Lucky strikes.

There's an old saying in sports, especially baseball, that it's better to be lucky than good. That may seem odd, since you can't even play the game unless you develop some consistency with the needed skills. The point, however, is that even the best skills will fail sometimes, but good luck by definition never does. Although unlike skills, good luck will abandon you without warning.

But what is luck, anyway?

In the Silver Age Justice League of America comic, the League was menaced by a scientist named Amos Fortune, who discovered that humans had a "luck gland" -- yeah, I know, I know -- and that manipulating this very rational, very scientific biological feature could give him unbeatable good luck and the League terrible luck. 

Comics have had a number of other characters whose abilities are luck-based, or to make it more sciencey sounding, they had the ability to influence probabilities. Originally Marvel's Scarlet Witch was not a magician, but rather a mutant with the ability to influence probabilities. Domino is another mutant with luck powers, but since she keeps getting killed, I'm not sure how lucky she actually is. 

Definitely the most interesting use of a fictional lucky character I know was Teela Brown, the luckiest known person in the galaxy, brought along on a very dangerous mission to the Ringworld (in Larry Niven's classic science fiction novel) simply because of her massive good fortune. That was it. She had absolutely no other qualification to be on that mission. It's as if they stuck a lottery winner on Apollo 11, just in case. It's impressive to see the way her suspected good fortune plays out (or does it?) in the course of the story. 

In a rational sense, luck is nothing more than numerical chance coming together in a particular time and place. It feels like a blessing, and one that can be influenced by totems or chants, but it's just the way things shake out. Little about probability feels normal. If probability says I'll get heads 50 coin flips out of 100, and I flip 50 heads in a row, there's still just a 50% chance of tails on the next flip. Tails isn't "due." It doesn't work that way, although it feels like it ought to. 

All the same, is that coin normal? I'd check. 

While the Christian is expected to believe in Providence, and that those of a mathematical bent should study probability, he is not supposed to believe in lucky objects or gods of luck. That's paganism, and it's usually invoked in places like the poker table, and it's right out. Sacramentals (crosses, medals, etc.) are intended as a means of keeping us focused on Him from whom all good things come. They are not lucky charms, even if worn with frosted oat cereal. (It should be noted that there are curses and blessings in disguise in this life, and one needs to exercise the virtues of prudence, temperance, and justice to handle the good and bad that come one's way.)

But if there is really such a thing as luck, I think the best kind has to be dumb luck. Dumb luck is so completely out of the blue, so totally unmerited by the recipient, that he can take no pride in receiving it. A man who has been fortunate in business can thump his chest about his smartness and dedication, but a man who finds a Rembrandt in the attic of an abandoned building cannot. He may pat himself on the back for acting promptly to secure his rights to the property, but he certainly can't puff himself up as being a genius for his investment skills. 

Dumb luck is as rare as red diamonds, and should always be appreciated with humility, even if it's just a trick of probability. Now, is that a two-headed penny, or what?

Music City.

Not too long ago I applied for a job in the greater Nashville area. I know you think of me as a dazzling cosmopolitan New Yorker, and indeed for most of my life I was loyal to New York, and would have preferred to stay in the Empire State, despite the lousy winters and swampy summers and awful crowds and a government run by socialist morons (but I repeat myself) for whom I would never vote. Alas, New York has surpassed stupid and proceeded to brain-dead, so like most of us who are not brain-dead, we want to escape. 

But where to settle? Well, I had a line on a good job in Tennessee. I figured it had to be an improvement. My initial application was greeted warmly, and I had an online call to move the process on.

What was my fatal mistake, the flaw that led to the latest in my long string of failures? Ah, me. It may have been an error to demonstrate my enthusiasm for a possible move with this:

This is a souvenir plate I bought when I visited the great city of Nashville with my family years ago. It's one of three tourist-trap items I purchased on that trip. Another was a Music City coffee mug, long busted. 

We had a great time on that trip, even though most of us were not fans of country music. We did the touristy stuff -- show at the Opry and a look through the amazing Opryland Hotel, and yes, I was almost within touching distance of Elvis's gold 1960 Cadillac. I was completely sincere when I told the interviewer that we enjoyed the town. 

But this plate? Well, I didn't mention that I bought it as a gag gift for my then-girlfriend (now wife) who had asked me to buy her the cheesiest, hokiest, tackiest country-type souvenir I could find. She thought I'd exceeded the request. When we got married I got the plate back, and it hangs proudly on the wall of the cellar in what I laughingly call my workshop. 

The interviewer may have sensed that the plate, while a memory of a great trip, was not a sincere purchase made for the quality of the item.

I meant no harm by showing this off. I have cheesy souvenirs of New York City, and I lived and worked there most of my life. But I wouldn't be surprised if the plate sank my employment chances. I can find a way to sabotage pretty much anything in some new and unexpected manner. Everyone has a special gift, I guess, and that seems to be mine. 

