember was square dancing with Susie Weiller. Suzie was the shortest girl in the class. Cute as a button, poor Suzie always stood at the front of the line of girls when the nuns lined us up. She always stood next to Rick Scott.
The nuns figured, I guess, that we should start being interested in the opposite sex in 8th grade and slow dancing was out of the question, so they had us square dance. At that time I would never have told anyone that my father was a square dance caller. I’m proud of it now, but this was 1968, Rick Scott was talking about Nixon and I was listening to Rock and Roll!
But that day, or those days, I don’t even remember how many times we went square dancing in the basement of the church, that day when we got to touch the girls, as long as we didn’t get too close, what I remember was Susie Weiller hooking elbows with me in the square dance. Susie tilted her head back and laughed with delight as we spun. I’ll never forget the sound of her laughter.
As I sit here alone at 4 a.m. 40 years later, I don’t remember when it first dawned on me that there was another girl in the world besides Theresa Kuracina, but I remember it was Susie Weiller.
US Supreme Court:
Santa Clara County v. Southern Pacific Railroad Co
118 U.S. 394 (1886), argued 26–29 Jan. 1886, decided 10 May 1886 by vote of 9 to 0; Harlan for the Court. This was one of the legion of cases involving railroads and government agencies (at every level) that inundated the courts in the late nineteenth century. The State of California and certain affected counties sought to collect taxes that they claimed were owed by both the Southern Pacific and Central Pacific railroads. Argument focused almost entirely on whether the taxes were barred by the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.
The U.S. Supreme Court did not address the constitutional issues posed by counsel. Instead, it based its ruling on a narrower issue: whether the fences on the railroads’ property should have been assessed by either county or state taxing authorities. Justice John Marshall Harlan held that such fences could not be taxed as property subject to taxation under California statute; the Court’s ruling upheld that of the California court.
Despite the Court’s narrow holding, the case was not without constitutional consequence. In an unusual preface, entered before argument, Chief Justice Morrison R. Waite observed that the Court would not consider the question “whether the provision in the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution which forbade a state to deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the Constitution, applied to these corporations. We are all of the opinion that it does” (p. 396). It followed that corporations enjoyed the same rights under the Fourteenth Amendment as did natural persons.
See also Due Process, Substantive; Private Corporation Charters.
Yesterday’s U.S. Supreme Court ruling in “Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission” means that what was left of a government “of the people, by the people, for the people” shall perish from the Earth.
In “Santa Clara County v. Southern Pacific Railroad, 118 U.S. 394, 396 (1886)” (see below) … it was established that a corporation had legal standing in the same manner as a human.
Now, infinite corporations, and I mean corporations that can theoretically live forever can spend limitless money in defense of what they want.
Corporations are not people.
We need an immediate Constitutional Amendment that merely states that only humans may contribute to political campaigns or spend money advocating on behalf of political candidates.
Its that simple. Corporations have too much power now. Government is for the people.
["The court does not wish to hear argument on the question of whether the provision in the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution, which forbids a state to deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws, applies to these corporations. We are all of the opinion that it does." (Chief Justice Waite in Santa Clara County v. Southern Pacific Railroad, 118 U.S. 394, 396 (1886))]
This is the most shameless bit of “journalism” that I have ever seen.
I am truly shocked at what used to be a good journalist. But this is really actually shocking. Disturbing. Unprofessional. Shame shame on Fox news for hiring this clown. Yes I said clown. And shame on anyone who imagines impartiality or real journalism at this station.
My religion is better than yours? Are you fucking kidding me?
A friend of mine said the other day, that things happen for a reason. I wouldn’t care to speculate on why I got run over. I think its just bullshit. I believe in coincidence.
Anyway. Imagine me young. Thin. Sitting on the wooden steps in front of the house the 5 of us were renting. Its the kind of upstate New York humid hot summer day that makes you not want to lay your hands at your sides, especially if you’re not wearing a shirt. Wagner came out and sat with me. Me, waiting to get dressed to go to my new job as a cook. He just being social sat next to me.
My 1970 Mustang rolled down the gravel driveway. Backwards. You need to understand that it had sat there, next to the house all night. There was no one in it. It was in gear, in first, not running. Listen to a car on gravel sometime. It makes a crunching sound.
“Don’t get behind it” says Wagner casually.
But I do because I’ve pushed cars for years. I’ve pushed a lot of cars. Bigger cars. Up hill.
Oh yeah. Did I mention that the driveway fell away steeply as you backed down it. Backed down like the Mustang was doing on its own? I think I failed to mention the campground. Yes. We were out in the country. Big yard. Deer in the back. And children playing down the hill across the road in the campground below.
I got behind the car to push. Wagner took the door handle.
I slipped in the gravel.
Did I mention the sound of gravel? Well picture yourself laying in it, looking at the rear tire, rolling backwards toward your head. Imagine it. I still can. I had the time to tell myself that this was the way that I was going to die.
The tire ran over my head. Did I ever mention the hard head stories? Another car. Mom’s lap. The steel dash with the clock, now and forever at 3:23?
My hard head survived the gravel. And the rubber. But the car had broken my shoulder. I knew the front tire meant real death. The weight of the car was all up front. I tried to roll out of the way, but the car kept slowly turning. Turning toward me. I on my back. Tread marks swelling on my face. My shoulder blade broken vertically. I put my foot on the side of the Mustang pushed and almost got away. The front tire down bearing down on that same hard head really scaring me. If my shoulder hadn’t been broken I probably could have rolled out of the way. But the rocker panel caught me at my hip, and just rolled me up like a jellyroll. Turning and pushing the car rolled me till we both stopped on the rosebush. The car on top, in the ditch in front of the house, then me, then the rosebush. Did I mention no shirt?
