Estimating estimates.

A couple of the publishers I work for ask for estimates in advance of work -- how long will it take to copyedit or proofread or fact-check or mark up or whatever some poor manuscript that won't know what hit it. I find this to be very difficult because I barely know what to expect, even if I have a chance to glance over the job. You might be surprised at the lousy condition in which some books and articles arrive from the authors.⭐ They'd have been flunked by some of my old profs. 

"Looks like crap!"

The main problem is, despite being word people at heart, I don't think these publishers all know what the word estimate means. One publisher requests an estimate, but if the job requires a lot more time than anticipated, they go into a panic. It makes more work for the unfortunates who hired me, who have to get approvals and new purchase orders, and it delays payment for the unfortunate me. Of course, the writer and the top editor are really to blame, but they barely know what we're doing -- they only acknowledge my work if I do something to piss them off. 

What this publisher wants is not an estimate but a bid -- a price at which I will promise to get the work completed based on the time and any expenditures required. I would be willing to work under that condition, and in fact I do for other publishers who offer a flat fee for a job. It's not ideal from my perspective, but at least it's honest. 

Everyone knows an estimate is not the same thing as a solid offer. New York, which has strict laws for contractors, even acknowledges that estimates may be exceeded depending on circumstances -- say, the guy who you signed up to replace your siding finds so much dry rot that the neighbors call your home the House of Usher, or the mechanic checking an idiot light discovers that your transmission is about to blow through the engine like the alien through John Hurt. The original estimates were based on what was believed at the time, as are mine -- and I also can't guarantee how long something will take until I start digging in. 

Again, I want to be clear that none of this is the fault of my contacts at these companies, who are some of the nicest and most professional people I've known in the business. It's the bean counters and the pencil pushers who make the procedures, the ones who are in the unenviable position of trying to make publishing profitable in a way it hasn't been since the first movie theater opened and the first radio broadcast went out. But I wish that they would use their terms with more precision. Don't ask for an estimate when you need a fixed price.  

So that's what's bugging me today. What's YOUR problem?

📕📗📘📙

⭐Or maybe you wouldn't.

Shopping, then and now.

When I was a pitiful waif in the city, the little shops along the streets were already in dire straits. Even in the outer boroughs of New York City, the automobile was taking its toll on neighborhood stores. People would drive to Jersey, Long Island, Yonkers to go buy stuff. And when those boroughs got official shopping malls of their own, it was devastating. Local service stores like the barber shop and the TV repairman could hold on, but the dress shops, the record stores, the card shops? Their time was dwindling. 

Everyone knew what the future was going to be like -- the world would be based on a shopping-mall structure, the humans merely consuming drones, the cities dead or gone. 

Science fiction writer Somtow Suckaritkul wrote a series of stories called Mallworld that were later published in book form. Humanity was living in a planet-sized mall that was hurtling toward doom, but all we could do was live mall culture. Howard Chaykin wrote and drew an indie comic called American Flagg!, set in a future where the elites govern Earth from Mars and people live and work in fortified Plexmalls, and the titular hero is essentially a mall cop. Warren Zevon released a song in 1989 called "Down in the Mall" that poked fun at our obsession with mall culture. We were all doomed to be mallrats by 2020 at the latest. 

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to Mallmageddon. 

Everything supplants something, and what Internet shopping has done to our shopping malls makes us wistful for the good ol' days of mallmania. No one wants to admit it. We are willing to admit that the big cities’ shopping scenes in old movies, where people shop for Christmas in little emporia and big department stores, looks pretty cool. But the mall? 

Yeah, well -- it was social, at least. We got out of the house. We didn't freeze while going from store to store. There were plenty of places to look for stuff, so if you couldn't find anything you wanted to get Aunt Hildy, maybe it was time for you to reexamine your feelings about Aunt Hildy, because man, there was something for everyone. Maybe you really just don't want to get Hildy a present. Did you ever think of that?

Also, you could play in the arcade, get a bite to eat, check out new books or records, even take in a movie if your mall had a theater. So maybe the mall had something to say for it. 

The old department stores -- which had supplanted a lot of little stores -- did have one thing that the malls could not match -- awesome window displays at Christmas. 

Lord & Taylor window, 1980. Christmas scene set
in the landmark Daily News Building lobby. L&T's windows were 
always better than Macy's.

