tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50011720747488368002024-02-18T22:27:22.625-06:00A Texan Views LifeAllen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-85811953290646380902010-06-20T15:19:00.000-05:002010-06-20T15:19:54.784-05:00Who Is He?<div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We’ve All Seen His Photograph, But Never Heard of Him</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Waiting for the “Hindenburg” to arrive at its mooring mast at Lakehurst, New Jersey, were about 22 still and newsreel cameramen. Practically all of them took pictures of the disaster. Nearly all of the still photographs are practically identical to each other; certainly it would be impossible to assess authorship from the intrinsic nature of the images. Merely as a few examples, we can name several photographers whose pictures of the “Hindenburg” crash are as similar to Shere’s as two peas in a pod: Charles Hoff of the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">New York Daily News</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">; Gus Pasquarella of the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Philadelphia Bulletin</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">; Bill Springfield of Acme-NEA; Jack Snyder of the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Philadelphia Record.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Then there was Murray Becker, of Associated Press, whose picture of the disaster was selected for publication in Great News Photos.</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> In fact there was almost a surfeit of </span><a href="http://www.google.com/images?hl=en&rlz=1G1GGLQ_ENUS338&q=hindenburg+photos&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=univ&ei=rBceTLn9F8P38AagzMirDA&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CCMQsAQwAA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">pictures</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, by so many photographers, of the Hindenburg crash; perhaps never before had a disaster been so thoroughly documented by the camera. The next morning, the New York newspapers were full of the images; the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">World-Telegram</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> carried no less that 21 pictures of the flaming Hindenburg and its survivors. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The New York Post</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> ran the photographers over seven papers, the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Daily Mirror</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, nine. The story, and the pictures, appeared in newspapers everywhere. The </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">New York Sunday Mirror</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> even ran full color shots in its 23 May issue, taken by Gerry Sheedy on 35 mm Kodachrome. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Any one of these photographers might have taken the image of the “Hindenburg” explosion which is so clearly etched in any viewer’s mind. More likely, our memory is an amalgam of several pictures by different photographers seen over the years in different circumstances. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDn2LKMoeXdSykmSx3wKS77GAQdIue60_7yypm6Kp29QTcWNxddzXSK1-NktCi3onHu9QC18ow2oKhiW1tj2EuOEUghxGocQWJVF6RJ7DjQH4D_hEjPXgAvDjF0H4lBZOr4kTYs3IQPdho/s1600/hindenburg07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDn2LKMoeXdSykmSx3wKS77GAQdIue60_7yypm6Kp29QTcWNxddzXSK1-NktCi3onHu9QC18ow2oKhiW1tj2EuOEUghxGocQWJVF6RJ7DjQH4D_hEjPXgAvDjF0H4lBZOr4kTYs3IQPdho/s320/hindenburg07.jpg" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But it is Sam Shere’s image which is featured in </span><i><a href="http://photojournalclydeniki.blogspot.com/2008/08/history-of-photography-by-beaumont.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The History of Photography</span></a></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and for this reason it is appropriate to add a few details of his life and career. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sam Shere</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> - Born Samuel Shereshewsky, in Minsk, Russia, c.1904, Shere was brought to America by his orthodox Jewish parents and grew up in the Lower East Side of New York City. His father was a hat maker, who wanted his son to be a doctor. Unfortunately, young Samuel could only tolerate school until the seventh grade. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">His first job was carrying a tripod for Pathe News cameramen, at a wage of a $1/day + lunch. After following the cameramen to five-alarm fires, naval yards, and parades, he was settled in his career. He wanted to be a news photographer. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwGAnwEh0zlqvkejuwI6IL9ndKlbmUb19UlEwmFuKaCcqKBjdyPVOlNlYcUhLOpOkgv2cqLWM62ju2jhfEMRM6VOaiHYAuabyD8rM_f5B5cb6DbmqWrCiARV_fuQFqRQ00lmvfjV1M8p8/s1600/pre-anniversary-speed-graphic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBwGAnwEh0zlqvkejuwI6IL9ndKlbmUb19UlEwmFuKaCcqKBjdyPVOlNlYcUhLOpOkgv2cqLWM62ju2jhfEMRM6VOaiHYAuabyD8rM_f5B5cb6DbmqWrCiARV_fuQFqRQ00lmvfjV1M8p8/s200/pre-anniversary-speed-graphic.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Resigned to young Sam’s choice of a profession, his father bought him a 4x5 inch Speed Graphic camera, the standard equipment for a newspaper photographer at the end of World War I (1918). Within a year, Sam had sold his first photograph: a picture of a young girl walking across the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan during a New York snowstorm. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The New York Illustrated Daily News</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> bought the picture for $7. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">At this time, however, Sam’s interest in photography was in conflict with his even greater interest in going to sea. He signed on as a mess-boy with oil tankers plying between New Jersey and California via the Panama Canal. Even though he spent most of his time on board ship for the next 10 years he quickly found that life at sea was not incompatible with professional photography. He soon had an on~ship darkroom and managed to freelance during stays in port. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MLLwFg3QJCj01DTykaRaVCkjQGCC7GKxmEyf0l3zhMPGFONeUbl8YH28ogvp_FVfJSQ2QTqGgdLv8Ns_ABD8lytOm-9hxLhyphenhyphen_D9KXgw43WNwIYqQTURChYKtCkjYhkq8tSL0S5ns_EKt/s1600/Leica_A_1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MLLwFg3QJCj01DTykaRaVCkjQGCC7GKxmEyf0l3zhMPGFONeUbl8YH28ogvp_FVfJSQ2QTqGgdLv8Ns_ABD8lytOm-9hxLhyphenhyphen_D9KXgw43WNwIYqQTURChYKtCkjYhkq8tSL0S5ns_EKt/s200/Leica_A_1a.jpg" width="148" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MLLwFg3QJCj01DTykaRaVCkjQGCC7GKxmEyf0l3zhMPGFONeUbl8YH28ogvp_FVfJSQ2QTqGgdLv8Ns_ABD8lytOm-9hxLhyphenhyphen_D9KXgw43WNwIYqQTURChYKtCkjYhkq8tSL0S5ns_EKt/s1600/Leica_A_1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span> </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> One of these stays lasted for a year, in 1923, when Sam Shere (the name had been abbreviated the previous year) became a photographer for the New York Evening Graphic for $50/week. But he was soon missing the smell of the sea, and signed aboard the S.S. George Washington as ship’s photographer. After one transatlantic crossing, he visited Germany and bought one of the new Leica 35 mm cameras, for $42 “and spent the next few years on the other end of ridicule, enduring sarcastic remarks and innuendoes from American news photographers who regarded the Leica as a ‘toy’.” </span></div></span></span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In spite of the constant ribbing, Shere persisted in carrying the Leica everywhere, along with the Speed Graphic, and is now credited with pioneering the use of the discreet 35 mm camera in American news photography. </span></div></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In 1926, he became ship’s photographer for the </span><a href="http://www.google.com/images?hl=en&rlz=1G1GGLQ_ENUS338&q=s.s.+leviathan&um=1&ie=UTF-8&source=univ&ei=ZxgeTPfLCYH-8AaIhI2ADA&sa=X&oi=image_result_group&ct=title&resnum=4&ved=0CDYQsAQwAw"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">S.S. Leviathan</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> (flagship of the United States Line). He made good money for those days, earning $300-400 per round trip across the Atlantic, by selling pictures to the passengers as momentos of the voyage, public relations shots for the shipping line, portraits of notable passengers, and scenics of icebergs and storms. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Altogether Shere made 126 crossings of the Atlantic on the Leviathan. While disembarked in Europe, waiting for the return voyage, he began freelance work for the prestigious International News Photo (INP), a part of the </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDtOmsFXxWPikmAcSPY_TaZv7caZ_Gl7ZL6NxLn9un0KsgatS6FMo5iAxkoXqLi6FSWYbZDxo67uTnhbFLak-_XAPIhnxMceVA69pGFSZhUgrub_h8EWexq5tvkmmjL3vmbclALZddhBp/s1600/hauptmann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHDtOmsFXxWPikmAcSPY_TaZv7caZ_Gl7ZL6NxLn9un0KsgatS6FMo5iAxkoXqLi6FSWYbZDxo67uTnhbFLak-_XAPIhnxMceVA69pGFSZhUgrub_h8EWexq5tvkmmjL3vmbclALZddhBp/s320/hauptmann.jpg" /></a></div><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Randolph_Hearst"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">William Randolph Hears</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">t publishing empire. In 1934, Shere left the sea to take a full time position with INP It was also the year that Shere’s persistence with the Leica led to a celebrated scoop. During the first arraignment of Bruno Richard Hauptmann a suspect in the Lindberg kidnapping case, Shere smuggled his small camera into the court room and, unnoticed, shot exclusive pictures of the proceedings.</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> The Leica was also used the following year for a major story on the inside </span><a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/famous/sing_sing/index.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sing Sing prison</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. Shere claimed that the series would have been a total failure if it had not been for the speed, ease and silence of the miniature camera. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“(It) gave me mobility and did not attract much attention from the inmates. I was able to film, for the first time, candid shots of the prison’s rock pile, fire department, flag making shop, a cell block, the prison parade, the warden’s office, the execution chamber and adjacent autopsy rooms... My ‘toy’ was gaining its place in news photography through these series.” </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">By 1937, the date of the Hindenburg’s explosion, Shere had paid his dues as a news photographer, withboth 4x5 inch and 35 mm formats. He was not only in the right place at the right time, but also he was “primed” to take picture advantage of every situation, such as Hindenburg’s arrival. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ironically, Sam Shere was reluctant to take the assignment, which was considered a routine one. He had been assigned by his editor at INP to get some good “society type” shots of the celebrities leaving the airship. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“I had come to think of myself as a “hard news’ photographer, and sort of resented the assignment,” Shere recalled. “I just wanted to get my pictures and get out of there.” </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">After waiting for over three hours in drizzling rain, the airship came into view through the evening murk. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Suddenly the dirigible exploded. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">“I had two shots in my big Speed Graphic,” Shere said. “But I didn’t even have time to get it up to my eye. I literally ‘shot’ from the hip - it was over so fast there was nothing else to do.” Out of 4 x 5 film, Shere switched to his Leica and began taking shots of the passengers and crew members fleeing the wreckage. “Only one of these pictures – because they were so ghastly and graphic, were ever used...” </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Asked to comment on the significance, and fame, of his photograph, Shere replied: “Many photographers got similar shots. I guess I was just lucky to be in the right place at the right time. I don’t really think it my most singular feat.” </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">After 1937, Shere’s career as a news photographer was extraordinarily varied. A few highlights include: a story on the return of Wrong-Way Corrigan using carrier pigeons to deliver negatives from the SS Manhattan to New York (1938); photographing the Duke of Windsor, who had abdicated his throne, in the Bahamas (1940); an Atlantic Air Patrol which was cited as the most outstanding news event of the year (1941; the World War II invasion of Sicily (1942); several stories for Life beginning more than a decade of work for this magazine (1943); the Lepke execution and Dewey presidential campaign (1944); VE Day reaction and Pearl Harbor investigation (1945); death of Al Capone (1947); construction of the SS United States (1948). </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sam Shere shot his last assignment in Ireland at the age of 75 and died in poverty in government housing on July 8, 1982. </span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes we toil away at our profession, do it well, but go unnoticed. Sam Shere “invented” 35 mm photojournalism, took one of the most famous photographs in history and died virtually alone and penniless. What a shame.