Still, I suppose it could have gone even worse -- if I'd shown him my third souvenir, the bolo tie:

Made lovingly with the fine Nashville craftsmanship one finds in... Taiwan. 

See something, say something.

When I was a tiny tot of three or four years, Mater gave me an object that quickly became precious to me, and in fact would dictate my calling in life. 

"Reginald," she said, "this is known as a See 'N Say. Take good care of it, my boy, and it shall take care of you."

Indeed, Mater was correct, as always. From the first moment I spun the dial and pulled the string on my new treasure, I knew I had found my calling in life. To see. And to say.

By the time I was a precocious lad of six, I had already embarked on my hero's journey. "Doctor," I recall saying to the family doctor on one visit, "that is a blood pressure machine."

"Why, yes it is," he replied. 

"It says 'pst pst pst psssssst.'"

"I believe so."

"And that is a digital thermometer. It says, 'Beep.'"

"It does that, yes."

"And that is a nurse. She says, 'If Dr. Son of a Bitch doesn't divorce his old lady like he said, I'm going over there and telling her everything!'"

"Erm... How much you want to keep that on the QT, kid?"

So you see, at a tender age my gift was paying dividends. In this case, five hundred dollars and a lollypop.

Later I had established my own business, C-Say Inc. On a typical day I might be asked to consult for, perhaps, a building foreman.

Moi: That's a construction worker.

Foreman: Yeah.

Moi: The construction worker says "#*$^!&#^@+)&!!!!"

Foreman: Okay.

Moi: And "Look out bel--"

CRASH

Too bad about that one; Foreman Pete was a friendly chap.

Ah, my brilliant career. A recent job involved an interesting character. I was asked to have a look at this fellow named Epstein and report on what he said. I did the first part of the assignment, but there was some acute unpleasantness, and to make a long story short, he died. In fact, the agent who hired me was reassigned to investigating parents at PTA meetings, so I was left without a contract. 

But one cannot merely see and not say when one is as dedicated as I. So I have decided to use this forum to say the many things I overheard from Mr. Epstein. They were most enlightening. First, he said that among the most enthusiastic guests he brought to his private Caribbean abode, he would have to number Mr. --

Excuse me, that's the doorbell. I shall be right back. 

And it echoes!

 

The pathos of logos.

First of all, don't get on me about how K-cups are a waste of money. I know, I know. But I cannot begin to describe how devoted my wife is to coffee, even decaffeinated. She drinks coffee all day, with small amounts of water and other beverages at meals. Don't begrudge her these small pleasures! Think of the guy she's stuck with! 

Anyway, I noticed a change to the Dunkin' logo on her K-cups this week. (Yeah, I know they dropped the Donuts part years ago. Feh.) The logo is different -- but barely. I saw the contrast because the decaf box was a couple of weeks older than the regular.

You can see that the logo is now a tiny bit larger, and the letters are a tiny bit thinner. It is not a large alteration of the logo they've been using since 1976, but it is different. 

I have to ask why they went to the trouble -- because you know there was a lot of trouble over this. Some marketing pro was sitting there one day, looking at the logo, saying, "You know, if we made it a microscopic bit taller and thinner, it would reflect our more aggressive, active, non-donuts-centric approach to selling coffee." And then it had to go through about a thousand managers among the company's 270,000 employees to discuss, have meetings, create and argue over designs, stamp one thing, eschew another, and otherwise hold up making the change for months, ultimately getting the lawyers involved, because the lawyers are always involved. Does this count as a change to the trademark? If it does, that's a whole new level of hell. If it doesn't, why are we doing this at all? 

I've worked for magazines that made a change to their logos, and back in the days when casual readers would be looking through racks of magazines for something to read, it was a big huge freaking hairy deal to make that change. Sometimes magazines wouldn't do it; they wanted to stick with a logo that they knew was cemented in the public mind. Others feared they were losing readers because the magazine was being considered less reliable or less modern and needed a refresh. When the logo change was decided, it would have to be approved all the way at the top no matter how large the company. That's still true for most consumer brands. 

The thing is, Dunkin' went to a lot of trouble for a change that not one person in fifty would notice. From what I can tell on the US Patent and Trademark Office site, it didn't require an update to the product mark. I would love to know what they were thinking. If anyone involved comes across this page, please let me know. 

And be assured that my wife will continue to enjoy her Dunkin' coffee, morning, noon and night. You could put the logo upside down in Sanskrit and she'd still buy it. You could write it in Hobo or Papyrus and she wouldn't care. Just keep crankin' it out and she'll keep drinking it. 

Moving and rudeness.