Lord & Taylor is defunct, and I don't feel so good myself. 

Oh, well -- the old guard passes etc. None of us wants to give up the convenience of shopping from home, least of all my wife. 

Going out on a present-buying excursion usually entailed some frustration, loss of patience, and possibly screaming kids. But it also could have something that's in real short supply these days -- good, clean fun. Where do we go to get fun back in our lives?

Weekend book sales!!!!

The season of shopping and Sales! Sales! Sales! has begun, and I and a bunch of other authors would like you to know how you too can save...

Well, okay, maybe not big money and not all the way until Christmas. But! Thanks to the hard work of Hans G. Schantz, there is a Black Friday/Cyber Monday book sale running until Tuesday the 28th. Every book is 99 cents or less!  

I got the word via Perfessor Squirrel, that enigmatic maven of the written word, and barely got a book in on time. Here's what I submitted:

It’s 1951, and Army veteran McMann is down in his luck in a Texas town, accompanied by his partner, Duck. Duck is an actual duck, which McMann credits for saving his life in the war. They are asked to investigate a case of theft at the local trucking company, where an employee vanished with the contents of the safe. The search for the missing man leads to the discovery of a murder — a murder in which McMann himself looks like an interesting suspect to the sheriff. Of course, all the locals think he’s crazy already, hanging around with a duck. Can McMann and Duck find the real killer — or will the real killer find them first?

How can you resist? It's got everything great -- murder, danger, Texas, ducks... all for 99 cents. And if that doesn't do it for you, you'll find plenty of books by other authors that will. 

So visit the site and get all your reading needs settled for a small clutch of simoleons. Happy reading to you! 

Thanksgiving comes around again.

I always feel bad for people who have to work on Thanksgiving, especially when I'm one of them. But hey, I'm not complaining. At least I'm working on freelance editorial stuff against hard deadlines. I'm able to be home in my sweats. I'm not opening up the stupid store to herds of Early Black Friday loons and possibly looters. I got it easy. 

And I don't feel like I'll be missing much. Sure, I would love to veg out and watch the MST3K Turkey Day Marathon via Pluto, but A) my wife isn't a fan and B) the dog knows when I'm being lazy and promptly takes steps to prevent me from enjoying it. Seriously, this guy will sleep 14 hours a day, but if I try to loaf without actually sleeping, he will demand to go for a walk, or play outside, or at least freeze on the porch. So I don't get to watch much TV anymore. 

Two of my old Thanksgiving favorites are on the Nix List. I gave up on the Macy's Parade years ago when it became little more than an advertisement to get the moneyed folks from Connecticut and Westchester to come to town to see Broadway shows that I would not watch without being paid in the mid-five figures. And football? Is Roger Goodell still ruining -- uh, running -- the NFL? No thanks. Besides, the local teams suck, which reduces my interest in what the rest of the league is doing. 

So while I will be at home, working, I will be having the traditional feast, and it is really a treat. Do not think I am not grateful, because I am. I am just very, very tired. Combine that with the turkey and I think even the dog -- spunky though he may be -- is not going to be able to dislodge me from the sofa after eats. I suppose he'll try, though.  

Maybe I'd better have seconds.

Fred: 911.

Yesterday on the Great Lileks's site, our friend Mongo posted this gem: 

I said the lady should forget it; her husband is a goner. The wise and tasteful Judge Baylor commented, "There he is ladies and gentlemen, Fred Key: World's Greatest 911 Operator!"

And indeed there is some truth to the heavily implied sarcasm. I think I would be a horrible 911 operator. Although I have sometimes managed to be cool in times of crisis, I can also get rather flustered when everyone around me is freaking out and the next right move is not obvious. Also, as a world-class catastrophizer, I have thoughts that not only leap to the worst thing possible, but beyond that to the worst thing imaginable. These are not good traits for someone manning the emergency line. 

Here's how I expect things would go on the first day: 

"911, what's your emergency? What's that? You fell off a swing set? How old are you? I dunno, you sound about thirty. And stoned. Are you stoned?"

☎🚑🚓🚒

"And where are you, ma'am? Right, corner of Watson and Smith. Hey, that's where the new pizzeria opened up, you know it? Yeah, it's really good. The stromboli is the best I've had around here. No seriously, you should try it. Just the right amount of cheese and the sauce is to die for-- What's that? Oh, yeah, send the ambulance. Hang on."