</span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-28201064086966088352009-09-01T15:17:00.002-05:002009-09-01T15:17:46.278-05:00Want to live to 114?<div style="font: normal normal normal 36px/normal 'Trebuchet MS'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14px;">Scientist have determined, at the time of birth, a healthy child has a life expectancy of approximately 114 years. Whether we make it to the ripe old age of 114 is determined by the type lifestyle factors we choose to pursue.</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">The following list was determined by the National Institute of Health (NIH). It is not a complete list, but highlight some of the more dramatic lifestyles. The additions and subtractions impact our projected 114 year life span dramatically. </div><div style="font: 15.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b>Factors Influencing Life Expectancy</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">1. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother lived to be 80 - add 4 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">2. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Father lived to be 80 - add 2 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">3. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Parent, grandparent, or sibling died of cardiovascular disease before age 50 - subtract 4 <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">4. Parent, grandparent, or sibling died of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, ulcer, stomach <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>cancer, or breast cancer before age 60 - subtract 2 years for each</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">5. Above average intelligence - add two years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">6. More than 30% overweight - subtract 5 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">7. Eat a lot of vegetables and fruits, and stops eating before feeling full - add 1 year</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">8. Smoke two or more packs of cigarettes a day - subtract 12 years. Smokes between one <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>and two packs a day - subtract 7 years. Smoke less than a pack a day - subtract 2 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">9. Moderate or light drinker of alcohol - add 2 years. Heavy drinker - subtract 8 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">10. Exercise briskly at least three times a week - add 3 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">11. Graduate from college - add 4 years. Attend college but did not graduate - add 2 years.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">12. Works as a professional or manager - add 1 year. Works as an unskilled laborer - subtract <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> 4 years. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">13. Income above average for age and occupation - add 1 year. Income below average - sub<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> tract 1 year.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">14. Over 60 and still working - add 2 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">15. Married and living with spouse - add 1 year</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">16. Men: Separated or divorced and living alone - subtract 9 years (not alone - subtract 4 <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> years). Widowed and living alone - subtract 7 years (not alone - subtract 3 years).</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">17. Women: Separated or divorced and living alone - subtract 4 years. Widowed and living <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> alone - subtract 3 years (not alone - subtract 2 years).</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">18. Never married woman - subtract 1 year for every decade after age 25</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">19. Never married man - subtract two years for every decade past age 25 living alone</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">20. Personality: Aggressive - subtract 5 years. Depressive - subtract 2 years. Flexible - add <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> two years. Happy - add 2 years. Risk-taking (e.g. leaves seat belts unfastened, takes a <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> dare) subtract 2 years</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">21. Has at least two close friends - add 1 year</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Let’s see. According to the NIH, we began with a life expectancy of 114 years. If you smoke two packs a day, never graduated from high school, are overweight, live alone, a boozer and have a Type A personality you’ll be lucky to live through puberty.</div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-22292115478661880112009-08-29T06:47:00.000-05:002009-08-29T06:47:49.599-05:00Do You Remember?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77RBKa98sIRazTanNskahfMVnZBAxCd65ceOzn5w5rV5H-CAjf16DTT518vzx8rbmxXnvey0gTtfZeuv-3RW-jlruaXSYr-yLf1gW5AOqAp3zfFYRduq1aBGOkP5H_FGQVc4xmhPr_tM-/s1600-h/General+StoreA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77RBKa98sIRazTanNskahfMVnZBAxCd65ceOzn5w5rV5H-CAjf16DTT518vzx8rbmxXnvey0gTtfZeuv-3RW-jlruaXSYr-yLf1gW5AOqAp3zfFYRduq1aBGOkP5H_FGQVc4xmhPr_tM-/s320/General+StoreA.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when your parents left the front door unlocked and ghettos were neighborhoods? Do you remember when the American flag stood for freedom and we didn’t need laws to protect it?</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when celebrities actually did something to be known as a celebrity? Do you remember when criminals were despised and not on the best seller list, and when taxes were only a necessary nuisance?</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when sagging pants meant low on the hips, not around the thighs. And what’s the deal about girls showing off their thong underwear and boys parading around so everyone can see most of their boxer shorts?</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when the poor were too proud to accept charity and the clergy talked religion not politics? Do you remember when clerks and repairmen took pride in pleasing their customers and songs had a tune that you could sing-along with. </div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when people knew what the Fourth of July stood for and you never dreamed the United States could lose at anything. Do you remember when the world looked up to the United States. </div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when a Sunday drive was a pleasant outing and not an ordeal. Do you remember when people sacrificed to make our country great? Do you remember when people valued what they had and enjoyed reading something other than their e-mail.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when receiving a free education was a privilege and students respected their teachers and elders. Do you remember when politicians were patriotic and meant it, and when everyone knew the difference between right and wrong, and there were no gray areas.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember when you considered yourself lucky to have a good job and proud to have it.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">And, do you remember when you could enjoy sex and the only dying involved a broken heart.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Do you remember . . . </div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-58187853674305642972009-08-28T05:30:00.002-05:002009-08-28T08:53:23.825-05:00Kids Say the Darndest Things<div style="font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAaXYRJsRahrZ5G-RD2K89k7J760zMy1wAxFm_2CPQGYHkDTpog8m7o8ALohog2LPHTCXGRlFhkA4qjavOoHWkyy0PrDCvtHObzoRYS0kf_2H-8D0Q2LZz2n0rN-nMIeF6r6IyAYjbtEFg/s1600-h/AustinHa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAaXYRJsRahrZ5G-RD2K89k7J760zMy1wAxFm_2CPQGYHkDTpog8m7o8ALohog2LPHTCXGRlFhkA4qjavOoHWkyy0PrDCvtHObzoRYS0kf_2H-8D0Q2LZz2n0rN-nMIeF6r6IyAYjbtEFg/s320/AustinHa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 18px;">Yesterday I received an e-mail from my favorite neighbor Sandy Mitchell telling me to go to the enclosed web site (<a href="http://carolynspreciousmemories.com/Videos/artlinkletterkidsntribute.html">http://carolynspreciousmemories.com/Videos/artlinkletterkidsntribute.html</a>) and watch the little kid on the left of Tennessee Ernie Ford. “He’s so cute!” The site was wrapped in doilies and was led by a old kinescope of Ernie singing a song surrounded by kids. </span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">As he sang, one of the kids really got into the rhythm and he truly was really cute.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">However, below that “video” were three from the late Art Linkletter’s show, “The Kids Say the Darndest Thing.” In one, Linkletter introduced the segment by saying the kids are all between the ages of 6-9 and “I follow two rules: 1- I don’t tell them what to say because they can say things much funnier than I can tell them. And, 2- I don’t tell them what not to say because they are innocent and whatever they say would never embarrass me.” Not surprisingly, they were sometimes funny, sometimes embarrassing, but always entertaining.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">I’ll not spoil your viewing by picking my favorites, but below are a few I remember from long ago watching Art Linkletter and listening to my own kids. He had a wonderful rapport with the kids, much like Bill Cosby when he reprised the show years later after it had gone off the air - remember his Jello commercials..</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">From memory and I don’t remember the specific questions asked, but they are fairly obvious.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Well, I guess that’s the last we’ll see of her...”</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Big boys sleep alone and three-year-olds are too big to sleep with me.”</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Superman sleeps by himself.”</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Daddy, Daddy! Mommy didn’t sleep with anyone while you were gone.”</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Dad, did they get their money by genetics or did they earn it?”</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">I think the reason that stories about children are always popular is the fact that, for the most part, they’re always honest.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Children hug when they feel like hugging and kiss only when they want to express emotion. The things that make them the greatest gift, however, is the fact that they never say they love you unless they mean it.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">You know, growing up is not all its cracked-up to be.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-3634325488662380222009-08-27T06:25:00.015-05:002009-08-27T21:38:10.911-05:00Skivvy and the Bayou City Boogie<div style="text-indent: 19px;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><div style="font: normal normal normal 16px/normal 'Helvetica Neue'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13px;">Last Saturday around sunset, with Houston’s heat index hovering around 115º, a tall, skinny man named Robert “Skivvy” Johnson robbed a McDonalds and was seen stumbling from the fast-food restaurant with several employees chasing him. </span></div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">While holding the sack and pistol in one hand and holding his trousers up with the other, Skivvy crossed a busy intersection toward a shopping center where he rushed into an O’Reilly Auto Parts Store. Sensing his predicament, he grabbed a hostage and drug her to the street. At this point, he was being chased by employees from O’Reilly’s, McDonalds and a member of Houston’s finest.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Somewhere along the way he lost the hostage when she shoved him into an Albertson’s shopping cart. He had to do something so he hijacked the car of an 18-year-old, Lawrence Blackwell, pointed his pistol and yelled, “DRIVE!”</div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">He drove him to a nearby condominium where the harried bandit abandoned Blackwell’s car and literally kicked down the door of widow Miriam Trashell. Amazingly, the near-sighted Miriam was apparently expecting trouble because she immediately started firing her pistol at the intruder, who naturally returned fire – luckily neither hit anything. Houstonians become a bit testy when the temperature and humidity are high. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Shortly, he had enough of Miriam Trashell and dashed through the remnants of her front door onto the parking lot where he accosted a driver who’d just entered. However, he didn’t get far because, for some reason, he couldn’t get the car through the security gate. He then dumped his second car and again took-off on foot.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">He ran straight to a nearby Dairy Queen where he climbed inside the cab of a Ben E. Keith truck, pointed the now-empty pistol at the driver and, between huffs and puffs, demanded the truck. The brave driver yanked the gun out of his hand as the befuddled thief fell out the side door and again escaped into the night.</div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">While being chased on foot by a Houston policeman and employees from McDonalds, the auto parts store, a Ben E. Keith meat truck driver and presumably the still irate Miriam Trashell, he stumbled his way into a nearby residential neighborhood. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">The poor guy - I’m beginning to feel sorry for him at this point - jumps a fence where he’s attacked and bitten on the shoulder by a large gray Weimaraner. He then beats a hasty, albeit bloody, retreat back over the fence where he runs headlong into the growing posse. </div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">When last heard, he was being treated for minor injuries at Ben Taub General Hospital and obviously under arrest. While being handcuffed and bending over the hood of a Houston squad car, Skivvy was heard to say, “Who was that crazy woman in the apartment?”</div><div style="font: 13.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Inspector Clouseau could not have planned a better August evening of entertainment in The Bayou City.</div><div><br />