Anyone who has been reading this blog -- extraordinarily smart and good-looking that you are -- probably knows that among my many characteristics, I dislike unrequired rudeness and I admire the men who provide the basics of sanitation in our lives: clean water and trash collection. 

If one were to go back in Earth's history to any of the cities of the past, even 150 years ago, the first thing one would probably notice is how horribly filthy everything is. We are naturally repelled by filth, as nature's way of telling us to back off, but since we discovered the microscopic causes behind disease, we are more repelled than ever. Go back to New York c. 1840 and your nose would probably be the first thing that alerted you that you were not in 2023 anymore. (Not that it's exactly a bouquet of roses these days either, granted.) There are still plenty of places on the planet where clean water is a luxury, not a given, and trash collection is little other than wherever you can dump it; places where cholera and dysentery are still common. "Public health" is an oxymoron there.

So we ought to be as respectful of our garbagemen as we are of any service provider who performs an important function in a clean and peaceful polity. Which means stuff like this is a no-no. 

This family is in the process of selling their house, and this is the third huge dump they put out for the trashmen. I'm wondering if they're bringing anything at all with them, because it seems like everything in the house must be going in the garbage. They even had a set of tires -- with rims -- out there at one point -- and it's illegal to throw away tires with the trash. (The trash pros left the tires the first go-round, but they disappeared later.)  

The town says you can put out one large item (like a piece of furniture) per week. They flew past that limit a while ago. Old tires, of course, were mentioned as something you can never throw away, but state law says you can bring them to any place that sells tires and they have to take them (a small fee may apply). 

The county says you can bring your crap to the dump for about $130 per ton. In my experience they usually don't even bother charging if you don't bring a dump truck full of debris in with you, as long as you can prove you're a county resident.  

And it doesn't seem like very many of us are aware that these guidelines exist. This crazy thing called the Internet, where you can look things up instantly, is getting to be a thing. These people ought to check it out.

The best and most efficient option if you have a lot or junk is to rent your own dumpster and throw your garbage away yourself. Just chucking everything on the curb is inefficient. 

It also is the height of rudeness -- taking your problem and making it someone else's problem without asking. Like littering, drunk driving, useless mask mandates, and silly games involving personal pronouns, taking one's own problems and shoving them onto someone else's back is at the very least showing no consideration for one's fellows. 

Well, the trash legends did not take all that junk on the Tuesday run. The scene this morning:

Will they be willing to cart it away Friday? Will the slobs add to the pile by then? Will they ever learn? The drama continues unabated. 

Am I being nosy? Is that rude? Yes and maybe, but rudeness is A-OK in our neighborhood now.

Soda Italiano!

I bought this in the supermarket -- it was in the Italian foods aisle. But I'm not really sure it belonged there. 

Tuscanini! A name synonymous with fine soft drinks! Or is it? 

The bottle does say it's a product of Italy, and never having had any colas manufactured in Europe, I figured, why not? It comes in a classy glass bottle, so it's probably really high class. At any rate, how bad could it be? 

It got me thinking about the origin of cola nuts as a beverage flavor. Apparently the kola nut, of African origin, has long been used to flavor water, and I can believe that even though Wikipedia ties it to the slave trade. It was praised even then for its powers of refreshment -- its caffeine content compares favorably to that of the coffee nut.

Kola nuts had been hanging around for a while before being used to make a soft drink, Coca-Cola, in 1886, then Pepsi two years later. America thus did as much for the kola nut as probably the entire Ottoman Empire ever did for the coffee bean. Yay us! 

But back to the Italian soda. Is it any good? 

It's -- okay. It reminded me of C&C.

When I was a kid and my mom wanted to try to save some money, she might buy a cheaper off-brand cola. This never worked, because Dad was a dedicated Pepsi man. Most colas were not that good, and none of them had a rich and distinctive flavor the way Coke, Pepsi, or even Royal Crown did. One that came close was C&C, a regional brand that was founded in Belfast, Ireland, believe it or not, in 1865.  The company moved to the United States in 1955, is based in Cranbury, New Jersey, and its products can still be found in stores around the New York City / Northern New Jersey area. I'm glad to see that the company has come out with all kinds of crazy flavors like Orange Pineapple, Cotton Candy, and Red Candy Apple. It's the only way to compete with the big guys, who can't move quickly when it comes to new products. 

But back to Tuscanini. I noticed that the bottle explicitly said that their cola was kosher, which is not something soda brands usually do. Coca-Cola did not become certified kosher until 1935. While Pepsi Cola has always been kosher, Pepsi does not always go to the trouble of getting certification overseas -- and apparently not all modern Pepsi products would meet those standards. (No, there's no pork or crab in Gatorade, smart aleck.) This would make Tuscanini more appealing to the large and growing Orthodox Jewish community in my area of the lower Hudson Valley. 