☎🚑🚓🚒

"How bad is the break? You can see the bone? Okay, hold on while I throw up in my wastepaper basket."

☎🚑🚓🚒

"Ma'am, when the ambulance arrives please tell them I'm sorry, I was supposed to send the cops. Are the people still shooting at you?"

☎🚑🚓🚒

"Yes, sir, I understand. Are you certain that he's dead? Well, can you make sure he's dead? All right, I'll hold." <gunshot> "Hey, did you call just to wrangle me into an old joke?"

About town.

Just a couple of holiday-related visions for you on this Monday morning, to give you the oomph to get through the next three days. You're welcome!

 

Bat Tree

In the dark of the morning I was walking golden Izzy, America's Sweetheart, and while he was sniffing about I did similarly with photons, which is to say I looked up into the tree with the headlamp on my forehead. There was this small Batman-themed bag, about ten feet off the ground, just hanging there like a hornet's nest. I was and am mystified by it. It looks too small to be a kid's schoolbag, too childlike to be a mom's miscellanea bag, too difficult to operate to be a Halloween candy bag, too landlubbery to be a sailor's ditty bag. What could it be? What's in it? I'll bet Catwoman is involved. She probably stole it from Bruce and got stuck up in the tree.  

Barbie vs. Minions

It's time for the gingerbread house kits again, and of course even they have to be branded now with pop culture-themed crap. I suspect there might be a Star Wars (TM) Death Star gingerbread house out there somewhere. My wife and I will have more than enough cookies around without gingerbread, but out of curiosity I asked which of these would appeal to her. She loves the Minions, but she was a Barbie girl throughout childhood, and has even made it a point to give Barbie dolls to girls whose moms were reluctant to introduce their daughters to the world of everyone's favorite toy blonde. To my surprise, though, she liked the Minions kit better. She just thinks they are a hoot.  

Early to Decor

Friday was probably the last day we'll have in the sixties for four months, so a few people around here took advantage and did their outdoor decoration. I've never seen so many people decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving. Maybe they have in the past, but they didn't turn the lights on so I couldn't see them. 

Gator? Later

On the topic of seasonal inappropriateness: I knew exactly what this was from a ways off -- an alligator-shaped pool float. The property on which he reposed has no swimming pool. I can only suppose the wind carried him to this resting spot. People, take care of your gators and your gators will take care of you. Didn't we all learn that in first grade? 

Meanwhile, Back at the Wire

Remember this?

Two days after I put in the call, the power company got back to me. I was wrong, people! (Yes, it is possible!) This is a phone line, not a power line. Not that that makes it okay for the wire to dangle down to head level. So now I have to call the phone company. The adventure continues, and you can bet I'll milk a blog entry out of it keep you informed of further developments.  

Please clap.

 

Wire we even trying?

If there's one thing that gives me a Not-Quite-Third-World-but-Possibly-Second feel, it's do-it-yourself public utility repair.

So, what have we here? We have a house that was just sold and is undergoing some reconstruction by various men in unmarked trucks and vans. The chain-link fence runs all around the property but for the gate at the driveway. And the big wire from the utility poles seems to have been dangling uncomfortably low. So, the boys took some 2x6s and made their own booster poles on either side of the gate.

I do applaud the desire to get things moving and not wait around for the bland bureaucracy of the power company to answer the call -- a call that would be appropriate, with the wire about seven feet above the pavement, but not one that would trigger an emergency response. 

I applaud also their use of wood instead of metal for the wire supports. (Although note the lampshade on the ground in the top photo -- they used a trashed lamp to secure the ersatz pole by tying it to the metal fence with the lamp's electrical cord, which is just a wee bit suspect.)

However, monkeying around with utility wires is not only dangerous on its own, it's also dangerous because if you black out the whole block, people are going to be angry. Which is why it's always best to leave it to the pros. 

The Third-World-or-Maybe-Second feel springs from the thought that the people doing this come from someplace where you never expect authority to answer a call within months, and if they do, they will require palms to be greased. Meanwhile, these guys got a house to demo and clear out and new walls to put up and paint, and they don't have time for this crap. They have to be able to get the trucks in and out today. 

They also might not have expected any response from a call to the utility company, because it would have gotten ignored back home. 

