Crime Doesn't Pay

Crime Doesn’t Pay

Is it my imagination are the bad guys more stupid than usual?

I read about a Harold Schmidt who was arrested for breaking and entering someone’s apartment. All the police knew  was that somebody had broken in, stolen bracelets, earrings, some CDs, vitamins from the medicine cabinet and several frozen chicken patties from the freezer.

Nobody would have realized that Harold was the breake-in-ee except that he apparently had the sudden urge to call his sweet grandmother in Ocala, Florida. 

Something must have reminded him of her. Maybe the jewelry. Maybe it was the frozen chicken patties. 

Anyway, when the next bill phone bill arrived at the apartment, the owner realized she hadn’t called Area Code 312 that night. So the police contacted the grandmother who said, “Yes, I remember who called. It was my wonderful grandson Harold.”

Harold now faces up to 10 years in prison.

Then there was the story of Mike Brennon who fell asleep on a woman’s couch while stealing from her house. When the woman arrived home, she quietly called the police and they arrested him mid slumber.

Crime certainly doesn’t pay, especially with criminals like these on the loose.

Then there was Bernie Madoff.

Trivia question of the day

(Try it without Google)

The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.

Yesterday’s Question: What continent has the fewest flowering plants? Antartica

Today’s Trivia: A group of geese on the ground is gaggle. What is a group of geese in the air?

Juggling Act On Aisle 5

I’m bad about dashing into the supermarket to pick up just a few needed items. I always seem to get off to a bad start by never taking a cart or a basket for that matter.

This probably dates eons ago to my bachelor days when I grabbed a cart with a wimpy wheel that wouldn’t go straight on an AA pledge. I nearly demolished the store by knocking over a mountain of apple sauce, hitting the Country Time Lemonade display head-on and almost sideswiped a senior citizen using a walker.

I always say to myself when entering and spying the carts, “Only gunna pickup a few items. Don’t need one.”

Have you ever tried to pick up “just a few items”? It’s always my vowed intention when entering the supermarket to pick up something like two cans of chili and a box of crackers. HA! The road to the checkout stand is paved with good intentions, believe me.

What I usually end up with (without the cart, of course) looks something like this: 6 cans of chili (on sale), crackers, 2 tubes of Hungry Jack Biscuits, 3 onions, 2 tomatoes, a package of cheese, plus a couple of rolls of Charmin.

So, here I come, all the way from the back of the store vegetable bin heading toward the cashier.

Please don’t ask me why I didn’t start at the vegetable bin. If I was smart enough to answer that, I’d be rolling a cart with a wiggly wheel instead of going into my juggling act up aisle five.

Here’s how it works. Don’t try this without a net: First the biscuits, one in each pocket; cheese crammed in pants near the navel; one box of crackers, under the right arm pit; tomatoes and onions join the crackers; two rolls of Charmin, under my left arm pit; and the six cans of chili are stacked like firewood from my wrist to my chest.

All set, I begin my advance toward checkout walking with all the poise and dignity of a Maine lobster with a double hernia and hemorrhoids.

Finally, I limp to the checkout counter and stand there, a member of the walking wounded, while a sweet little lady proceeds to drop her handbag thereby dumping an entire assortment of grannie goodies and change across the slowly moving conveyor belt.

I was all set to unload when I heard a quiet voice behind me say, “Excuse me. Do you mind if I go ahead? I only have two cans of chili and some crackers.”

“Be my guest,” I said with a very slight bow. “You don’t even have a cart, do you?”

“Noooo. Never use ‘em. I avoid the hassle by just picking up a few items at a time.”

Yes, I know about hassles as she slipped past me, and two tomatoes plop between my feet.

Next time, I’ll get a basket. I promise.

Trivia question of the day

(Try it without Google)

The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.

Yesterday’s Question: What explorer introduced pigs to North America? Columbus

Today’s Trivia: What is MacGyver’s first name?

Wonderings

Ahhh! The joys of nature at its finest. Recently, while in Colorado with my brother, we watched the lunar calendar and timed a trip to almost timberline with plans, and accompanying photo gear, of photographing the full moon rising majestically above the mountains. While standing in damp and deep Colorado high country grass, I began wondering about things.

(1) What color is Lindsay Lohan’s hair, really?

(2) What are grits, really?

(3) Does Queen Elizabeth ever get the urge to behead somebody?

(4) Why do children always choose to have a crisis while their parents are on the phone or going to the bathroom?

(5) Would history have been changed if Paul Revere had e-mail or Twitter?

(6) Why does the North have coffee houses and the South have waffle houses?

(7) Why is a fair’s Midway called a “Midway”? What’s it supposed to be midway between?

(8) Why does the North tend to have double last names and the South double first names?

About the time the clouds threatened to ruin our moon shot, I wondered

(9) What is the origin of the word Crotchety? Anyone know? And

(10) While reading an old family recipe book, I found the following: “Save all manner of bacon grease. You will be instructed later on how to use it.” Huh?