On further investigation, it appears that all products sold under the Tuscanini name in the United States are distributed through a kosher foods company called Kayco, based in Bayonne. A quick look at the US Patent and Trademark Office database confirms that the trademark "Tuscanini" is owned by Kenover Marketing, which merged with Kedem and B&W to form Kayco. While I believe these products do come from Italy as advertised, they may be from a variety of manufactures nowhere near Tuscany.   

None of that matters much to us in the non-kosher community if the products are good. The odd angle is that we have a brand called Tuscanini that one can buy with assurance if one needs foods that are kosher. I guess it is a small world after all. 

News of... the Future!

Friends, I have seen the future and am here to tell you all about it! 

Last night I dreamed I went to the office -- although I haven't been to an office in years -- and by the time I got there I realized that I was now a thousand years in the future! How did it happen? How did I even know it had happened? Beats me. All I knew was that I was in the 3020's. So I decided to continue to the office and see how things had changed. Maybe I still had my job! 

It didn't look like this at all, FYI.

Here's what I found in the far-future city of New York:

1) Everything is bigger. The long-prophesied mile-high skyscrapers apparently came to pass, but I can't say for sure because I could only see them at the bottom levels. They had exceptionally large lower floors to support all the weight, though. So I guess maybe. 

2) Everything still sucks. The old company was still in the same spot. I didn't know how to get in, so I went in the service entrance. The corridors were dirty and the wallpaper was water-stained and peeling. The future is filthy. 

3) The bathrooms are stupid. Apparently our preposterous bathroom issues have metastasized. I asked someone where the can was and was sent into a large room that had merchandise all over, like the floor of a cheap department store. The urinals and whatnot were against the walls in the rear, but good luck finding them. Also, there was no separation of the sexes, but that hadn't become a casual thing -- people seemed annoyed by it and the women were trying to stake out their own territory. Of course some fellow in a dress wanted to use the plumbing on their side even thought his own, er, plumbing was presumably different. I just left.

4) Vending machines are a big deal. But also stupid. I left the building through the front entrance, which was below sidewalk level. There was an enormous spiral walkway that led up to the street. Along that were large vending machines with all kinds of stuff sold in little boxes, but I couldn't read the names on the packages. Maybe the written language had changed that much -- or more likely it is because you can't read in dreams. I thought about getting something to eat, but I had no money -- then realized the thing was busted and I could just take something. Some guy in a suit reached in and grabbed merchandise that had fallen to the bottom. I did too, and I still couldn't figure out what I had. So I put it back.

And that was about when I woke up, because indeed, I had to use the can. 

So, as you can see, my dream visit to the future was kind of a waste of time. Pretty typical for my forays while slumbering -- I never get anywhere and I just get stressed out. 

I'm basically an idiot in my dreams. Maybe even in real life! 

Easy childing, hard adulting.

I hear them young whippersnappers complain about the problems of adulting, how they should have been taught to do their taxes and change tires in school instead of learning algebra or cartography. 

I'm actually not going to come down on them too hard. I know they're being flippant, and we all know that the reason we learn a little about a lot of subjects in school is because we have to find the kids who like algebra and cartography and all the other subjects that will not be so useful for the rest of us later on, because someone has to know how to do these things. Also, learning a lot of things in a stressful environment is a great way to learn how to learn, and it's good exercise for the mind. Still, it would be helpful if kids got more practical life lessons in school -- or at home.

And there's the rub. There are strong disadvantages for kids who are not required to do things at home. In the suburban area where I live, no kids are ever seen pushing lawnmowers, regardless of the income level at which they live. Dad rides the mower or they leave it to the pros. I never see kids raking leaves or painting the house or any of the things I used to do with my dad that I hated. 

Further, there are not that many jobs for youngsters, and probably fewer youngsters who would want to do them anyway. Why should they? To save for college? To work all summer and pile up a pittance that won't even pay for three credits in the way-overpriced universities of the present day?

The real loss shows later down the road, in the failure to go through all those miserable jobs and learn how to "adult." 

Do not think that I'm saying kids have it too easy. Actually, in a lot of very crucial ways, they have it worse now. They may have greater material goods than generations past, but they are much less likely to be raised in a solid home with some kind of moral and spiritual foundation. That makes them more susceptible to all kinds of social ills, especially nihilism. 

I get on the anti-nihilism soapbox a lot. It's the main reason we have not vanquished so many other of those social ills. If nothing matters, why do anything? Why achieve anything, except for the most base, egomaniacal reasons? If nothing matters, who cares what you do? Why, really, does it matter if I hurt someone if I want to? Nothing matters means exactly what it says. 

