Who's in Charge Here?

William Castle's THE TINGLER screens on TCM tonight, reminding me of a great story regarding its original theatrical release. Inventive marketer Castle rigged some First-Run theaters with under-the seat buzzers that tingled the sitters. At certain times during the film, a voice would shout out "Scream, scream. scream for you life or the Tingler will get you!" This was accompanied by a jolt of juice to the wired seats.

On cue, my friend Martin cooperated with a loud scream. An usher came quickly to him and told him to be quiet or he would be removed from the theater. As you watch this movie tonight, I suggest you follow that usher's advice.

Is this really a free speech issue?

Supreme Court to weigh depictions of animal cruelty
In a case that pits free-speech defenders against animal rights activists, the justices will consider whether the 1st Amendment should protect depictions of animals being hurt.

Is it against the law to abuse animals? If it is, then that is the only issue that needs litigating. Sure, the video makers are natural born crud, but the legal system should be going after the perpetrators of the animal abuse. The videos should be clear evidence of the criminal behavior. And as evidence, each copy can be impounded until the perps are brought to justice. Do we need the Supreme Court to figure that out?

Meditations on Mortality. cont.

Julie was recovering from her emergency colon surgery last year in a two-bed room in UCLA Medical Center when I checked in on her one afternoon. As I approached the room I could hear loud wailing and crying and quickly worried. In the first bed, Julie laid teary, but quiet. Behind the drawn curtain, the other patient, a tall young woman with a stomach cancer, and her mother were crying fiercely. Julie whispered to me that the young woman's doctor had just advised her that she is to be transferred to a hospice to die.

Now Julie's emergency surgery was triggered by chemo treatment for her breast cancer. and even though she was suffering grievously, we knew that after recovery from the stomach surgery, her breast cancer would be well under control due to the new, but very expensive drugs that were now available and affordable to her as a result of medicare. The young woman in the next bed, however, was not eligible for medicare and her private insurance did not cover the cost of the same drugs that would save Julie. So her doctor informed her and her mother--in direct words that stunned Julie to hear--that she had no alternative but to die.

A government health plan is not needed to tell us when we have to die; that plan already exists for those who cannot afford the benefits of full contemporary medical care. It is a plan based on influence, affluence and profitability. Humanity is not a factor in the equation.

Julie's next roommate was a fairly hearty Irish gal. She was from the San Luis Obispo area and had a cancer in her arm. The medical facilities in SLO were not equipped to treat her cancer so she came a mere four hours and 200 hundred miles to UCLA. After a couple of days, however, it was determined that her insurance would not cover the UCLA treatment so she packed up for her return to an indeterminate future and probable amputation instead of therapy.

The brunt of Julie's extensive medical expenses were underwritten by our government operated health plan. It is a crying shame than her two roommates, and so many others, do not have access to such a health and life supporting program.

Meditations on Mortality

Another old friend died today. At the age of 92, most all her other friends are already gone. What she had left at her end were her children and grandchildren. Their memories are really are a poor substitute for the contemporaries who lived with her, loved her, maybe even disliked her, but knew her as a person, not as a mother or a matriarch. But they now gone.

She, on the other hand, outlived many others whom she knew well and who lived on for a little while longer in her memories. The curse of the long life is the memories of those gone, and the never ending loss of their passing.

Nevertheless, all things considered, I, too, would rather be in Philadelphia.

The Bargain Hunter

I think this is a good time to repeat this classic fable.

Wandering through a fog so thick it is difficult to make out the shop lights,
A lone tourist finds himself in a back alley, antique shop on the edge of San Francisco's Chinatown. Picking through the objects strewn carelessly about the cluttered shop, he discovers a detailed, life-sized bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he feels compelled to pick it up and as he holds it, finds it difficult to put it back down. Though not much of a collector, he reluctantly asks the shop owner what it costs.

"Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and a thousand dollars
more for the story behind it."

"You can keep the story, old man," he replies, relieved at the bargain price,
"but I'll take the rat."

The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes another sewer drain, more rats come out and follow him.

By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels.
The fog is quickly lifting and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm toward him from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars.

Rats by the thousands are at his heels and, as he nears the waterfront at the bottom of the hill, he panics and starts to run full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously now, not just thousands but millions; a tide of rats pouring from every part of the city and closing in behind him.

Trapped at the edge of a pier, the tourist makes a mighty leap up onto a light post and while grabbing hold, drops the bronze rat. It lands with a bounce on the pier and tumbles into the Bay.

Pulling his legs up and clinging desperately to the light post, he watches in amazement as the screeching tide of rats surge over the end of the pier and follow the bronze rat into the sea, where they swiftly sink and drown.

Shaken and humbled, he somehow makes his way through the returning fog back to the antique shop.

"Ah, so you've come back for the rest of the story," says the owner.

"No," says the tourist, "I was wondering if you had a bronze Republican Senator.

Roots?

My German grandfather's birth name was Rock. His mother's maiden was Meerholz. They died together in a distant accident when my grandfather was a child and he was taken for adoption by his mother's family, and his name changed to the matrinominal Meerholz, which may have been shortened on arrival in America to Merholz. (Please, no T)

Playing Around with Google Earth I came across the name Meerholz in a town in Germany. Meerholz translates to sea wood in English and I have sometimes used the pseudonym B.J. Driftwood. Looking the town up on Google, I found that a vacant plot of ground in this little village now stands, after Bulgaria and Romania joined on January 1, at the geographical center of the European Union.

Make of it what you will.