</div></span></div></div></span></span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-27665983482955073302009-08-26T06:41:00.002-05:002009-08-26T06:41:22.891-05:00Tonda<div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">At the conclusion of our third date, I matter-of-factly announced to Tonda that I’d like to marry her. It was not really a proposal. It was more of a statement of purpose.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">We were standing on the unlighted porch of her parent’s double wide which sat anchored on their 32 acre family compound adjacent to Lake Texoma. The situation was unusual, at least for me (actually, probably anybody) because I’d had a date with her sister, Starling, the night before.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Being in my mid-30s and divorced for several years, I was dating and not overtly looking for a new wife; I thought. I’d had several not-serious dates with Starling and more than several serious dates with Martha who lived in Marshall, a smallish town in east Texas.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Martha was divorced, full of life, the sister and sister-in-law of my best friends in Sherman, and was the daughter of southern aristocracy and respectability. I liked her a lot. Then Tonda, unknowingly, swept me off my feet.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">I’d met Tonda briefly in Jack Stafford’s office five years previously. By briefly, I mean the encounter could have been timed in seconds. I remember her having longish red hair and a terrific smile. Unfortunately, I remember little else. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Our next meeting was when she visited Starling after filing for divorce from Floyd, a manager of a Gibson’s store (an early rival of Wal-Mart). After Starling and I had attended something or other at the country club, we went to her parent’s house, played cards and visited with Tonda and Granny. We had a proper good time and, I’m embarrassed to say, I was now smitten with three women – two of whom were sisters with one of them not officially divorced. Tonda still had that red hair, her vivacious personality and was currently unavailable. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Within days, in which Starling and I had another date, Tonda returned to her home and five year old daughter, Courtney, in central Texas, but you know what they say about “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">In the meantime, Starling and I had a few more dates, but my ardor had slackened considerably. Thank goodness Martha was still in east Texas.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Then one day Tonda reappeared, this time for good, and she and Courtney moved into a very tiny travel trailer (a cat could jump from front to back) that was a stone’s throw from her sister. Life was again somewhat complicated, but I didn’t care. Tonda’s divorce was officially immanent so I asked her out.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Tonda, being the kind person that she is, asked her sister, “How serious are you and Allen?”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Not too,” replied Star. “Why?”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Allen has asked me out and I wondered if you’d mind,” responded my non-officially divorced future wife. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Sure, why not,” said Starling, taking care of a third of my dilemma. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Without me telling Martha, Martha knew that the attraction was gone. We’d last seen each other before my fateful third date with Tonda. Maybe she could tell something from the tone in my voice during that last call. Maybe she had also met someone or someone, at least, closer to her home. I’ll never know. I do know that she later met and married a surgeon in that smallish town in east Texas and hopefully lived happily ever after.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Meanwhile, Tonda and I dated with the energy that somehow thrives on the lack of sleep. I was working full time in my studio in Denison and acting in a community theater in Sherman until 10 p.m. each night. I’d then drive out to her -did I mention small- trailer. We talked until the wee hours and Courtney would either fall asleep in Tonda’s arms or had drifted off while I was in the middle of Act II.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Tonda’s divorce became final and we set an indefinite date for sometime in the future. We were now officially engaged.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">One of the first persons we told was Jack Stafford, our good friend and assistant minister of our church. We asked him to officiate our marriage, but, much to our surprise, he refused, saying, “It’s much too soon after Tonda’s divorce. It will never work. I won’t do it.” </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">We decided to decide later about the minister. No marriage date was set with both of us agreeing that when the time was right, “We’ll do it.”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Fall and winter passed with us blending our two families. My ex returned to nursing school in Ft. Worth to become a nurse anesthetist and I gained custody of my kids Andy and Kelly. Courtney and Kelly became sisters almost immediately, and Andy discovered baseball cards and loud music. Tonda and my ex became good friends and I discovered they are very much alike. By the way, Tonda’s ex (remember Floyd) tried to talk her out of our engagement by warning her I was “a ladies man.” I took it as a backhanded compliment, and I think Tonda just laughed.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Despite Floyd, all the kids, and the smallish trailer, one fine day in late April when the birds were chirping, the leaves were returning and the planets swung into alignment we decided, “It was time.” We got the license, called the other minister and our parents. “We’re getting married on Saturday at First Presbyterian Church and we’d love for you to be there,” was our simple verbal invitation. Jethro, my German Shepherd/Saint Bernard stood-in as best dog. We and the three kids were married on a bright sunny morning in the church courtyard, with parents and Starling as witnesses.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">That afternoon our honeymoon commenced with us buying two carts piled with groceries and Tonda watching me play in a softball game. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">That was 29 years and three months ago. I couldn’t be happier. I made the perfect choice. Jack has made a lot of terrific decisions in his life but boy, was he wrong on this one. But, we still love him and rib him about it every chance we get.</div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-55371252508846030162009-08-25T18:06:00.000-05:002009-08-25T18:06:57.560-05:00The Sun and the Moon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gEIM051q8MnzApHQSpdst5Pu0mjvaIzbyfumNt8yP_g890ViVXpMciWLsFWqUAJo-hkIM1lM9otDfUeoBzRr0VBDrJl7KcI4qJSWHIG4lYq9_bL-qceWShBq94JXHiHlucZdhFR48T4M/s1600-h/StormA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gEIM051q8MnzApHQSpdst5Pu0mjvaIzbyfumNt8yP_g890ViVXpMciWLsFWqUAJo-hkIM1lM9otDfUeoBzRr0VBDrJl7KcI4qJSWHIG4lYq9_bL-qceWShBq94JXHiHlucZdhFR48T4M/s400/StormA.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b><i>The sun and the moon</i></b></div><div style="font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 29.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b><i></i></b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">I don’t know who wrote “the Best Things In Life Are Free” but the song writer was a wise person indeed. Do you remember, “The Sun and the Moon. . .’?</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Its lyrics are great but the author left out something– rain on a tin roof, and it should have been included. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Last week it was thundering and raining so hard I couldn’t wait to snuggle into bed. I love the sound of rain. It’s so soothing, at least it is to me, but it scares some people. Meanwhile. I just drop deeper into sleep.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">When we first moved into our new home, I was not yet aware of its night time idiosyncratic sounds and it was a pleasant surprise when I heard the sound of rain striking metal right outside our bedroom window. It’s funny how one simple sound can bring back many memories. Aromas can sometimes do that as well. And while I don’t live in the past, neither do I have any regrets about my childhood. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">The rain splashing on tin took me back to my boyhood when I always looked forward to spending the night in my grandmother’s cottage on Mockingbird Lane. She had this large evaporative cooler that hung out her dining room window. When it would rain, the sound created on that metal housing, mixed with the hum of the big fan blade was truly mesmerizing. Last week that simple sound took me back to my grandmother Mimi’s house. I miss her a lot.</div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-27139818853152820852009-08-25T05:52:00.003-05:002009-08-25T10:06:35.496-05:00'The Bible tells me so...'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOj6JcxxiVFwgdF9x37EihzIT_exrZ7CMcrPP3UeAaXj7rP3a20Q-HF-5hycbtrQQsKRG4wAZD9t7xXSVLF51Kw7oIli5_p_B_YKq4QEqPbNSsfHPb-94OgA_nrPA8mQJuVo-f5PCZjp4/s1600-h/Obama+MystiqueA+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOj6JcxxiVFwgdF9x37EihzIT_exrZ7CMcrPP3UeAaXj7rP3a20Q-HF-5hycbtrQQsKRG4wAZD9t7xXSVLF51Kw7oIli5_p_B_YKq4QEqPbNSsfHPb-94OgA_nrPA8mQJuVo-f5PCZjp4/s400/Obama+MystiqueA+copy.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Storytelling, terrific acting and writing are the keys to a wonderful cinematic or stage performance. Those are the reason’s why I enjoyed and still enjoy watching <i>West Wing</i> on television. I generally try not to get too involved in serial TV because my activities are so unpredictable that scheduling becomes a problem. I know I can time shift with a VCR but I just didn’t find one that was worth the effort until West Wing.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">One of my favorite episodes was called, “The Midterms.” (Did I tell you I’m a political junkie and, reading my blog, you can probably tell I lean a bit to the left?) Most weeks the ensemble cast is involved in several different but converging story lines, and this episode was no different.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Toward the conclusion, the White House is hosting a group of radio talk show hosts with the President Bartlet scheduled to attend. I love the ensuing dialog. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Below is a transcript of the scene:</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><b></b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>C.J.</b> (Press secretary to gathering of radio talk show hosts at the White House)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen. The President of the United States.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Everyone stands and claps. The flashbulbs go off as Bartlet enters the reception.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET (President)</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Thank you. Thank you, very much. Thanks a lot. I wish I could spend more than a few minutes </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">with you but the polls don’t close in the east for another hour and there are plenty of </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">election results left to falsify. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">(Everyone chuckles.)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">You know with so many people participating in the political and social debate through call </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">in shows, it’s a good idea to be reminded...