And this too is a product of "bad childing." Kids shielded from all kinds of tough truths become teenagers who are shocked and dismayed to discover the facts of life. They realize they have literally been lied to by everyone about everything -- not just about the Tooth Fairy! They were lied to about how perfect and special they were! (Everyone is special and unique -- only not in the ways egotism tells us. That's a hard concept to grasp when you are thirteen. Or maybe even thirty.) 

It becomes a race to the bottom -- the kids need to eject any hopeful or meaningful ideals before those too are exposed as lies. Nihilism feels true because they now expect the worst. It's a protection against further disappointment. Nihilism is also enticing because promises it freedom and pokes fun at everything. If nothing matters, you can do whatever you want! But in the end, the menu is always the same. 

 

So put them to work around the house. Encourage them to find jobs. Tell them they must commit to extracurriculars, and not bail out when the going gets tough. Establish rules. You can't "give them a sense of pride," pace Whitney Houston, but you can help them earn it. If there's the slightest glimmer of faith in the parents, they should commit to some kind of churchgoing. And by all means, protect the kids from not from the knowledge of harsh realities but from being the victim of harsh realities. 

Coaches say things like "Easy training, hard game. Hard training, easy game." The truth of that is simple to grasp. Well, childhood needs to be a training ground for adulthood, and it does kids no favors to treat it any other way. 

Look! Gettin' up there!

It's a bird! A plane! A sagging blimp!

No, it's the hottest superhero team to ever limp into comics -- the Geriatric League! 

Featuring:

POLLY GRIP! 

She looks ancient but what a wrestler! Polly Grip has the superstrength that helps her to take on all opponents. There's no challenge she won't sink her teeth into!

AMNESIOSO!

Ever forget why you went into a room? Maybe Amnesioso used his magic power of forgetfulness on you! He's been known to make an entire bank vault of supervillains forget what they went in there for. If you forget him, you'll regret him!

POPS!

What's that popping sound? Knees? Knuckles? All that and more! If Pops doesn't knock you flat with his sonic popping sounds, he'll slay you with his horrible dad jokes. Gotta have your Pops! 

JULIUS GEEZER!

A truly commanding presence, Julius Geezer is the public face of the GL. His strategic brilliance and his undeniable charisma assure friends and scatter foes. Together with him, the League will cross the Rubicon... of justice!

SLOTHMAN!

What's mightier than superspeed? How about superslowness? No one can get past Slothman, especially when he's doing 35 on the right lane of a 65. Inflicting slowness upon and causing infuriation in his enemies, Slothman is one of the most dreaded of these golden oldies. 

BINGO WINGS! 

She glides as gracefully as an eagle but strikes with the suddenness of an owl. If your number comes up, Bingo Wings, will swoop down and put her marker on you -- and that's BINGO! my friend. The early-bird special is Bad Guy Surprise.

And of course, we must not neglect the inspirational leader of the League, that super (old) patriot:

CAPTAIN PRO-STATE! 

Radioactive seeds unleashed the mighty powers of Captain Pro-State, and he uses them to fight for truth, justice, and the American way! The Captain never sleeps in his quest for righteousness -- he was not dozing! His eyes were open! 

Okay, so why am I dragging out yet another superhero parody that pokes fun at old timers? Probably because we still haven't cut cable and gone over to streaming, and because of that I am noticing the advertisers on cable seem to focus more and more on commercials for the elderly. I guess the feeling is that only old farts have not gone over to streaming video. 

So, after the hundredth drug commercial, fake drug commercial, reverse mortgage commercial, and medical help pendants, I just went nuts and decided that what this country needs is a bunch of old superheroes who will protect the rights of the feeble and incontinent. Plus, considering that the frontrunners for the job of US President in 2024 will have a combined age of 159 on election day, we may need the help of some superheroes to keep our country afloat. Why not older heroes? 

Not like they have to worry about keeping normal jobs in their secret identities. They're all retired! Superheroing just beats mall-walking, pickleball, and pestering the grandkids, that's all. 

Emojerks.

Recently the New York Times published an article entitled "What Is IJBOL? A Korean word? A new boy band? This new acronym is replacing LOL and ROFL on social media." 

I didn't read the article, because I don't subscribe to the paper and wouldn't give them a nickel if my hair was on fire and they were selling buckets of water for five cents each. 

But to answer the question, IJBOL means I Just Busted Out Laughing (or Burst or some other appropriate B). It makes more sense than the stupid ROTFL, because no one ever saw something so funny online that they literally R on the F. 

The article is just another in a long series by the Times that could be described as "What Are Those Weird Ordinary People Doing Out There?" They love to look at human beings as if they themselves are some strange Olympian race occupying the planet rather than the overeducated trust-fund bizarros that they are. Make sure to check out next Sunday's exposé, "Canned Vegetables: Are They Having a Moment?" 