Squirrel hunt

I parked in a large lot behind a block of stores and let Charlie loose for a little stretch and marking. Suddenly a squirrel appeared on the open ground, Charlie zeroed in and the chase was on. The squirrel zigged and zagged but couldn't shake Charlie, breathing down his neck and barking in his ear.

I chose not to interfere during the chase. It looked to me that Charlie could have seized the squirrel if he so wanted, and I was ready to reach in if he started to lunge, but harassment seemed to be his only interest. And animal observation was my interest.

I would guess it was basically over in ten to fifteen seconds when the squirrel finally found a power pole and started his climb. He actually slipped back to the ground after a foot or so but quickly regained his grip on the wood and scampered to a safe height, from which he loudly chided or taunted Charlie, who merely seemed to shrug and sauntered off to pee some more.

It was pleasing for me to see that although Charlie often barks at and charges toward squirrels, birds, cats, motorcycles, leaf blowers, etc., it seems to be no different than when he does the same thing to dogs, from which no harm has yet derived. Just a bit of sport.

Game On!

As action on the basketball court winds down, attention to the U.S. Supreme Court heats up. There is now the usual controversy over the selection of a new Justice and attitudes and platitudes are fanning the flames of partisanship. Juxtaposition of the two courts points up their similarities. The myth is that the justices of the U.S. Supreme Court, like our sports umpires and referees, possess superior understanding of their respective venues and exercise appropriate wisdom in their final decisions. This is hardly the facts of the matters.

The Supreme Court is our ultimate legal authority not because it is our wisest court, but simply our court of last resort. Its record of decisions, usually 5-4, is less an accurate decider of Constitutional merit than is it the equivalent of a shoot-out of penalty kicks or shots on goal after an unresolving number of OTs in a soccer or hockey match. Someone has to be declared the winner, that is the nature of an adversary system.

Only on the Supreme Court, the nine justices – or referees, if you will, take the penalty kicks instead of the litigants. It becomes, at that point in our judicial system, a game between the sitting justices. Their prejudices, preferences, mind sets and rhetorical skills themselves become the contest they engage in. The prize for victory is the establishment of those prejudices as national law, regardless of merit, or lack of same.

The Senate confirmation hearings are the preliminary game played between the opposing parties and the nominating President in an effort to stack the nine member bench with referees expected to be most favorable to their interests. I, of course, hope that the new appointee, whenever in play, will score some goals for our side.

Time Marches On....

In 1909--

The average life expectancy was 47 years.

Only 14 percent of the homes had a bathtub.

Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone.

There were only 8,000 cars and only

144 miles of paved roads.

The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.

The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower

The average wage in 1909 was 22 cents per hour.

The average worker made between $200 and $400 per year .

A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year,
A dentist $2,500 per year, a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year, and a mechanical engineer about $5,000 per year.

More than 95 percent of all births took place at HOME.

Ninety percent of all doctors had

NO COLLEGE EDUCATION!

Instead, they attended so-called medical schools, many of which

Were condemned in the press AND the government as 'substandard. '

Sugar cost four cents a pound.

Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen.

Coffee was fifteen cents a pound.

Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used
Borax or egg yolks for shampoo.

Canada passed a law that prohibited poor people from

Entering into their country for any reason.

Five leading causes of death were:

1. Pneumonia and influenza
2. Tuberculosis
3. Diarrhea
4. Heart disease
5. Stroke

The American flag had 45 stars.

The population of Las Vegas, Nevada, was only 30!!!!

Crossword puzzles, canned beer, and ice tea

Hadn't been invented yet.

There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day.

Two out of every 10 adults couldn't read or write.

Only 6 percent of all Americans had
Graduated from high school.

Marijuana, heroin, and morphine were all available over the counter at the local corner drugstores. Back then pharmacists said, "Heroin clears the complexion, gives buoyancy to the mind,regulates the stomach and bowels, and is, in fact, a perfect guardian of health."

Eighteen percent of households had at least
One full-time servant or domestic help.

There were about 230 reported murders in the ENTIRE U.S..A. !

So where do we go from here?

Poltergeist?

Okay. So two days ago I prepared to shave but, after lathering up, realized that my Sensor excel razor was not resting across the top of my pewter shaving mug. I couldn't find it on the counter so I took the razor from my travel kit and shaved.

When I couldn't find the damn thing by yesterday I did a major ransack of my bathroom, closets, drawers and cabinets. Julie tsk tsked my absent mindedness and while I was out, she did one of her major - and usually successful - searches and came up with nothing. Since it had no hiding place, hidden or in plain sight, Julie was convinced the razor had somehow left the building. I felt we were in the grip of a mystery beyond earthly explanation; even predicting that no sooner would I buy a replacement Excel, than the original would re-materialize.

Okay. I didn't buy a new razor but I did bring in a spare I keep in my Trooper and used it yesterday. Last night, after brushing my teeth and spending the usual amount of time over my bathroom sink with the shaving mug right beside and no razor across its top, I go to bed. A few hours later, I awaken with my usual nighttime call to nature. As I start to return to bed I clearly see the razor, resting quietly across the top of the pewter mug. Dreams can seem very real so I somewhat doubted the evidence of my eyes. I picked up the razor, felt its solidity, convinced myself I was awake and determined to find it there in the morning.

So this morning it was still there. I picked up the mug and my spare razor and took them down to show Julie. She, also, could not understand how the razor could be exactly where it was supposed to be and where she had not been able to find it when she was looking for it the day before.

This may not qualify for The Twilight Zone, but it's woo-woo-woo-woo, woo-woo-woo enough for me.