Trivia question of the day

(Try it without Google)

The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.

Yesterday’s Question: What is Homer Simpson’s greatest fear? Sock Puppets

Today’s Trivia: What explorer introduced pigs to North America?

Modern technology, car troubles and the battery

ON THE ROAD

The engine problem light came on in my brother’s truck during our trip to Colorado. I’d always been told, “When that light comes on, you stop.” Since we were heading down a steep grade, with a lot of traffic and a guard rail hugging my right door we opted to carefully get down the hill. I snatched open the glove compartment, found the owners manual and quickly thumbed to the page, actually a brief paragraph, on engine warning light. Unexpectedly, it was vague concerning cause and remedy.

It mentioned a few causes but more or less said when you get a chance you ought to get it checked. That took the immediate pressure off but we were still concerned. To make matters worse, the engine would intermittently go off and return a few days later. Clark decided to wait until we returned to Dallas so his favorite mechanic could look at it. While returning home the light remained blank, until we were about five hours from home, and blared from the dashboard. An hour later the transmission oil light flashed hot.

We pulled off onto a side road and a large Good Samaritan wearing a red Halliburton jump suit with fluorescent yellow stripes stopped and kindly offered his help. He quickly deduced a engine computer sensor error and said to wait a while to let the oil cool and drive about 50 mph back to Dallas. We trusted his judgement. He looked like he knew what he was talking about. You know, he wasn’t a dweeb.

We did and all was well.

BACK HOME

After arrival, I needed to run an errand so I climbed in my always reliable ‘97 Volvo and turned the key to start. The engine went ................ It didn’t even turn over. Dead as a doornail.

I’d never jumped a Volvo before, but how hard could it be?

WALMART

Luckily, my car was parked next to Tonda’s so I stretched the cables between us, hooked the positives to positives and negatives to negatives and opened my door to start my engine. Immediately all lights started flashing and the horn began blowing. I got out my owners manual and read the vague instructions that offered no remedy for the Swedish safety system. At 7 p.m., I disconnected the battery, lugged it out of the engine compartment and headed to WalMart.

Because it was still in warranty, Jim in the auto department put a small computer gizmo on it to check if it was dead or not. The gizmo was not responding to anything, so he said, as he headed, towing my battery, out the door toward the bay/garage area, “I need to put it on The Big Machine. Back in a minute.” Jim looked like an ex-insurance salesman.

“It’ll take a while to do its thing,” was all he said upon retuning and disappearing.

Forty-five minutes later, after I watched the initial shutting down of the garage, I asked the department manager, “How long does it generally take for the BIG MACHINE to decide if a battery is dead or not?” He casually and vaguely responded, “Sometimes quite a while.” The head mechanic standing next to him slowly and knowingly nodded. About that time the lights went out in the garage and Jim had never returned. So I waited.

At 9:05, the department manager unexplainably said, “I’ve called the night store manager” and returned to the now dark garage to again check The Big Machine. This time he returned with the battery proclaiming it truly dead. “Do you want a replacement?” I was thinking of several pithy replies, but I held my tongue and headed home, new battery in hand, at 9:15 p.m.

Battery installation went smoothly, no warning lights or sounds because I crawled through the driver’s window to start the car.

THE INSPECTION

Since it was time for a new inspection sticker and oil change, I headed to my Jiffy oil change place first thing the next morning. I told Steve the large, bearded mechanic to change the oil and “I need a new Inspection Sticker.”

I plopped in a plastic seat in the waiting room with some drivel of a realty show showing on the TV. About 20 minutes later, Steve returned saying “You’ve failed the inspection because your battery is too new.” Both guys to the side of me joined me in mild laughter as I said, “Too new!?” He explained that you must drive it at least 50 miles to “Seat the sensors.” There’s that word again. Steven even looked a bit like Halliburton guy.

I left and drove not 50 but 100 miles that day and returned. Steve said it was too hot to get a reading. I wasn’t sure if he meant the engine or the outside temperature (102º). In the Texas cool of early the next morning, I returned. Steve grinned, as I pulled in the driveway, saying, “We’ll get it this time.”

Shortly he returned frustratedly saying, “I’m still not getting a reading. I’m going to the computer to check if there is any information on new batteries and Inspections for Volvos.”

About 15 minutes later, he appeared from wherever the computer was and laughed, “You’re not going to believe this, but I have six pages of printouts from Volvo describing the steps you must take (for ‘97 Volvo 690) after installing a new battery.”

Below is a excerpt from the six pages.

1. Drive a normal urban driving cycle for six minutes. Accelerate gently where necessary keeping the throttle as steady as possible.

2. Safely stop (I guess wrecks will disallow the sequence) the vehicle and allow the engine to idle for 90 seconds.

3. Drive a normal driving cycle for six minutes. Accelerate gently where necessary keeping the throttle as steady as possible.