Translations for Internet initialisms goes back to the earliest days of networks. LOL broke through into the common culture, and from there it was a race to see what silly thing would catch on next but be inscrutable to outsiders -- especially among teens whose parents monitored their electronic communications. Urban Dictionary, a place where you can always check in if you want to lose your faith in humanity and you want to do it fast, has about a million disgusting initialisms that the contributors just make up off the top of their tiny craniums for the lulz.

But, thanks to the smartphone, most of us are content to send emojis to one another, at least once we figure out what each new update of emojis is supposed to mean. I could probably tell you in a general way what each emoji on my phone is supposed to represent, but I wouldn't put money on it. 

It was different when we were young. 

 Ah, the days of real sport!

Stunning archeological find!

I know you think I'm just an editor and writer, spending my days cramped over the computer, pounding out words and nursing phrases to health. Boring, right? Well, that's not the whole story, my friends! Unbeknownst to you, your friend Fred is also a paleontologist and an archeologist! I just do it for laughs; there's not usually a lot of money in that stuff. It's why Indiana Jones had the same hat for fifty years.

But who cares? It's the science and the history that concern us! And that is why I am excited to share with you my latest finding, one that will rock the foundations of academia and change forever the way we think of dinosaurs and prehistoric man! 

You see, it has been a longstanding prejudice by the scientific community that dinosaurs died out 63 million years before the appearance of the first humans. They point to stories like those of famed caveperson Alley Oop, who had a pet dinosaur, as being silly, ahistorical, unscientific. 

Well, I say: Nuts to that! Because I have discovered proof that humans and dinosaurs coexisted. I present to you this cave drawing that I found following extensive and exhaustive research. And digging. Oh, so much digging. My achin' back! But it was worth it. 

Clearly, what we have here is an example of a giant spike-boned dinosaur, similar to Alley Oop's Dinny, as rendered by our primitive ancestors. I submit that this vivid and detailed cave depiction is of the Kentrosaurus genus (Kentrosaurus meaning prickle lizard), which was said to have died out with the late Jurassic. Late Jurassic! As you can see, that's just silly talk.

Obviously the artist had seen one of these magnificent beasts sometime in the paleolithic era. But this stegosaur appears to have a much larger head than most known dinos of its type, a head more suited for carnivorous rather than herbivorous habits. I confess my identification of the animal as a Kentrosaurus involves some guesswork. But it is prickly and it is a lizard, and I've known a number of people that fit that description, so let's call it educated guesswork.

Assuming this is a discovery of a new and unknown species, I humbly suggest the name Kentrosaurus Flinstonica for it, a tribute to that modern stone-age family who demonstrated peaceful coexistence with dinosaurs in legends passed down to us. 

But where did I find this amazing work of art? I'm afraid I will have to keep that my secret, at least unless the Journal of Old Stuff publishes my paper and pays me handsomely. And even then it may not be possible for others to investigate the find personally. It's been rather rainy, and I'm afraid it may be washed away.

Be glad I have preserved the image for science. You're welcome!

Banjaxed!

It may be a sad commentary on the human condition that our words for aiding and for creation are not as plentiful as our words for beating and for destroying. Furthermore, the words for creation tend to be specific to the task (assemble, sculpt, carve, concoct, cook) while those for destruction tend to be interchangeable (ruin, crush, crunch, pulverize). 

All that said, we do have some pretty great works for wrecking things. Wallop, pound, smash, annihilate, shatter, ravage, and raze are all fun. Also, we do understand that there are implied differences in the severity and methodology of these verbs. 

One of the coolest words is banjax, which has that great ax at the end. It's thought to be of Irish origin, and Merriam-Webster dates it to 1939, but no one knows for sure where it came from. That stressed B-syllable at the beginning is reminiscent of beat or batter, and X is always good for destructive purposes, as a sound or as a mark to indicate things that must go. You get the idea of being hit and broken in two. It also sounds like getting hit with a banjo, and even the sound the banjo might make when you get hit. 

No disrespect to El Kabong, but an acoustic guitar weighs about five pounds, while a banjo can weigh as much as fourteen. Plus, the guitar has more air resistance. I think I'd rather be kabonged with a guitar than banjaxed with a banjo. 

As we head toward football and hockey seasons, where the verbs for destroying each other will be flying in the sports coverage, I would to remind everyone that banjax is a fine word for beating the snot out of an opponent. 

One important side note: Remember, the word is whup, not whoop. Whup, generally combined these days with ass and often available in a can, is a variation of whip that dates back to 1852. Whoop means to cheer (as a verb) and goes back to the 14th century. One does not whoop one's opponent -- unless one is cheering for him, I guess. You'd be surprised how often I see this mistake from professional writers -- and, it must be said, female ones, because they've never watched pro wrestling. 

Above all, do not whoop ass, because that sounds like some strange butt-related fetish, and I don't think we need to know any more about one another's sex lives these days. 