"I see no problem here."

Well, I went ahead and put in a call yesterday. You know me -- safety first. Unless it has to do with my own acrobatics -- walking down some stairs, crossing the ice, you know. Then it’s Safety? What’s that?

I will let you know how long it takes for the saggy wire to get fixed. I hope it's before the first ice storm of the winter. I'm sure the power company employees would much rather fix it now than fix it then. 

The public good?

One of the things I was once called on to do was review a report on companies and their charitable giving. A lot of what they consider charity is not what we would classically consider charity -- going to the Latin root of the word caritas, giving to the needy from Christian love. A lot of it is DEI-based (legal discrimination, in other words), encouraging grievances and tribalism; some goes for education, doing the same; and a lot goes for climate change and other green causes that will never make a difference in anything and never improve lives of anyone except for people in those industries. 

But that's only part of the problem, as I see it. 

When America made stuff: Too busy inventing to hector people 

The main practical problem is that while these companies are making themselves feel better and handing out awards to one another for their good deeds, they're making their products and/or services more expensive. You know the money isn't coming off what the officers get paid. So the company that's pledging 15% to fight climate change or 3% to promote equity or 12% to fund abortions for transwomen or 7% to fight normalcy is just making their stuff pricier. It would be like you insisting your boss pay you 20% more, which you promise you will send to Leap for the Cure! to save victims of Jumping Frenchmen of Maine disorder. Your boss might do that... or might sack you and hire someone who doesn't insist on the extra 20%. 

But isn't it a tax write-off? One may ask, and I thank you, One, for that thought. The answer is: Yes and no. U.S. companies may deduct up to 10% of pre-tax income in a given year, so yes. But the real value is in the publicity. The Harvard Business Review noted a couple of decades ago that "Tobacco giant Philip Morris, for example, spent $75 million on its charitable contributions in 1999 and then launched a $100 million advertising campaign to publicize them." 

Of course, these bighearted types will try to use their good intentions as cover when the chips are down -- like the walking tumor Harvey Weinstein trying to hide behind his support of gun control when the walls were closing in, or the so-called effective altruism touted by the now-disgraced Sam Bankman-Fried. 

One way or another, I believe that companies are using money that could be used as profits for investors (stimulating economic growth) or to lower prices (ditto), and giving that dough away to largely useless causes, then congratulating themselves and expecting parades in their honor. 

Even if they just paid the taxes and skipped the write-off, they would in theory make the tax burden on you and me less heavy. But instead, the cost of their beneficence is passed on to the consumer.

If everything is being made more expensive so companies can give money to a lot of charities or less worthy causes, then the rest of us have less spending power with our money. And as we know, a lot of "good" causes turn out to be only good for their officers' wallets. 

On the whole I suspect corporate giving does more harm than good. I'd like to see a genuine economist like Thomas Sowell do the math on this, and I'd bet a burger than I'm right. 

But it hardly matters. Companies don't really care if anyone is helped. The real importance is the puffery from Doing Public Good, even if it does the public bad. 

The message in the story.

When I was a kid I was stuck at an all-day flea market with my mom, bored stupid. Someone took pity on me and let me read some old comic books that were in the cheap (essentially free) pile to pass the time. There were no really popular comic heroes in the pile -- instead, oddball series like DC's Strange Sports Stories were present. I was surprised to see an Archie comic that was really different from the Archie gang that I was used to -- instead of their usual knuckleheaded high jinks, Archie, Jughead, and his pals were proselytizing for Jesus. 

I did not know that I had stumbled on an issue by Spire Christian Comics, a publisher of comic books with a Christian message. Spire licensed the Archie characters from the Pelham-based Archie Comic Publications, and published a series of Archie comics beginning in 1973.  

They didn't look too different from the normal
Archie books.

“Preachy” barely describes it. I grew up with no religious education at all, but I still knew heavy-handed -- even ham-handed -- messaging when I saw it. It was just above the legendary Jack Chick pamphlets, and to be fair to Chick, he knew he had a split-second to get the reader's attention before his comic would wind up in the gutter. 

The heavy hand of the message is a source of complaint within the Christian community as well as without. The Catholic Guy, Lino Rulli, complains about "boring Catholic radio" (his own show being of course his exception). Christians make fun of a lot of Christian movies. On the other hand, there have been plenty of writers whose Christian faith was fundamental, and yet it was hardly noticeable. For all I admire them, I doubt Walker Percy, Evelyn Waugh, or even T.S. Eliot ever brought a soul to Jesus. 