4. Safely stop the vehicle and allow the vehicle to idle for 2-3 minutes.

5. Accelerate normally to a road speed over 45 mph and keep the engine between 1800-2200 RPM. Drive for 5-6 minutes.

6. Safely stop the vehicle and allow the vehicle to idle for 2-3 minutes.

7. Accelerate normally to a road speed over 45 mph the engine between 1800-2200 RPM. Drive for 5 minutes.

8. Safely stop the vehicle and allow the vehicle to idle for 90 seconds.

9-11 (More of the same)

In conclusion, Volvo is a fine car but numbers 1-11 are insane.

This morning I idled for seven minutes, Egad!

I have an 8:30 appointment Wednesday with my local Volvo dealer to, hopefully, get my car inspected.

Where is Halliburton guy when you need him.

Trivia question of the day

(Try it without Google)

The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.

Yesterday’s Question: What are anchor persons called in Sweden? Cronkites

Today’s Trivia: What 1976 chart-topping song did Barry Manilow sing, but did not write?

Great new book & amazing coincidence

What an astonishing moment of fate and coincidence that Walter Cronkite and the 40th Anniversary of the moon landing should have happen almost simultaneously.

Walter - it seemed like all of us called him “Walter” for some reason, must have been his matter of fact delivery or honesty - was the first true “anchor man” on television. He was the most famous journalist of his time, the personification of success in his beloved profession: a journalism school named for him, a Presidential Medal of Freedom, and the adulation of his peers, audience and future journalist to come.

He covered wars, civil rights, assignations, day to day world affairs and, of course, the Apollo program with its climactic Moon landing.

During this period, one of my least favorite humans, but one of my favorite authors, Norman Mailer, knew that the world would be transformed with the landing of Eagle on the Moon’s surface. So, he did what all great writers do. He began researching and writing. From his efforts came the best novel since The Right Stuff called Of a Fire On the Moon. It told the story as it unfolded and kept you on the edge of your seat, even though you knew the outcome. That’s a great sign of a terrific read.

This month, Taschen Books released a remarkable photography book combining images from NASA’s archive and other private collections with the text from Mailer’s book. The 350-page Norman Mailer, MoonFire: The Epic Journey of Apollo 11, will come with a signed, framed, and numbered image of Buzz Aldrin for $1,000.

Below is a small excerpt the text of Norma Mailer, Moonfire: The Epic Journey of Apollo 11:

___

So one got ready for the climax of the greatest week since Christ was born . . .The LEM having flown around the Moon and gone behind it again, the breaking burn for the Descent Orbit Initiation would begin in radio silence . . . .

Phrases came through the general static of the public address system. “Eagle looking great, you’re go,” came through and statements of altitude. “You’re go for landing, over!” “Roger, understand. Go for landing. 3,000 feet.” “We’re go, hang tight, we’re go. 2,000 feet.” So the voice came out of the box. Somewhere a quarter of a million miles away, ten years of engineering and training, a thousand processes and a million parts, a huge swatch put of $25 billion and a hovering of machinery were preparing to go through the funnel of a historical event whose significance might yet be next to death itself, and the reporters who would interpret this information for the newsprint readers of the world were now stirring in polite, if mounting, absorption with the calm cryptic technological voices which came droning out of the box.

Was it like that as one was waiting to be born? Did one wait in a modern room with strangers while numbers were announced – “Soul 77-48-16– you are on call. Proceed to Staging Area CX– at 16:04 you will be conceived.”

So the words came. And the Moon came nearer. “3½ down, 220 feet, 13 forward, 11 forward, coming down nicely, 200 feet, 4½ down, 5½ down, 160, 6½ down, 5½ down , 9 forward, 5 percent. Quality light. 75 feet. Things looking good. Down a half. 6 forward.

“Sixty seconds,” said another voice.

Was that a reference to fuel? Had that been the Capcom? Or was it Aldrin or Armstrong? Who was speaking now? The static was present. The voice was almost dreamy. Only the thinnest reed of excitement quivered in the voice.

“Lights on. Down 2½. Forward. Forward. Good. 40 feet down. Down 2½. Faint shadow. 4 forward. Drifting to the right a little. 6 . . .down a half.”

Another voice said, “Thirty seconds.” Was that thirty seconds of fuel? A modest stirring of anticipation came from the audience.

“Drifting right. Contact light. Okay,” said the voice as even as before, “Engine stop. ACA out of détente. Modes control both auto, descent engine command override, off. Engine arm, off. 423 is in.”

A cry went up, half jubilant, half confused. Had they actually landed?

The Capcom spoke, “We copy you down Eagle.” But it was a question.

“Houston., Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.” It was Armstrong’s voice, the quiet voice of the best boy in town, the one who pulls you drowning from the sea and walks off before you can offer a reward. The Eagle has landed.

___

And Walter said, “Wow!”

,

Trivia question of the day

(Try it without Google)

The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.

Yesterday’s Question: What was Ozzie Nelson’s profession in the TV series Ozzie and Harriet? Sports writer for a daily newspaper

Today’s Trivia: What are anchor persons called in Sweden?