My feet were sticking out from under the side of the car. My head was between my knees. My 1970 Mustang sitting on my ass. But the good news was we had stopped.
Wagner got the guys. Five bedrooms. Five guys. The four of them pushed the car up hill from the ditch and off from me so that I could get out. I was grateful.
I’d forgotten the heat. Never noticed the rosebush. They pushed the car off from me, just a bit, which was good. But they didn’t know it. Not so good. They decided it wouldn’t work and let the car back down. That was disappointing.
I don’t yell a lot. I yelled.
They tried again. Success. Three pushed the car. One pulled me.
We didn’t know my shoulder was broken. We didn’t know my back was broken in four places. But they could see the imprint from the right rear Firestone, so they drove me to town. The nurse just crooked her finger when she saw me.
I think the whole thing was coincidence. What could be the reason for such an adventure? Like I said. Its all bullshit.
There was this cute girl who worked at the hospital though. But that’s another story.
—-
I always knew that someday I’d write this story. Sage Tyrtle of Qn was looking for 3 minute stories. So I set this one down on paper. I always knew I’d write it. But it still raises my blood pressure. It took me 30 years to write it as a 3 minutes story. I tried to take a writer’s view and put it in a broader context. And yes. Its true.
I’m still not completely convicted of the need for twitter. I tweet. I read tweets. No less an internet hero than Mur Lafferty was the first person I’d heard of who promoted twitter. Mur is also the best twitterer for style at least.
But I’m not sure that I’m that interesting. I’m not even sure you’re that interesting.
Still I’m going to continue to tweet. Gotta keep up with the kids I guess …
I’ve just totalled my 2002 Mustang. I’m expecting somewhere between $2500 and $6500 in inusrance payments. I have no idea which they’re going to offer.
I like to drive the country roads and I sometimes go off road in search of birdwatching opportunities and fishing opportunities – so the Mustang (Did I ever mention I called her “Sally”?) was not the ideal car. But I loved her. [I think some women thought it was a cool car too!]
But now I’m serious. I want great mileage, off road capabilities [I don't need a hummer - well ok - I don't need a Humm Vee. Just a car that won't bottom out on dirt roads], real sleek looks all in a used car for around $2500. Am I asking too much?
So, not only is dear ole dad struggling and dear little sis having troubles and they are having troubles – so that I miss most of Monday and all of Tuesday from work, but I get to work Wednesday, with no clue that would be my last day of work last week.
I go to the Mac Users Group meeting 20 miles up the interstate, with a McD’s fish sammich in my gut and some learning to do. On the way home, I’m still hungry – I don’t do the “meal” at these places because of the fat in the fries. So I’m hungry. Go to Wendy’s get a drink and a dollar double stack, pickles, mustard, catchup. And I hear this song. A song from WAY way back. A song I used to have on a 45 rpm single [no mustard or pickles]. So Roger Miller is singing away and I’m remembering the words. After the song I turn off the radio and sing to myself. I want to remember the words.
I try a low key. I try a high key. Its actually a song with quite a range. Third time’s the charm and I’m singing away following the speed limit on Rt 88 far too poor to dare go fast, I have fines to pay.
And there she is. And she is perfectly in the middle of my lane. Perfectly perpendicular to my direction. And its a long sweeping curve so my headlights don’t hit the 400 pound doe till just before I’m going to. And she’s not moving.
Its hard to know for sure if I was trying to save her, or trying to save myself by not having her land in my lap, but if I’d kept going straight the front of my low car would have passed right between front and back legs.
So I yank the car left into the passenger lane, but at 65 mph I go right across it, so I yank the car right and it starts to slide sideways. Again I’m not sure if it wouldn’t go back left, after all it was skidding sideways, the sound was like the movies, or if it just went left too slowly but I pretty much go headlong into the guard rail.
Up here in NY some guard rails are just three cables held by steel posts. This was one of them. It caught, I think, the right front corner, and the front center, then the front left where it ripped off the left front corner of the car. The Mustang then pinwheeled down the guardrail and ended up with the back of the car on the same guardrail. Now the nose is sticking out onto the right hand lane and a car has pulled up behind me to see if I’m alright. I drive off the guardrail and stop on the shoulder. I don’t see fire but I want out. Using my good right leg I push the driver’s door open and get out onto the shoulder. My knees wobbley and my back spasming, I call 911.
Ambulance ride. ER. Overnight stay which lasts fom 10 pm Wednesday to 2:30 pm Friday and I’m home. Thanks Kelvin buddy. Your rides and patience made my tough time much easier.
I had no bruises from the car, although I can’t say the same about the nurses at A.O. Fox Hospital, all of whom were cute. As was the P.A. who took great care of me.
The air bag never went off.
The place where the accident happend showed almost no sign of there ever having been an accident, and I couldn’t even find any skid marks which still puzzles me. I think I scrubbed off a lot of speed by skidding side ways!
The cop gave me a ticket, for damaging the guardrail, which really didn’t look that bad either.
This is the first installment of what my liberal friends might think of as me going over to the dark side.
The US Government (yes its us) holds a majority interest in General Motors (as well as AIG!)
I know President Obama wants to save jobs. I do too. But it just doesn’t seem fair to have the government competing with a business that the government can regulate.
Capitalism includes the opportunity to fail. More job loss means more jobs lost. What a mess.
President Obama is in a bad spot, and I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, but just on general principles, I can’t help but feel that we should have let some of these businesses fail.
D2C move happend [with issues but its under control]. Small parcel desk move happened [also with issues]. It was a tough week but computer repair happened.
The sad thing is computer repair is probably a doomed profession!
Whatever happened to my 386 with the 10 gb hard drive with jumpers and DOS 6.22?