Don't shop, adopt (fruit edition).

If you didn't feel guilty enough every time you throw away plastic instead of recycling, well, now you can start feeling guiltier, because by throwing out expired food you are DESTROYING THE PLANET.

But don't worry, because now that fruit, that poor, tenderly harvested, irreplaceable fruit is being rescued!

Danon's Two Good yogurt, named so because it has just two grams of sugar per serving, is here to SAVE THE PLANET by rescuing fruit! And if that sounds silly to you, then you are an Earth-destroying bastard and you don't care. But Danone, Danon's home company, DOES CARE:

Danone North America's Two Good® Yogurt is tackling food waste with the introduction of its Good Save™ product line, wrapping a year of commitment to positive impact for people and the planet for the brand. In partnership with Full Harvest®, Two Good 'Good Save' uses Verified Rescued Produce™ to create lower sugar yogurt products with the goal of reducing food waste at the farm level. The product line is setting the standard for the emerging rescued foods market and is the first dairy product to utilize 100% Verified Rescued Produce™. The initial offering features Meyer Lemons that are 100% verified rescued, with plans to launch additional flavors in 2021 and beyond.

You catch that? They loved the idea of rescuing fruit so much that they trademarked the term Verified Rescued Produce™. Note: The trademark does not mean a government entity looked it over and said, "Yes, by golly, that meets our exacting standards" and stamped it. It just means that they got the USPTO to issue a trademark.

So what is the deal with the great fruit rescue, this Dunkirk evac of fruit, and does this involve PETF (People for the Ethical Treatment of Fruit)?

Full Harvest is a do-gooder outfit that leads off saying that a full one-quarter of all produce in America is wasted. I always find these kinds of assertions questionable. You know the figures are always fudged to make the point stronger. Plus, considering how much we grow in this country, and how much agriculture traditionally goes to waste, I think consuming three-quarters is pretty good. 

If we weren't whacking people over the head to Eat! Fresh! Fruits! and Vegetables! all the time, I think we'd be canning and freezing more, and even less would be wasted. Because fresh stuff rots. Canned vegetables stay good for a very long time. 

I think it's safe to say also that children and teenagers probably count for most of the domestic waste. Someone who lives alone and buys apples will probably try to eat them, however much the siren call of the potato chips tries to lure them away. Parents trying and failing to get healthy food into children is the main cause of refrigerators turning into the hospice of produce, where the bounty of the earth goes to die. 

But Full Harvest is not able to round up the stuff that's perishing in the crisper drawer. So what IS Verified Rescued Produce™?

Verified Rescued Produce® is defined by Full Harvest as produce or its by-product that was grown for human consumption but is determined that it will go to waste at the time of evaluation.

While all Full Harvest produce either falls into surplus or imperfect and is being sold in service of reducing food waste, only some of it can be Verified Rescued™ - meaning that it can be verified that it would have gone to waste at the time of evaluation. Any category of Full Harvest produce above can qualify as Verified Rescued™ if it meets our strict verification requirements at the time of evaluation during our auditing process. When verified by a Full Harvest audit, the produce is officially considered “rescued”, meaning that it reduces food waste, and therefore qualifies for environmental benefits (Water savings and CO2 emissions avoidance).  

So... I'm eating garbage? What was so weird about the Meyer lemons that Two Good rescued that they were considered unmarketable? Now I'm a little scared.

Some people think we need to make supermarkets give away any food that's going to waste, but there are downsides to that that the commies never consider. For one thing, a big food giveaway every day would mean fewer customers and more freeloaders, so fewer people paying the freight. But say we took that step by force of law. Then the commies ask: "Why not give it all away from the get-go?" Because you can never do enough for those people, and they never think through the logical consequences of their demands. The Verified Experience of Communism™ proves again and again that giving stuff away leads to scarcity for everyone, but despite the vast human experience in this experiment, they cannot or will not understand why. 

In a way, rescuing fruit in a way nothing new. The huge Tropicana plant in Bradenton, Florida, not only uses four billion oranges annually to make juice, they also turn the peels into useful products like perfume ingredients and cattle feed. Capitalism is supposedly wasteful, but in fact it is way better at recycling than communism, because capitalists want to make a buck off everything they can. 

But back to the Two Good product. Is Two Good any good?

Yeah, it's a quality yogurt, as Danon stuff tends to be. But I have to say the lemon flavor is not very strong. Maybe they need to rescue MORE fruit. Maybe too many Meyer lemons are still losing their lives for nothing. DO BETTER, DANONE! 

Anyway, I hate being lectured with my food. I'm going back to the store brand. 

Porch song.

John Madden famously said, "If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch."