What got my thinking about this recently was the rise of a couple of Christian comic book companies. Good for them, and I hope they prosper. I am not able to review what they're doing, though, but I can tell you, if they can tread the line and make entertaining books that can inspire faith in the non- or lapsed faithful, they will be doing a real service. Mostly I guess they’ll be preaching to the choir, but hey, choirs need fortification too.

I have composed five rules for Christian publishers who want to bring their message to an audience outside the faith community. These rules are tough, but they are born of my observation of what works and what doesn't:

1) The story must be more prominent than the message, however important the message.

Why? Because this isn't homework. The story must be enjoyable. 

2) The message must not be completely lost, however.

See also: Evelyn Waugh. 

3) The audience must be treated with respect. 

They're not to be treated like students or pagans or heathen that need enlightenment, even if that's what they are -- they are readers first, or they will not be readers at all. 

4) The quality must be on the level with mainstream entertainment of the same kind. 

This is tough, because religious books will never pay as well -- in cold, hard cash, anyway. 

5) And most important, God must not be seen to do what He does not do, nor not do what he does do.

This is the most difficult part, because Man does not know the mind of God, nor God's purposes in little things, and the writer cannot overpromise the reader any more than the priest in the pulpit can, like: "If you pray everything will come out as you hope." We know this is not the case. Following Rule 5 properly requires serious theological reflection and thought. 

A writer who can follow all of these rules will be a true artist, and a godsend as well. 

It probably shows you where I think I fit that none of my books have or have attempted to follow all five rules to this point. Could I even do it? I'll let you know if I try.  

Short takes.

It's Saturday! What do we got? Memes, candy, food, folks, and fun. Let's wade in. 

1) Cutest Halloween candy

After the holiday I was given this by a friend:

It's the tiniest box of Tic Tacs I've ever seen! Held exactly eight of the little candies. They call it Tic Tac Travels, which makes sense, because it really doesn't work as Halloween candy. Kids like Tic Tacs all right, but they're not the chocolate/sugar bomb kids crave on the day. Mints are for grandmas. 

However, the back of the box also has a cute mascot, so there's that.

2) 

3) Saw this in the freezer department:

Didn't buy them, because I want to stay married. But damn -- little pizza-roll-type snacks stuffed with the amazing taste of White Castle hamburgers? Are you kidding me? If I was having a bunch of guys over to watch football in the man cave, I'd get two bags. And open the windows. Just as well I have no man cave, I guess, and am still off the wokefest NFL. 

4) 

5) Last but never least, always happy to see someone take a shot at overrated stuffed shirt Bill Nye. And DST. 

End DST! Set the sun free! 

Stay out of jail with Fredcoin!

As CEO of the world's finest crytocurrency, Fredcoin, I get a lot of questions from customers and prospective customers. (Everyone falls into one of those two camps, when you think about it.) They say, "Fred, how can you and your company be so awesome every single day?" And I just smile and pat them on the shoulder. 

Or not, since no one's asked me that. 

YET.

A more likely question is, "Fred, now that Sam Bankman-Fried is looking at a jail sentence longer than the expected life of the sun, doesn't that make you a little nervous?"

Well, first I chuckle and mansplain that the sun is going to last longer than the 110 years he might get. Then they remind me that unless some really hot anti-agathics come along, 110 years and five billion years are effectively the same to a thirty-one-year-old like him. 

I guess Sam still has some fans.

But don't worry about me. I've taken important -- dare I say Key -- steps to make certain I won't wind up in jail. The first is I don't have a wacky girlfriend who will turn state's evidence on me. That's crucial. For another, I don't do drugs and crunch the keyboard for days at a time. Anyone doing that is going to make a big mistake eventually, whether he's honest or not. Third, I haven't tacked on fake companies and charities to steal from. And fourth, I haven't bothered trying to buy any politicians. It's a bad investment. They break down, they violate their own warranties, they throw you under the bus at the first smell of trouble. It's a waste of money. And fifth -- 

There was a fifth reason -- can't recall offhand. Maybe not important.

Oh, wait! That's right! I've done nothing illegal! Ha ha! Totally forgot! No illegality here! No sir! Just honest Fred!