</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">(Bartlet loses his train of thought when something attracts his attention. The camera pans over </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">to Jenna Jacobs, sitting on her chair.)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">...it’s a good idea to be reminded of the awesome impact... the awesome impact...</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">He finally gives up and addresses her.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I’m sorry, um... you’re Dr. Jenna Jacobs, right? </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b> (Conservative talk show host)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Yes, sir. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">It’s good to have you here.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Thank you.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">The awesome impact of the airwaves and how that translates into the furthering of our national </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">discussions but obviously also how it can... how it can...</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">(He sighs, and addresses Jenna Jacobs again.)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Forgive me, Dr. Jacobs. Are you an M.D.?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Ph.D.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">A Ph.D.?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Yes, sir.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">In Psychology?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">No sir.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Theology?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">No.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Social work?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I have a Ph.D. in English Literature.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I’m asking, ‘cause on your show, people call in for advice and you go by the name of </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Dr. Jacobs on your show. And I didn’t know if maybe your listeners were confused by that, </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">and assumed you had advanced training in Psychology, Theology, or health care.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I don’t believe they are confused, no sir.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Good. I like your show. I like how you call homosexuality an abomination.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I don’t say homosexuality is an abomination, Mr. President. The Bible does.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Yes, it does. Leviticus.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>JENNA JACOBS</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">18:22</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Chapter and verse. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions while I had you here. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I’m interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">(small chuckles from the guests) She’s a Georgetown sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, and </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">always clears the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be? While </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">thinking about that, can I ask another? My Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry, insists on working </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">on the Sabbath, Exodus 35:2, clearly says he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">to kill him myself or is it okay to call the police? Here’s one that’s really important, </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">‘cause we’ve got a lot of sports fans in this town. Touching the skin of a dead pig makes </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">us unclean, Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves, can the Washington Redskins </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can West Point? Does the whole town really have to be </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">together to stone my brother, John, for planting different crops side by side? Can I burn </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">my mother in a small family gathering for wearing garments made from two different threads? </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">(Jenna Jacobs fidgets uncomfortably.)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><b>BARTLET</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Think about those questions, would you? One last thing, while you may be mistaking this </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">for your monthly meeting of the Ignorant Tightass Club, in this building, when the President </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">stands, nobody sits.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">(Jenna Jacobs squirms in her seat but doesn’t rise. Bartlet glares meaningfully at her. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">She finally rises out of her seat.)</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">It was only a TV show but it highlights arguments that are heard too frequently. Presumably the person using the Bible as a reference assumes his/her opponent is ignorant in Biblical scholarship. Interesting when she’s suddenly cast with a more than worthy opponent. Regardless of how someone feels about this particular issue, the Biblical references don’t hold water in modern times. It’s unfortunate we need a fictionalized television show to highlight our debates and sometimes follies. Besides, one of the tenets of Christian teaching is tolerance. Maybe we should all practice it more often.</div><div></div></span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-74363384748566518982009-08-24T05:28:00.001-05:002009-08-24T13:06:33.038-05:00A vehicle I loved<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXTFRvNFpQQ5vRutXVEQnPdhg38k04vmAriono2GTf4PlNWKkoDfABlpC-AX-6wwtaRLrxFbnu9_e45CdBChaSd31ds79RRgMZrTzJbAHYFl2cC6RhwlRnzG2ADdE2mCZ4V3XPcX76i6D/s1600-h/Hood+OrnamentA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCXTFRvNFpQQ5vRutXVEQnPdhg38k04vmAriono2GTf4PlNWKkoDfABlpC-AX-6wwtaRLrxFbnu9_e45CdBChaSd31ds79RRgMZrTzJbAHYFl2cC6RhwlRnzG2ADdE2mCZ4V3XPcX76i6D/s320/Hood+OrnamentA.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span style="font-size: 18px;">Saturday, while driving to the cleaners to drop off a few shirts, I was stopped by a traffic light at Josey Lane and Frankford. Also stopped, but heading toward me on the opposite side of the street, was a 1963 white Studebaker Lark. When available, my dad would let me drive his car, a red ‘61 Studebaker Lark VIII with red and white leather interior and the Regal trim. I loved that car. Sounds snarky to love a car, but to a kid who didn’t have one it was wonderful.</span></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">First a little background. Dad was, and is, the most conservative guy I know. His cars were always white, always four door and always prim and proper. I don’t know what got into him in 1961 when he traded in his Buick, but I was astounded when he drove that somewhat compact, fire engine red car into the driveway. It had bucket seats (that folded flat, for sleeping?) and a console with a metal interior large enough to ice four cans of beer that, conveniently, even had a drain. Once, in a burst of extra money from my <i>Morning News</i> paper route, I splurged and purchased a reverb for the car radio that broadcast a semblance of stereo sound.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Needless to say I borrowed the red beast whenever available. Dad was kind enough to make it available very often.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">After graduating from high school, I joined the Marine Corps and was fortunate to get a Christmas leave which involved an interminable bus trip from Camp Pendleton in California to Dallas. </div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">On New Years Eve I took Margie Asbury to a party, and after midnight we left to attend another gathering. At the hilltop intersection of Forest and Hillcrest, I looked both ways and slowed for the blinking yellow light. It looked safe so I started across. Unfortunately, a speeding car was hidden by the crest of the hill and hit the red Lark in the right rear quarter panel sending us into a violent spin. The impact caused the bucket seat to fold flat and Margie did a flip through the back windshield, and I was tossed out the driver’s door. Pretty good argument for seat belts, huh? But heh, this was before seat belt laws. </div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Margie was okay, aside from bumps and bruises, and so was I. We were unhurt, but not so my first favorite car. It was totaled. On Margie’s side a 24 inch long, decorative metal strip (from the Regal trim) was bent inward and pierced her seat like a spear from <i>Braveheart</i>. In this instance, Margie probably would have died if she’d been wearing a seat belt. We were lucky.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Saturday, as I took the shirts to the cleaners and glimpsed across the street, I remembered a great little red car.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 23.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 16.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b>TRIVIA</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;">(Try it without Google)</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b>Yesterday's Trivia</b>: If a female dolphin is called a cow, what is a male dolphin called? <b>A bull</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: In Chinese, what is the word for mother?</div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-72514998084343188692009-08-23T06:07:00.000-05:002009-08-23T06:07:09.225-05:00Sometimes simple things can be confusing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jnUZbilNeBZr1WhauyVc0N65-ntmvTFkMnjAf7zTrO6V89y4-D4wOj04GCumbocouKIZUKps9COrieYA7196i5HjLRCP9oTskbV298KKX-I0ukliHxs9drDl-zEXi7aNDsmnLqKQBQ22/s1600-h/Life+Stuff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jnUZbilNeBZr1WhauyVc0N65-ntmvTFkMnjAf7zTrO6V89y4-D4wOj04GCumbocouKIZUKps9COrieYA7196i5HjLRCP9oTskbV298KKX-I0ukliHxs9drDl-zEXi7aNDsmnLqKQBQ22/s320/Life+Stuff.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 14px;">During a visit to Jack Tar Village in Galveston, TX, we stopped for dinner at their restaurant. I love their food, but hate the way their rest rooms are designated for males and females. They have male and female dolphins on the doors, nothing else - no bonnets, purses, shotguns or boobs to make obvious which is which.</span></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">I was in a hurry but stopped and studied the three dimensional dolphins. Not coming to a definite conclusion and feeling somewhat stupid, I took a deep breath, made my choice, opened the door and peaked in. (Getting way ahead of me aren’t you?)</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Ever spent 20 minutes in an isolation booth while lifting your knees to your chest and holding your breath?</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">The moment of truth came almost immediately when I heard the tap, tap, tap of spiked heels on tile. My fears were verified when I heard female chit-chat. I honestly didn’t want to listen, but what can you do when you’re eight feet away. I was frightened my cell phone or change would slip out of my pockets, roll under the partition and interrupt their conversation. You become very religious on these occasions. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">They talked and talked. Meanwhile, my bad knee from high school football started cramping. I was beginning to have visions of a banner headline in the <i>Galveston Daily News,</i> “Retired teacher arrested in women’s rest room at local resort.”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">I thought they’d never leave, but eventually they did, never once powdering their noses. Now I was scared I’d run into more ladies before attempting my exit.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Uncoiling, I took the gamble and hurriedly slipped out the door. Seconds after limping through the door a lady approached. She, not surprisingly, hesitated at the door’s female dolphin signage. Adjusting her bifocals, she tilted her head back and studied the door. Turning toward me she asked, “Excuse me, is this the ladies room?”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Acting like a passerby, “Not sure,” I innocently responded. “But the little figurine should tell you. Is it male or female?”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">“Beats me,” she said and brazenly marched through the door.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Some people have all the luck.</div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;">(Try it without Google)</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> A group of geese on the ground is gaggle. What is a group of geese in the air? <b>A Skein</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: If a female dolphin is called a cow, what is a male dolphin called?