Well, Izzy's on the larger side as breeds go, but he'd usually still rather stay on the porch. This summer has been relatively mild, and he's decided the porch is the primo spot. 

He isn't there to spy on the neighbors or bark at people going past on the sidewalk. He just likes hanging out outside. Humans need shelter, but not animals. If they're in their natural temperature zone, they can just hang out. They may not be comfortable all the time, but they're in far less danger of dying from exposure than we are.

What's annoying is that Izzy will pretend he has to go out to pee, sound real panicky, and collapse on the boards the moment he goes outside. Sometimes even if he has to do his duty (har!), he will stay on the porch first to make sure he gets his porchwork in.

Never neglect porch day.

Often he'll fall asleep out there. 

I don't mind too much. The porch furniture is not very comfortable, but it's okay. The bugs usually don't attack. It's mainly a problem if I'm on deadline. Almost all my work is done on the laptop, and I don't want that outside if the weather is bad -- or if he really does want to go walkies and I'd be obliged to leave it out there. Even if it's just sunny, it's hard to see the screen. 

He doesn't want to be alone outside, so he'll start making noises if tethered on the porch by himself. If I'm working against the clock, I have to play the bad guy and drag his furry behind back in. 

Occasionally the weather will be too hot or cold, and Izzy will want to go in before too long. This never happens in spring or fall -- rain, sun, fog, thunderstorm, snow, he doesn't care. 

But I think I benefit from the fresh air as well, even during allergy season. Also, because we were out there so much, I caught a bunch of wasps building a nest. The little bastards were building it at the very apex of the gable in the center of the roofline, a place inaccessible with wasp spray from the second-story windows or from the ladder I have. I could go out the window onto the porch roof, but considering that I have injured myself going downstairs recently and crossing the driveway before that, I am not going out on any roofs if I can avoid it. 

So, from the top of my ladder leaning up against the porch, I sprayed the nest with the hose. 

That has a couple of advantages. One, it ruins the nest. Two, they don't seem to consider water damage as an attack, just weather; they go into flee mode, not fight mode, so I got away without being stung. Unfortunately, the nest is still attached up there, hanging like a withered old testicle. If it doesn't detach on its own soon, I'm going to have to dig out the power washer and hope that has better range. 

To sum up: Dog, cute, loves porch; wasps, evil, build branch offices of hell in inaccessible places. And I'm just glad I can sit outside and not freeze to death because it's summer.  

Deeper memeing.

Hello, pals! Just a few memes here to keep your strength up as you face the weekend. Be careful out there! 

Too dark?

I hope so! Enjoy your day.

A tragic rime.

 

Saga of the Homophones

Or, Long Knight's Journey into Daze

By Fred Key, Righter

Knight fell slowly on the town

And it hurt him on his knee.

A boulder knight no one could know

It tripped him up, you see.

“This rock has merely hurt my pride;

My hart is much more pained.”

Indeed the dear looked shaken as

He wobbled off, half sprained.

“Sad knight,” his squire said to him,

“Despair misaimed your boot.

I’m saddened to my sole for you!

How sorry is my foot!”

“Alas, the pain is all too reel,

A fishhook in my heart.

It lands my fate I know not wear!

I rend my clothes apart.

I love the Princess Jezebel

If I may bear my sorrow.

The sorrow growls, shows its teeth,

And haunts me for the morrow.

Ah, Jezebel! Beloved one!

Such a gorgeous site!

Yes, her castle is quite nice,

And she’s a bit all right.

I sought to woo her to be mine

I brought a bunch of flours.

The sacks all busted on the way!

Was sweeping up for hours.

Covered as I was I thought

To play a dashing roll.

Alas, she’s gluten-free these days!

She shunned me, on the hole.

When I climbed out I wrote a note

With finest stationary

The note, I fear, I could not send!

Stuck to my reliquary!

I made a book of poems for her;

Enclosed it in a phial.

But all the pages jammed in there

So it was not worthwhile.

Once more I leapt upon my horse

And took him by the rain

Which meant I had to shower off

That horse is such a pain.

At last I rode once more to her

And to her castle peek

I found my interest peaked in her

As in her bath I sneak.

Once more disaster struck, for she

Whose love I tried to steel

Had me tossed out upon the tush

And that raised quite a wheel.

I rolled back home and now I sob

Thwarted in love thrice.

What a scandal! What a waist!

And the rest of her was nice!

You clearly see me in such pane

All riven by love’s wars!

And thus my tail is at its end.”

He pointed to his drawers.

“Such a poem of -- whoa!” the knight

Herd from his faithful flunky

While chasing off a pesky flock

Of sheep who all smelled funky.

The squire said, “A lesson, lord,

Is learned by eye or ear.

And yet ignored, for it is said,

You can’t get there from hear.”

✍🏰🐑

It's dog-eat-dog out there.