I also haven't set up any weird offshore locations. I wanted to, but other countries looked at my company and said, Meh, why don't you just stay over there and out of here. 

So you needn't worry at all about ol' Fred and his ol' Fredcoin. Just send me money, and I'll invest it in Fredcoin, and you can watch your crypto value stay the same while the US government does its best to ruin its own currency. 

And if the government does come for me -- no doubt out of jealousy -- I have an insider within the court system to help me look good. 

Turkey lights to keep them warm.

Well, the Halloween stuff has gone, and the Thanksgiving lights are coming out. 

But Fred, you say, didn't you complain once that there are no Thanksgiving lights?

Yes, yes I did, way back in 2014. Since then things have changed a bit. I see more inflatable decorations dedicated to America's first holiday now -- like our old friend Quisling the Cannibal Turkey, back again this year.

A friend of mine on the wealthy side of the mighty Hudson put out two inflatable decorations -- a non-cannibal turkey (Pilgrim hat but no silverware) and a cornucopia. Very nice. She said that, including her two inflatable decorations, that made a total of two on the block. Her neighbors do not seem to be showing the proper Thanksgiving spirit. I recommended she keep putting out more and more things until they felt compelled to either join in or call the cops. Why, she could go in for the 7.5-foot inflatable Pilgrims. This really brings Thanksgiving close to a person. 

One of the things I kvetched about nine years ago was the difficulty of Thanksgiving's seasonal colors, or rather color: "Thanksgiving is restricted to the colors of late fall, and by the end of November there are virtually no colors left. The leaves have fallen, been raked up, mulched, gone. Bare trees remain, and pinecones. Thanksgiving is brown. Who does brown lights?"

Well, maybe these people! Or close enough.

I noticed that early in the morning while walking Izzy. This family puts out quite a decorative spread for Halloween and Christmas, but with Halloween gone they'd changed out their front door lights for what look like dark orange lights. Perfect! I hope they'll follow through with some more Thanksgiving-themed stuff. 

As for me, I really never put up much outside. A door hanging and a few little scarecrows in the window. I'm too tired from Halloween and already preemptively tired from Christmas. It all takes a toll on a guy after a while. 

Old mailroom Joe.

Guys in the mailroom are my pals. At one time I worked for a not-for-profit organization that had a dull official holiday party, but down in the cellar, the guys in the mailroom had a Christmas party that absolutely kicked. Later in my fabulous career I had a desk job in a tiny office, and every morning Mike (I'll call him) made his mail rounds, and he would stop in to talk sports. I liked him and all, but sometimes I had to literally tell him to leave so I could get some work done and not get in Dutch with the boss. Mike later got canned for, well, using the executive can, although he denied it.  

But before either of those jobs I was a mailroom man myself, starting as a part-timer. They hired two of us to deliver the mail throughout an organization that had several buildings, so that meant shoving the mail cart through burning sun and pouring rain, through ice and snow. 

It looked like this one. Note that the
wheels are not made for ice and snow.

I, young whippersnapper, did the mornings, and old Joe got the afternoons. Our shifts were expected to overlap. But we spent the first couple of days together, learning the route and meeting everyone, and that's how I got to know old Joe.

Like Mike, old Joe liked to talk, but not about sports. He talked about his former career; he talked about his son (who seemed to be on the outs with him somehow, if I recall correctly). He talked about the kind of work he had done, but the details did not impress on my mind. What did was one thing he said on that second day of training, while we were sitting around waiting for the boss. It went something like this: 

"I think as we work together, you'll find that I have a lot of life experience. And you will begin to see that you can learn a lot from an older guy like me. In time you may come to think of me as a father figure."

And I nodded and thought What is the matter with this man?

It was like he had already scripted our relationship past the pilot episode, deep into the first season. I had just met him the day before!

Maybe he had. Maybe he spent too much time alone, thinking of how things ought to go. I'm pretty sure he was not married anymore, but I don't know if he was a widower. He may have watched too much TV. I don't recall a single bit of wisdom from him. I don't remember him ever asking me or anyone else about ourselves. 

Not that I had a long time to see him in action -- they fired him after the first week and put me on full-time. I never knew why, but were I to guess, I'd say he spent way too much time bugging people who were trying to work and way too little time doing his job. 