</div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-90476256990614057072009-08-22T08:45:00.001-05:002009-08-24T13:08:05.425-05:00Crime Doesn't Pay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilC8_cSKRDXAJ8McTOyZHCGkLEBmbOleOvccaN9nCKG7fccdtMzKDABBA-_WZ2ti7UgdbuSEOq8BfeMdMSefH51jYM-DW_mP65B8VBBy2sNIwDTlAmA3pFLpAE7N4FQdTJnV3VwG5WW5rG/s1600-h/Lock+UpA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilC8_cSKRDXAJ8McTOyZHCGkLEBmbOleOvccaN9nCKG7fccdtMzKDABBA-_WZ2ti7UgdbuSEOq8BfeMdMSefH51jYM-DW_mP65B8VBBy2sNIwDTlAmA3pFLpAE7N4FQdTJnV3VwG5WW5rG/s320/Lock+UpA.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><div style="font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b><i>Crime Doesn’t Pay</i></b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Is it my imagination are the bad guys more stupid than usual?</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">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.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">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. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Something must have reminded him of her. Maybe the jewelry. Maybe it was the frozen chicken patties. </div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">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.”</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Harold now faces up to 10 years in prison.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">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.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Crime certainly doesn’t pay, especially with criminals like these on the loose.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;">Then there was Bernie Madoff.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 18.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;">(Try it without Google)</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 18.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px;"></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What continent has the fewest flowering plants? <b>Antartica</b></div><div style="font: 14.0px Times; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: A group of geese on the ground is gaggle. What is a group of geese in the air?</div></i></b></span>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-4502294301693196052009-08-21T05:05:00.000-05:002009-08-21T05:57:44.690-05:00Juggling Act On Aisle 5<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_FWB0_O3f7Ns2MDqvP9rzU3b11glcdEAeL3tIv9tF_Tk_1LgGKQUUvVBpmXPkwqXii0hzJCvn9OCrFsB8uEZtp7Nlp1TJ2eU39-8UW1qthrTwu1AuMcKuZ0o1aS2n8EkWJgPvJ5_BYDT/s1600-h/OnionsA.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO_FWB0_O3f7Ns2MDqvP9rzU3b11glcdEAeL3tIv9tF_Tk_1LgGKQUUvVBpmXPkwqXii0hzJCvn9OCrFsB8uEZtp7Nlp1TJ2eU39-8UW1qthrTwu1AuMcKuZ0o1aS2n8EkWJgPvJ5_BYDT/s400/OnionsA.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372356457795729554" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">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.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">I always say to myself when entering and spying the carts, “Only gunna pickup a few items. Don’t need one.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">So, here I come, all the way from the back of the store vegetable bin heading toward the cashier.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">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.” </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Be my guest,” I said with a very slight bow. “You don’t even have a cart, do you?”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Noooo. Never use ‘em. I avoid the hassle by just picking up a few items at a time.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Yes, I know about hassles as she slipped past me, and two tomatoes plop between my feet.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Next time, I’ll get a basket. I promise.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What explorer introduced pigs to North America? <b>Columbus</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times"><span style="font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: </span>What is MacGyver’s first name?</p><div style="text-indent: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-85471150791140286622009-08-20T05:42:00.000-05:002009-08-20T05:44:11.746-05:00Wonderings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KwCTv1UJRV4/So0o7ehSJaI/AAAAAAAAAC0/q7mzsEwKNZk/s1600-h/moonA_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_KwCTv1UJRV4/So0o7ehSJaI/AAAAAAAAAC0/q7mzsEwKNZk/s400/moonA_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371994932792927650" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:6;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:24px;"><b><i><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(1)</b> <b>What color is Lindsay Lohan’s hair, really?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(2) What are grits, really?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(3) Does Queen Elizabeth ever get the urge to behead somebody?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(4) Why do children always choose to have a crisis while their parents are on the phone or going to the bathroom?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(5) Would history have been changed if Paul Revere had e-mail or Twitter?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(6) Why does the North have coffee houses and the South have waffle houses?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(7) Why is a fair’s Midway called a “Midway”? What’s it supposed to be midway between?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(8) Why does the North tend to have double last names and the South double first names?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><i>About the time the clouds threatened to ruin our moon shot, I wondered</i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(9) What is the origin of the word Crotchety? Anyone know? And</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>(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?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"><b></b><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What is Homer Simpson’s greatest fear? <b>Sock Puppets</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What explorer introduced pigs to North America?</p></i></b></span></span>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-83403243752114875682009-08-18T07:22:00.000-05:002009-08-18T07:24:51.299-05:00Modern technology, car troubles and the battery<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, fantasy; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; ">ON THE ROAD</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">It mentioned a few causes but more or less said <i>when you get a chance</i> 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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">We did and all was well.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>BACK HOME</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">I’d never jumped a Volvo before, but how hard could it be?</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>WALMART</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">“It’ll take a while to do its thing,” was all he said upon retuning and disappearing.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">Battery installation went smoothly, no warning lights or sounds because I crawled through the driver’s window to start the car.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>THE INSPECTION</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.” </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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.” </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">Below is a excerpt from the six pages.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">1. Drive a normal urban driving cycle for six minutes. Accelerate gently where necessary keeping the throttle as steady as possible.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">2. Safely stop </span><span style="font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">(I guess wrecks will disallow the sequence)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> the vehicle and allow the engine to idle for 90 seconds.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">3. Drive a normal driving cycle for six minutes. Accelerate gently where necessary keeping the throttle as steady as possible.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">4. Safely stop the vehicle and allow the vehicle to idle for 2-3 minutes.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">5. Accelerate normally to a road speed over 45 mph and keep the engine between 1800-2200 RPM. Drive for 5-6 minutes.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">6. Safely stop the vehicle and allow the vehicle to idle for 2-3 minutes. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">7. Accelerate normally to a road speed over 45 mph the engine between 1800-2200 RPM. Drive for 5 minutes.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">8. Safely stop the vehicle and allow the vehicle to idle for 90 seconds.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span style="font: 14.0px Courier"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">9-11 </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">(More of the same)</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier; min-height: 17.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">In conclusion, Volvo is a fine car but numbers 1-11 are insane.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">This morning I idled for seven minutes, Egad!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">I have an 8:30 appointment Wednesday with my local Volvo dealer to, hopefully, get my car inspected.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">Where is Halliburton guy when you need him.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Courier; min-height: 17.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><span style="font: 14.0px Courier"> </span><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, -webkit-fantasy; ">What are anchor persons called in Sweden?<b> Cronkites</b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What 1976 chart-topping song did Barry Manilow sing, but did not write?</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><br /></p>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-44700889473223479192009-08-16T10:49:00.000-05:002009-08-16T10:50:58.436-05:00Great new book & amazing coincidence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEUfTOSjDQJJW5M2Sb8fg3nmijy_0EjKz3TNt8udOh5gowMgYbD2XfNkISBFldVtPWtkXq3cfq82WQPTHXPVE5ZlkQYNTB9eSchzI6o4GUEYw_vMzTpqtW1ZfpBbwsWUhHrGhBxZmeZGH/s1600-h/MoonriseA1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEUfTOSjDQJJW5M2Sb8fg3nmijy_0EjKz3TNt8udOh5gowMgYbD2XfNkISBFldVtPWtkXq3cfq82WQPTHXPVE5ZlkQYNTB9eSchzI6o4GUEYw_vMzTpqtW1ZfpBbwsWUhHrGhBxZmeZGH/s400/MoonriseA1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370589602960032098" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue"><b><i></i></b></p><b><i><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">What an astonishing moment of fate and coincidence that Walter Cronkite and the 40th Anniversary of the moon landing should have happen almost simultaneously.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">He covered wars, civil rights, assignations, day to day world affairs and, of course, the Apollo program with its climactic Moon landing. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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 <i>The Right Stuff</i> called <i>Of a Fire On the Moon</i>. 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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">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 <i>Norman Mailer, MoonFire: The Epic Journey of Apollo 11</i>, will come with a signed, framed, and numbered image of Buzz Aldrin for $1,000. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">Below is a small excerpt the text of <i>Norma Mailer, Moonfire: The Epic Journey of Apollo 11</i>:</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 14.0px Times">___</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">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 . . . .</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">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.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">So the words came. And the Moon came nearer. “3<span style="font: 12.0px Gill Sans">½</span> 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.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">“Sixty seconds,” said another voice.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">“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.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">Another voice said, “Thirty seconds.” Was that thirty seconds of fuel? A modest stirring of anticipation came from the audience.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">“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.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">A cry went up, half jubilant, half confused. Had they actually landed?</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">The Capcom spoke, “We copy you down Eagle.” But it was a question.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">“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. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 14.0px Times">___</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">And Walter said, “Wow!”