The Celebs Are Dropping Like Flies.

Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Billy Mays, actress Gale Storm.  Walter Cronkite is sick.

     You would need astrologists to figure out if there is something in the stars.

     The media is keeping the Michael Jackson business alive.  He was talented but warped.  As one of my friends in Palin’s put it, “I hope he finds peace.”  I am tired of hearing about him, though.

     Ed McMahon was an entertainer for longer and a genuinely nice man.  Farrah Fawcett reminded me of a friend and former boss.   Said friend same age and also problems with cancer.  Farrah’s passing meant a lot more to me.  Plus, Elaine’s best friend lost her two month old grandson.

     Michael Jackson is very much at the back of the queue.

Hi, Billy Mays Here.

     Depends on what “here” means.

Joe Torre, The Yankee Years.

I just finished the book, the Yankee Years and loved it.  I’ve always liked Joe Torre, if not the Yankees.  As a student of history, I enjoyed Joe Torre’s co-author, sports reporter Tom Verducci (Sports Illustrated) with his references from the classics about the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry.

First from the first century B.C. Roman poet Catullus.  “I hate and I love.  Perhaps you’re asking why I do this?  I don’t know, but I feel it happening and it’s torture.”

The Peloponnesian War scenario has the Yankees as Sparta and the Red Sox as Athens.  No longer the Yankees as Road Runner and the Red Sox as Wile E Coyote.

You could never not love the Sox, but hated what happened to them.  You always knew there was a freight train at the end of the track.  Well, Athens finally beat Sparta.

The tables have since turned.  Joe Torre is too decent to put up with Yankee management foolishness.

I only have one question about Joe Torre managing the Dodgers.  How does he put up with Manny.  I am going to have to ask my friend Magaly Guerrero about that.  (Magaly runs the website I posted earlier, Pagan Culture).  She is Dominican and a psychologist.  I need to ask her about Manny.

Way to go Joe!

Dambisa Moyo, Dead Aid, Questions.

I am posting my questions for Dr. Moyo here.

1.  Should there be an African Union, like the European Union?

2.  What about encouraging immigration to Africa for certain skills?

3.  What about microloans to African entrepreuners and can the money be funneld past African governments?

4.  No matter what, aren’t more powerful nations still going to influence what Africa can do?

5.  Are you still willing to accept help from folks like Bono?  If yes, are you only willing to do it if it is done through microloans?

The Testosterone Duo.

     Elaine is wired because of her booksigning this coming Saturday.  Yerbie and I, the Testosterone duo, may go sleep on the sofa until Saturday night.  There is the final score.

Estrogen 1-Testosterone 0.

Yerbie as a Judge of People

Before I got home from work yesterday, Elaine was the only human in the house.  Someone rang the bell saying he was a missionary.

Yerbie normally goes rushing to the screen door to greet folks.  This time, he just stood by Elaine as though he was guarding her.  The guy at the door held out his finger for Yerbie to sniff, Yerbie just stared angrily.

Yerbie as a attack cat.  For Yerbie not to like soneone, this is a new thing.  Therefore, I trust my little buddy’s judgement.

Lucy Went to the Groomer.

Unlike my little buddy, who is a shorthair, Lucy is a Persian with thick black fur.  That fur was matted, so today, Lucy had a date with the groomer.

On the ride up, she was most displeased.  We even got her a special, larger carrier that can be wheeled.  Her new “do” has her head of hair, her tail shaved like a poodle and her body shaved.  Will help in the heat of the Arizona summer, but it took some getting used to.

Yerbie was hissing at her.  Poor Yerbie thought she was another cat!  Life is back to normal.  Then I got my hair shaved.  It is hot today.

Dambisa Moyo, Dead Aid

I just finished Dead Aid and found it interesting.  I am not an expert on economics or Africa.  I can only agree with her premise about the African people getting micorloans to build businesses.  Remember the old addage, “Feed a man a fish, he eats for today, teach a man to fish, he eats for life.”

I would be interested in comments.

When I Was Your Age.

     Thirty years ago, I swore I would never use this phrase.  Mom taught me not to swear, but I didn’t listen.  Now I use it all the time.

     Not sure if it is a mark of maturity, or am I just getting old and cranky?  I was reminded of a silly story from when I was thirteen.

     I was sent home with a note from school.  Dad said he had to determine a suitable punishment.  I looked at him and said, “Dad, you know I could have crumpled the note and thrown it in a trashcan on the way home.

     Dad is a Chemistry professor.  He looked at me intently.  You could see the equations being crunched in his head.  He was wondering, “What kind of criminal career is this kid headed for?”

     The fact I even had the gumption to think about such a thing was in his eyes already a violation. 

     Now, that I think like him, I reckon I deserve  having an AARP card.

The Trip to Kings County.

Kings County Hospital is Brooklyn’s psychiatric hospital.  One day, my old friend Bonnie called.  I need you to come with me and some other people to visit someone Friday night.    My friend is in Kings County.

Kings County is also the county name for Brooklyn.  New Yorkers only use it on state forms.  Notice though, I knew immediately that Bonnie meant the psychiatric hospital, not all of Brooklyn.

“I coulda had a date, instead I’m going to Kings County?”  Then the usual moaning about life being unfair.

‘Consider it a date for me.”  Heck, what are friends for.

Altogether, seven of us were walking the few blocks up Myrtle Avenue going East to Nostrand Avenue.  In the late 1970’s this was not the safest thing to do, even during daylight hours.  On a Friday night?

As you went East, the buildings became more rundown.  More like the tenements you get in poorer New York City neighborhoods.

At the corner of  Myrtle and Nostrand, we were approaching the bus stop when a male voice that could not be seen called out from an abandoned storefront on the corner.

“Yo, what are you white kids doin’ here?”  Yours truly wanted to pick a fight with the voice with no face, but cooler heads prevailed and the bus showed up.

Things are better today.  Then, a Friday night on the B44, Nostrand Avenue bus, we stood out, but I think people figured we were crazy enough to be dangerous (and they would have been right).

We got off the bus at Clarkson Avenue and entered the hospital.  First the security guards had to search us.  I came prepared.  I had things stored in my denim jacket that would make Harpo Marx proud.

My knife dropped the floor, “What’s that?’ the guard asked.  Because I am a wiseass I responded with, “Looks like a gravity knife, sir.”

“And this?”   “Looks like a lead pipe sir.  Can I have them back?”  (I got them back when we left).

One of our group was acting up.  The remainder of us wanted to sign her in there.  The person we visited was different that is for sure.  The head nurse insisted on tasting the imitation cold duck to make sure it was not alcoholic.

And that was my Friday night date in Kings County.