That was many years ago, and I'm sure old mailroom Joe has gone to his reward. I think about him sometimes. I think he was very lonely, but in his loneliness, he developed odd habits of selfishness that pushed others away, cementing him deeper in his solitude. There's lesson he taught me -- albeit as a cautionary tale. 

I hope he and his son restored their relationship. I hope he found someone who liked him and could spend time with him. I hope he didn't need the chump change from that mail job, because it did not pay well. And -- why not? -- I hope he found someone who did respect him like a father, even if it had to be his own kid.  

Just Hoffa top of my head...

Friends of mine, fans of the Jets and the Giants, have been joking (I think) that they want Zombie Jimmy Hoffa to rise from his burial ground under the old Giants Stadium to play QB for their respective teams this year. In fact, they're willing to get into a bidding war over him. They think his almost-fifty-year-old corpse will show more life and resilience than they've seen from the live players.

But some cold-case hobbyists think they have a better fix on the location of Jimmy's remains. The one-time Teamster boss, who disappeared in 1975, is now said to have been planted by his Mafioso pals under third base in the old Milwaukee County Stadium. 

Best seat in the house?

The Giants Stadium myth was the claim of gangster Donald Frankos, who said in 1989 that Hoffa had been buried under Section 107 during construction. The story was so widespread in the 90's in the NY/NJ metro area that one could hear game promotions like: "In 1975, the mob buried Jimmy Hoffa in Giants Stadium. This Sunday, the Giants will bury the Eagles there." A 2004 episode of MythBusters was given over in part to disproving the story, with Jamie and Adam at the stadium, helped by then-Giants head coach Jim Fassel. 

But the new theory makes more sense on one level, or at least more sense than the Giants Stadium story -- Hoffa disappeared in a parking lot in Detroit, which is 225 miles closer to Milwaukee than it is to the Meadowlands. The mob doesn't get away with its hits by playing Weekend at Bernie's with the corpses; they dump them fast. Closer is faster.

But Giants Stadium was under construction when Hoffa vanished, and Milwaukee County Stadium opened in 1953. So why go to all that trouble to plant Hoffa in an extant structure? Plus, Hoffa vanished on July 30, right in the middle of baseball season. I can't think of a worse way to get rid of a body than bury it in a stadium that's always going to have someone on duty at the time. Furthermore, the Brewers were playing a long homestand from July 26 to August 5 that year. "Gee, third base seems a little -- elevated tonight, doesn't it?" is something infielder Jack Heidemann did not say.

To be fair, the cold-case group thinks that Hoffa was not buried there during the 1975 season, but for some reason was moved there in 1995. Which doesn't really make it any less crazy. Why move a body that had been tucked away safely for twenty years? Because the site had become risky? What could be riskier than the middle of a major league ballpark? 

But Richard III was found buried in a parking lot, wasn't he? Is it so crazy?

Yes. It is. For one thing, Richard's plot was not a busy car park in 1485. 

If by chance Hoffa turns out to have been entombed under what is now a parking lot, the Brewers might want to take an option on Zombie Hoffa. Sure, they had a good season, going 92-70 and finishing first in the NL Central, but they got swept by Arizona in the first round of the playoffs. 

If Zombie Hoffa's got a decent changeup, he might put the Brewers over the top. After all, he's kept more people guessing in death than he even did in life.

November 1: Merry Christmas!

Happy November! Here is the roundup of Christmas catalogs so far. 

I've held on to all of them since the start of October. It's not a lot -- fourteen assorted catalogs. Some of them can be forgiven for arriving before the first trick-or-treater showed up at the door. You see Herrschner's in the lower left; that's a crafters' catalog, and crafters have been receiving Christmas-themed mailings since April. Some of those handmade Christmas presents take a looooong time. You think Ralphie's aunt threw together his pink nightmare bunny suit overnight?

Also, we have a couple of Catholic catalogs, and they feature items that the faithful may want for Advent. Advent begins on December 3 this year -- actually later than usual -- and if you want an Advent wreath or Advent calendar, you'll want it soon after Thanksgiving. 

The others are just piling on, trying to get top-of-mind when the season starts in earnest. 

November 1 seems pretty early for Christmas, but you know what? All together these catalogs are smaller than the famous Sears Wish Book, which used to arrive right after Labor Day. So there's that.