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 12.0px Times">, </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question: </b>What was Ozzie Nelson’s profession in the TV series Ozzie and Harriet? <b>Sports writer for a daily newspaper</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What are anchor persons called in Sweden?</p></i></b><p></p>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-37754344039100990462009-08-15T10:32:00.000-05:002009-08-19T20:55:26.063-05:00Sometimes life is good<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGih8VRNbpOwsBSivcEZdOfPRd_g1EYF1u0JO1rQWYKwFKPEHiQFE1TF4DfzJgGSLJc2A_Fl-N3CH21vumB37tLlPW8ocPHgUG78rGfMUExlRw-U4TCan_cMod5PNhp0Swxc1GDxpEbtz/s1600-h/Baseball.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGih8VRNbpOwsBSivcEZdOfPRd_g1EYF1u0JO1rQWYKwFKPEHiQFE1TF4DfzJgGSLJc2A_Fl-N3CH21vumB37tLlPW8ocPHgUG78rGfMUExlRw-U4TCan_cMod5PNhp0Swxc1GDxpEbtz/s400/Baseball.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370214947677480722" /></a><br /><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Arial Rounded MT Bold'; color: rgb(153, 102, 51); "><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Arial Rounded MT Bold'; color: rgb(153, 102, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:15px;"> And sometimes it’s very good. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal 'Arial Rounded MT Bold'; color: rgb(153, 102, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:Times, fantasy;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Last year, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the phone rang. The caller asked if I was Allen Crenshaw. I started to hang-up because this is generally the opening pitch of a cold call, but something made me stick with it. The caller said, “I’m John Daniel and we played Little League baseball together 43 years ago.” </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">My brain sprung into high gear and started rummaging through the memory cells. Yes, I did play Little League baseball but the name John Daniels failed to register a blip. So I probed for more information - hopefully not letting-on that I remembered virtually nothing of my early baseball days.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">John continued by announcing that he was planning a reunion of the old team. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was remembering nothing of those early days. This was getting embarrassing and my recall was at the critical stage. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">John, I’m sure sensing my predicament, added that “he had a picture of the team that was printed in the Times Herald” (Dallas, at that time, had two newspapers: <i>The Morning News</i> and the <i>Times Herald.</i> Currently we only have one, but that’s a story for a later date). “Would I like for him to e-mail me a copy?”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times"> Ah Ha, I remember that picture, so I said sure, how about right now. I gave him my e-mail address and within seconds it was dinging in my inbox. Now I had something concrete to prod my sagging memory. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">As we talked, I rapidly scanned the picture and identifying caption line.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">The brain cells were finally coming to my rescue. I inquired about John Coker and various other members of the team. One I asked about was Tommy Hicks our sometimes pitcher/second baseman. John said, “You don’t know?” I wanted to say, “Of course, I don’t. I barely remember who you are,” but I didn’t. So I innocently said, “No. What’s Tommy up to these days?” </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Tom Hicks, you know who he is don’t you!?”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">I only know of one Tom Hicks, the owner of the Texas Rangers, Dallas Stars hockey team and previous owner of the Dallas Mavericks. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“You don’t mean the Texas Rangers’ Tom Hicks do you,” I answered with a voice dripping with incredulity. I could now see him grinning on the other end of the line when he said, “Yes!”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Not to take anything away from the other players, but this put the Reunion of the Myers & Rosser Pill Rollers (I know it’s a silly name, but heck we were just kids) into a new category of importance. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">To make a long story shorter, the reunion was held in the owner’s box during a Ranger home game, complete with a news story in the Morning News, exclusive tour through the stadium and clubhouse, interviews on TV, our names on the scoreboard, a visit on the field with Ron Washington (Ranger manager), a gourmet buffet, a Ranger cap and T-shirts with our 43 year old team picture on it. As if it needs to said, watching a game from the owner’s box is definitely the way to go.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Besides spending five great hours with my teammates, the highlight, at least for me, was during our tour by the club’s VP, he knocked on a blank nondescript door deep in the bowels of the stadium. A middle-aged guy cracked open the door and the VP asked him to come out and meet some folks. He did and the first thing I noticed was that his hands were covered in some kind of very black glop. We learned that one of his tasks was that of “ball mudder.” It seems that when the team’s new baseballs arrive (they go through seven dozen a game) they are slick which makes it difficult to handle, so they get “mudded.” He smears on this special mud -that only comes from South Carolina- and this gives it a grip that’s especially important to the pitchers. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">He told the story of Hall of Fame pitcher Nolan Ryan. Whenever he was pitching, he’d come down to the mud room and pick up each ball and carefully weigh it in his hands. If he didn’t like the heft of an individual ball, he’d separate it from the box and ask that it not be used. Then Ryan would randomly select a few balls and autograph them. “I like to give a little surprise to some fan who happens to catch a fly ball,” said Ryan.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Life can truly be wonderful.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What was Ozzie Nelson’s profession in the TV series <i>Ozzie and Harriet</i>? <b>Sportswriter for a newspaper </b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: Name the previous owner of the Rangers prior to Tom Hicks? <b>George W. Bush</b></p><div style="text-indent: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:14px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-927336004516492692009-08-14T07:49:00.000-05:002009-08-14T07:53:14.944-05:00Stereotype flip flops<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0CA8zAXV_EeERIUP98OerMsRnROlYlmqT2dDnpWwFIzEI6fKZHWGxvXZUXsrqS7VUdm0FcL7eWVBJTmdaz29FerE_Serw8d01yaVTaPIQ8Lbbgt00rIM2TBB2UhX0M6VN9ba8oGjsedlC/s1600-h/Caddy+Ranch+%233.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0CA8zAXV_EeERIUP98OerMsRnROlYlmqT2dDnpWwFIzEI6fKZHWGxvXZUXsrqS7VUdm0FcL7eWVBJTmdaz29FerE_Serw8d01yaVTaPIQ8Lbbgt00rIM2TBB2UhX0M6VN9ba8oGjsedlC/s400/Caddy+Ranch+%233.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369801686951510290" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue"><b><i></i></b></p><b><i><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Tonda and I have been married almost 30 years and I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. She’d probably be the first to admit that she’s not exactly Jane Wyatt and I’m not anything like Robert Young. In fact, many times Tonda is more like Robert and I’m more like Jane. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Early in our marriage Tonda discovered that I was very unhandy when it came to doing things around the house. It could be because the wallpaper I hung is still sticking to the picture window.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">I have over 200 hours of college credits and not one taught me how to fix a door knob. But like most people, I took door knobs for granted. Through a lifetime of broken lawn mowers, clanging refrigerators and walking washing machines, the door knobs have always worked. After all, their task is rather limited.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Almost immediately after our wedding ceremony, my step-daughter Courtney came to me to pass the word from her Mom that the bathroom door knob was broken. I asked, “Which one?” and she smirked, “The red haired woman you married last week.” I knew then she was smart beyond her years. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Which bathroom?” I replied. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“The one by my bedroom. It’s broken real bad. “</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Define real bad,” I asked. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“It’s sitting on the carpet outside the bathroom.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Puzzled I asked, “So why didn’t your Mom just tell me herself?”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">She knew she had me, so she answered, “Because she’s sitting on the floor INSIDE the bathroom...” The unspoken, “So there!” was left hanging in the air.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,” I procrastinated.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“Mom said to tell you to take your time. This was the first time she’d been alone for more than 10 minutes since her stretch marks appeared,” said Courtney after returning from talking to her mom through the door. “What does that mean?” </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">I ignored her question and headed down the hall as Tonda emerged from the bathroom. I asked why the door knob fell off and did she think Andy had yanked it off. Andy, my son, was pretty rough on things.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Tonda laughed and said, from her limited perspective, he had never shut a door in his entire life. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“What did Kelly (my other daughter) say?” </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">“She’s blaming it on Courtney,” Tonda said with frustrated hands on her hips. “She says we should check the knob for cat paw prints.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">I suggested that maybe “we’re jumping to conclusion and the door knob died of natural causes. Maybe it’s supposed to fall off at this time of year and if we wait until Spring it’ll grow a new one.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Tonda frowned and said she didn’t think so and “You’ll have to fix it.”</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Well the moment of truth had come. I hadn’t divulged to her that I was a mechanical clutz. She just assumed I could fix things. Guys fix things, right?</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">After 45 minutes of fumbling, Tonda finally came to the rescue. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Backtracking a bit: Before our marriage and after checking her teeth and family background I discovered how handy she was at fixing things.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">There’s a lot of reasons I love that woman. Being beautiful and smart are in the top three.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What laundry detergent got lots of mileage out of the ad tag line, “Ring around the collar?” <b>Whisk</b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What was the profession of Ozzie Nelson in the television series <i>Ozzie and Harriet.</i> </p></i></b><p></p>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-87947566399185703842009-08-13T05:42:00.001-05:002009-08-13T05:47:42.283-05:00Doesn’t anything work anymore?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8pQ6i78Crnua2SwSvMAjJw10eowWqZav0dr3Sx9wWd-SkpQhxhr7MPio2bYNyP055R4aD162XUbee2SVaLXLshdGCr_9bTJqRomZcw5ZXMhUIdxWdcKmoyuJLcy39yoYw7H7CRjDEZMi/s1600-h/Dandylion2a.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8pQ6i78Crnua2SwSvMAjJw10eowWqZav0dr3Sx9wWd-SkpQhxhr7MPio2bYNyP055R4aD162XUbee2SVaLXLshdGCr_9bTJqRomZcw5ZXMhUIdxWdcKmoyuJLcy39yoYw7H7CRjDEZMi/s400/Dandylion2a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369398196988019490" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 24.0px Helvetica Neue"><b><i></i></b></p><b><i><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">NASA who once put men on the moon, can’t seem to get the shuttle off the ground on time anymore. The Hubble Space Telescope needed refurbishing and our banks now beg and borrow. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">It would be natural for us to scream and yell, “Doesn’t anything work around here anymore!” True, some things that should work, but don’t are around, but there are a gazillion things that do work, and do so reliably year-after-year, without muss nor fuss. Consider the paper clip. A terrifically simple object that never breaks down. How about tea bags, the safety match, iPods, those wonderful Lego blocks, and the Swiss Army Knife. What could one possibly do to the safety pin, the Norman Tabernacle Choir or the Bible that could possibly make them better.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">What about those super Rowland stackable chairs that we see in churches, convention centers and meeting rooms everywhere. They’re great!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">To the list, let’s add the Foveon Camera Chip and cable TV, Tupperwear, hammers, YouTube, chisels, screwdrivers, erasers. plasma screen TVs, thumbtacks and the lead pencil. In it’s own humble way, the lead pencil is as impressive an engineering feat as the space shuttle. Try to make one if you don’t believe me. The pencil is perfect. It’s simple, it works and you can buy it for less than 50¢.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Several other of my favorites are: Post It Notes which were originally invented to mark the music pages for a choir, and I love the ingenuity of the little plastic gizmo called the Pez Dispenser. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">Last on my list are things that work and work well: Levi Jeans, toothpicks, clothes pins, men’s wedding bands, penny loafers, the ‘57 Chevrolet, Zippo lighters, Oshkosh overalls and GPS. At the tail-end of my list but Number One in my heart are laptop computers and The Internet.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times">See, things aren’t as bad as we thought. We just have top think about them every once and a while. Excuse me while I logon to Facebook.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 15.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What Texan ended up with one delegate after spending $12 million of his own money running for president in 1980? <b>John Connally</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What laundry detergent got lots of mileage out of the ad tag line, “Ring around the collar?”</p></i></b><p></p>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-21337538513054367272009-08-07T16:26:00.001-05:002009-08-07T16:31:48.742-05:00Mowing is called aggravation<p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal 'Helvetica Neue'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, fantasy; font-size: 14px; "> It’s time to mow again. If I sound aggravated, I am. Mowing one’s lawn is supposed to be a happy chore: you strideacross your land pushing thunder before you, a trail of weeds and dominated grass spewing behind you. But for me, mowing is an aggravation. My grass is shin high and there are weeds that look as if they could beat me at arm wrestling. It’s time to mow again.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">Once I became so aggravated at an amazingly recalcitrant mower, I pushed it down to the gully, swing it by the handles like an Olympic hammer thrower and tossed it into the ravine. Ask my wife. She’ll tell you. It’s a true story and I’m glad I did it. It’s probably still there.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The last time I cut grass I found the mower huddled in the corner of the garage like a hibernating animal. It had somehow built a thicket of chairs, a fertilizer spreader, boxes, a powered edger and somehow pulled our wheelbarrow over itself like a blanket. All my lawn mowing emotions had returned. All the hate I felt for weeds. All the glee at seeing decapitated dandelions.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">I drug the lawn mower out of the tangle and hauled it into the sunlight, checked the oil and refilled the gas. I plugged in my iPod, twirled the volume to extra loud and donned my floppy hat with the bite out of the brim where Belle the dog got it. Unbelievably it caught on the first pull, then choked, coughed, convulsed and died. I pulled again and it started. Thank you Jesus!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">I, lawn God, then strode purposefully into my deep lawn ready to mulch. Keep your fingers crossed.</p><div style="text-indent: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times, fantasy;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:14px;"><br /></span></span></div>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-50313876555981245672009-08-03T00:38:00.001-05:002009-08-03T00:39:26.185-05:00Beef Tripe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9nvep_JiwdXA-whWFH7oQ_xiMzUs4PEMQhqi7QfRbcy4H810ntyjcO2Ls9KP-sRR5bhWcUIudzCwnbcGchZNpbdVTgRVN2QwpRRwGffUf4I3e_NXpoeFd-gVK4WKWZQHr_cpI_ixZBHq/s1600-h/Peaches+2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9nvep_JiwdXA-whWFH7oQ_xiMzUs4PEMQhqi7QfRbcy4H810ntyjcO2Ls9KP-sRR5bhWcUIudzCwnbcGchZNpbdVTgRVN2QwpRRwGffUf4I3e_NXpoeFd-gVK4WKWZQHr_cpI_ixZBHq/s400/Peaches+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365607973143893362" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(86, 86, 86); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, 'Lucida Grande', arial, tahoma, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">Yesterday,<wbr style="line-height: normal; "> I accidently<wbr style="line-height: normal; "> brought home a different cat food than normal. I say accidental<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">ly when actually I did it on purpose, it was a buck fifty cheaper. Anyway, my finicky cat Boo wouldn’t touch, not even a lick, so I returned to the store to return with her preferred brand.</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">While wondering the food aisles -Tonda hates this because she never knows what I’ll return home with, I stopped in the canned food section and picked out a can of the genericall<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">y named Potted Meat Food Product - yes, that was its name. The ingredient<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">s listed on the label (Andy Rooney has got me doing this now) include: Beef tripe, beef hearts, cooked fat tissue solids, and partially de-fatted beef fatty tissue. I’ll bet all that attracts a lot of picky eaters. This is not a product my Uncle Mike would eat.</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">I can hear consumers around the U.S. dinner table, “Mom, pass me some more of that partially de-fatted beef stuff.”</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">Also on the label was a well lighted and composed color picture of a brownish substance surrounded<wbr style="line-height: normal; "> by parsley with an olive perched in the center. Is it just me or do olives look like frog eyeballs?</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">For research sake, I stopped at the meat section, rung the service bell, and asked the white stained apron clad lady behind the counter what beef tripe was. She looked at me like she hated to get those kind of questions,<wbr style="line-height: normal; "> paused... and said, “I think it comes from around the stomach area of a cow.” I could tell she hates people who are retired and have nothing better to do than wonder around the store, but I thanked her and left. </p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">I’ve lost my appetite after all this research, so I grabbed my stacks of canned cat food and headed home. Scares me to death to think about the ingredient<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">s in a can of Spam.</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; min-height: 18px; "> </p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal Times; "><strong style="line-height: normal; ">Trivia question of the day</strong></p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">(Try it without Google)</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; min-height: 18px; "> </p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span style="line-height: normal; white-space: pre; "> </span><strong style="line-height: normal; ">Yesterday’s Question:</strong> What organizati<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">on boasts that 27 percent of it’s membership<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">are blonde females? <strong style="line-height: normal; ">Mensa - the organizati<wbr style="line-height: normal; ">on for the really smart. Does this debunk the “Dumb Blond” stories?</strong></p><p style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span style="line-height: normal; white-space: pre; "> </span><strong style="line-height: normal; ">Today’s Trivia</strong>: Sellers of binoculars<wbr style="line-height: normal; "> and telescopes<wbr style="line-height: normal; "> gross about $400 million dollars a year from what group?</p></span>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-62242176997484788262009-08-02T07:55:00.001-05:002009-08-02T07:56:32.794-05:00A Love/Hate Relationship<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KwCTv1UJRV4/SnWM9A3iFYI/AAAAAAAAAB8/8D4Z3fyUY0w/s1600-h/Blake.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_KwCTv1UJRV4/SnWM9A3iFYI/AAAAAAAAAB8/8D4Z3fyUY0w/s400/Blake.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365349510914643330" /></a><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 18.0px Helvetica Neue"><b>A love/Hate relationship</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Myriad Pro; min-height: 13.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">A 2006* A.C. Neilson survey claimed that by the time your child graduates from high school he/she will have spent approximately 11,000 hours in the classroom and 15,000 hours watching TV. During the course of all this, they will have watched over 350,000 commercials and seen over 25,000 killings.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">However, television has brought instant, around the globe, news coverage to our lives and made it possible for us, at least vicariously, to be citizens of the world. It has allowed us to make friends with Oprah, Mr. Rogers, SpongeBob SquarePants, Charles Kuralt, Barney Fife, Andy Rooney, Ray Romano, Bill Cosby and many others. It has brought us much joy and, from time to time, some education.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">Television has also stolen much from us. Today’s children who huddle around the television monitor are missing something that every previous generation has enjoyed - the magic of childhood. Television killed skinny dipping, Christmas tree forts, chasing butterflies, drive-in movies, capture the flag and follow the leader. Aside from the Harry Potter books, children, generally, don’t read non-assignedbooks or newspapers. Most future generations of kids will not get to explore man in Heinlein’s <i>The Martian Chronicles</i>, float a raft down the river with Tom and Huck or read Leslie Conner’s great book. <i>Waiting for Normal</i>.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">My daughter Kelly, as a high school junior, was studying a classic book in her literature class. The teacher had advised her students to watch the video tape because the book was difficult to follow. It seemed like such an outlandish suggestion that I didn’t believe it and called the teacher at home. Sure enough she did make that suggestion to her literature students and couldn’t understand my concern. I was not a happy camper. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">I hope the next time with sit and watch TV we really enjoy it. It had better be good because we’ve paid a big price for it.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">*<i>By 2009, viewing habits have changed, somewhat. Too many kids are either texting, twittering, sexting or playing violent computer games to read books or actually play real games.</i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"><i></i><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> In 1950, 35 U.S. troops were sent to that country and thousands are still there. What country were they sent? <b>South Korea</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What organization boasts that 27 percent of it’s membership are blonde females?</p>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-24402887436435606152009-08-01T06:12:00.000-05:002009-08-01T06:13:17.605-05:00“Watch it! Here they come”<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; margin-top: 8px; margin-right: 8px; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 8px; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); background-position: initial initial; "><p></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">Retirement does strange things to you and one of those things is thinking about your past. While searching my mental files I discovered an odd phenomenon. The more you dig around those memory files the more stacks seem to grow.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">Much like my work files, the mental files are all neatly tagged, but incredibly disorganized. One is labeled <i>Athletics</i>(?); another, <i>Loves and Crushes; </i>and another<i> School Days, etc., </i>but standing guard over the stack is a large flashing sign that shouts <i>Best Years of My Life</i>. Taped to the bottom, was this note, with an asterisks:</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span style="font: normal normal normal 19px/normal Times; "><b>* </b></span>“When neighbors saw me coming, Mom told me they’d say, ‘Watch it! Here comes Bud.’” (Since my Dad was Allen Jr., making me Allen III, they called me Bud). We made growing up in Dallas a lot of <i>fun</i>.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">My best friend Mike was also my uncle and this probably deserves an explanation. Mike was my mother’s baby brother (by a lot of years, but that’s another story, and he was only a year older than me. He lived on Mockingbird Lane in Highland Park near the Dallas Country Club. His mother, my grandmother, was not wealthy; she just happened to live in a bungalow surrounded by mansions. I lived three miles north of them, near what was later to become the North Park<a href="/_Delicious-for-only-5/photo/4728914/16878.html" mce_href="http://community.ovationtv.com/_Delicious-for-only-5/photo/4728914/16878.html" title="view Delicious for only 5¢"><img src="http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/16878/photos/PHOTO_4728914_16878_2814586_ap_320X240.jpg" mce_src="http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/16878/photos/PHOTO_4728914_16878_2814586_ap_320X240.jpg" width="320" height="221" alt="Delicious for only 5¢" title="Delicious for only 5¢" class="kickMediaRight" style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; float: right; " /></a>.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">On a 14-inch TV with a white lighted frame around the screen, we watched <i>Tom Corbett, Space Cadet</i>, sang along with Miss Francis on <i>Ding Dong School</i>, and fell in love with the Mickey Mouse Club’s Annette. We had matching inflatable Dino the Sinclair dinosaur dolls, and later matching Daisy air rifles. Naturally, we harassed the neighborhood where we lived.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">For the most part, Mike and I were reasonably tame until we got our first bikes and could explore new territories. One of our first escapades outside the neighbor got us thrown out of a shoe store in Preston Center because we were putting everything other than our feet in the shoe store’s fluoroscope. It was a machine that somehow imaged the bones in your foot and we were just experimenting to see what X-Ray Vision really look like. Actually, were really making a scientific experiment but the store manager didn’t see it that way. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">Eventually we graduated from Schwinns to bus tokens, thus expanding our territory, and we’d catch the Park Cities bus to downtown Dallas. We’d wonder Main and Commerce Streets, sometimes bringing our swimsuits so we could sneak into the Dallas Athletic Club for a quick swim with the real members.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">At Walgreen Drug Store, we’d lunch on club sandwiches for 40¢. Some kids had playhouses but we had downtown Dallas as our playground.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">We saw our first dirty pictures at a (looking back on it now) pretty seedy arcade, but hormones know no bounds. In the arcade, we would drop a coin into a slot, look through a cardboard scope at dancing ladies as they flip charted through a semi-strip routine.. Their dances were pretty tame by today’s standards but it was pretty wild stuff to 11 and 12 year olds. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">When we had the money, we would go to the Majestic Theater for the latest movie. Even if we arrived just before the movie started, it seemed like forever before we saw the organist rise out of the stage and play 10 minutes of music before Pathé or Movietone would officially start the show with a short newsreel. I’ll always remember Don (Red) Berry, Will Bill Elliott, <i>Lady and the Tramp, </i>and a few years later, we saw the Christmas Day premier of a new spy movie called<i> Dr. No</i> starring an unknown actor named Sean Connery. After the movies we’d generally walk east about a half mile to Deep Ellum to one of the pawn shop/used record stores to listen to Red Foxx and Rusty Warren’s forbidden comedy records (they talked about sex and used cuss words).</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">On one memorable occasion at the movie, we unraveled and emptied the powder from the fuse of a KKK firecracker (<i>I remember them being shaped like a silver tub with the fuse sticking out of the middle. Because of their size they’ve been banned for years</i>), found a couple necking in the balcony and lit it under their chair. Then downstairs we’d casually chat with the theater manager while the fuse slowly burned to the powder and EXPLODED.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">It sounded like someone had set off dynamite. The manager went nuts, and we quickly caught the bus back home. I know it sounds like a crazy stunt, and it was, but we were boys, teenage boys at that - is that an excuse or a fact?.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">We swam in Turtle Creek until we discovered Highland Park’s sewage overflow emptied upstream from our “swimming hole.” Sewer cooties were to be avoided you know. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">By the time we graduated from high school, many had said, “Watch it! Here they come.”</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">Oh, we had our paper routes, played little league baseball, dated and pursued many other normal activities, but the file I happened to pick up today was labeled <i>Mischief</i>.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 9px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">Best years of my life? You betcha. Mike now sells real estate -quite well, thank you- and I’m retired now so I have a lot of time for mischief.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal Times; "><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">(Try it without Google)</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; min-height: 18px; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> What 47-year-old landmark decision by the Supreme Court is still being fought? <b> Prayer in public schools is unconstitutional</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: In 1950, 35 U.S. troops were sent to that country and thousands are still there. What country were they sent?</p><p></p></div></span>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-40147560349990241472009-07-31T06:23:00.000-05:002009-07-31T06:29:57.741-05:00Thank You<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgvYOm5a_nmc-GmpfOAwG-pxwmuFb9ZMdJvAn81P4P62bl6Jm2UIM4LA1XwcDWxjWjkOjjI-4nZv3FlK055OLE_0KqTuKHaWILp7MRqkadzz8FmHwRoVDhOgrqVLbLdRQ3cgn7XV66o7J/s1600-h/Bedside+TableA.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgvYOm5a_nmc-GmpfOAwG-pxwmuFb9ZMdJvAn81P4P62bl6Jm2UIM4LA1XwcDWxjWjkOjjI-4nZv3FlK055OLE_0KqTuKHaWILp7MRqkadzz8FmHwRoVDhOgrqVLbLdRQ3cgn7XV66o7J/s320/Bedside+TableA.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364583856853422002" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:10px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; font: normal normal normal 22px/normal 'Helvetica Neue'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:180%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:6;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:22px;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>Sometimes we need to say “Thanks” for some of the things that mean a great deal to us. </b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(1) Blessed is a clean sensor</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(2) Blessed is a hug from my wife Tonda when things are not going right.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(3) Blessed is a gorgeous sunrise/sunset.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(4) Blessed are those who can cook a terrific chicken fried steak (my wife makes the best)</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(5) Blessed are those who don’t call in the middle of my favorite TV show.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(6) Blessed are kittens and puppies.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(7) Blessed are the doctors who don’t keep you waiting.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(8) Blessed is the gas gauge that reads</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 15px/normal 'Stencil Std'; "> FULL</span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(9) Blessed are the seats and service in First Class.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(10) Blessed is having your back scratched.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(11) Blessed are my grand kids’ smiles.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(12) Blessed is your dog who greets you every time you arrive.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(13) Blessed is good news. </b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(14) Blessed is peace.</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(15) Blessed is the Rockies Mountains in Colorado</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(16) Blessed is having a profession you are passionate about</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(17) Blessed is good health</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(18) Blessed are great books</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(19)</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b>(20)</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "><b></b></p><b><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 18.0px Times"><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">(Try it without Google)</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times; min-height: 18.0px"> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> According to statistics, what country has the lowest incidence of heart attacks even though 65 percent of the adult population smokes? <b>Japan</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: What 47 year old landmark decision by the Supreme Court is still being argued about today?</p></b><p></p></span>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-40777163332202656262009-07-30T06:03:00.000-05:002009-07-30T06:04:33.983-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2H__26jG_dj5qTTUogrQQQ9X2eb36mRn43AjEVeBM44PP9z1VS6tqJVRk4EWyimr2kF-XohMwqNuCfUzLXCiT7JZo3R8GxAMSB7oVGhfvYUY6-SpVRBYGHyUmrrbEyk5pPACrbIkb5wv/s1600-h/Civil+War.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2H__26jG_dj5qTTUogrQQQ9X2eb36mRn43AjEVeBM44PP9z1VS6tqJVRk4EWyimr2kF-XohMwqNuCfUzLXCiT7JZo3R8GxAMSB7oVGhfvYUY6-SpVRBYGHyUmrrbEyk5pPACrbIkb5wv/s320/Civil+War.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364207426226544338" /></a>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5001172074748836800.post-22938846229278753582009-07-30T05:52:00.000-05:002009-07-30T05:53:52.857-05:00Was famous war photo staged?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; margin-top: 8px; margin-right: 8px; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 8px; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); background-position: initial initial; "><p></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">Part of my teaching college/high school photojournalism courses was a history section and Robert Capa’s career was always one of my favorite lessons. He epitomized the combat photographer. Now, his famous 1936 <i>Life</i> magazine photograph of “Loyalist Militiaman at the Moment of Death, Cerro Muriano, September 5, 1936” is again under attack.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">As noted, this was not the first time. Researchers believe it may have been staged. They’re saying the photograph was taken 34 miles away from Cerro Muriano on the Cordobo front where no fighting was recorded to have taking place. The added scrutiny of Capa’s contact sheets place the whole scenerio in doubt.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; "> Not to be making excuses, but maybe it was just an impulsive stunt by a 23-year-old aspiring journalist trying to make a name for himself. Maybe the rewriters of history are wrong. It’s hard not to forget that this happened 73 years ago in the Spanish Civil War, but the accumulation of evidence is certainly marring the image of who has been described as “The First Photo Journalist” and hero of mine. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">His credentials following 1936 are impeccable. He documented the course of World War II, the Second Sino-Japanese War, the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, the first Indochina War, and died during combat at age 40 at Thai Binh in Vietnam. His photographs portrayed the violence of war with “unique impact.” He is famous to all photo journalist for saying, “If your picture isn’t good enough, you’re not close enough.” The Overseas Press Club created an award in his honor, The Robert Capa Gold Medal, that is given annually to “the best published photographic reporting from abroad, requiring exceptional courage and enterprise.” </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">He was born Endre Friedmann in Austria-Hungary. He fled to France because of the rise of Nazism (he was Jewish) and changed his name to Robert Capa. Interestingly, the Hungarian word for cápa is Shark. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; ">Hopefully the debunking of his actions surrounding his Spanish Civil War photograph is just junk research.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 15px/normal Times; min-height: 18px; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 18px/normal Times; "><b>Trivia question of the day</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">(Try it without Google)</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; ">The answer will be in tomorrow’s blog.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; min-height: 18px; "> </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span><b>Yesterday’s Question:</b> From what bicycle shop did Lance Armstrong’s mother purchase his first bike? <b>Richardson Bike Mart</b></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; text-indent: 19.8px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Times; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span><b>Today’s Trivia</b>: According to statistics, what country has the lowest incidence of heart attacks even though 65 percent of the adult population smokes?</p><p></p></div></span>Allen Crenshawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09109580464325098008noreply@blogger.com0