What Our History Books Will Tell Us...

Is this man waiting outside for a bus?

I remember many years back during my high school days reading one of our "history" books about the completion of the United States transcontinental railroad system and seeing a very revealing photograph. No, not pornographic in the literal sense. Amongst a group of railway men crowded around two counter posed steam engine locomotives one man in the center can clearly be seen holding his fist aloft in accomplished victory.

What our history book had shown us wasn't exactly the truth.

You see, in the original photograph the man is actually holding a whiskey bottle. In the "doctored history lesson" version the bottle had been conveniently air-brushed out.

The un-retouched photograph looks like this:

1869 Completion of America's first transcontinental railroad

Promontory, Utah "Golden Spike Ceremony"

The bottle has been returned to the man's hand here and thank goodness; he was probably pretty thirsty after working all those years on that railway line!

The board of education at the time most likely assumed that showing a man holding up a bottle, presumably containing an alcoholic beverage, would somehow adversely effect a young adult's ability to make responsible choices. They had to "protect" us.

Thanks, but no thanks.

As I've watched the discourse in this country dissolve into some sort of primal simian screaming match over the last six years it is clear to me, and it has always been clear to me, that I like my information straight-up, no rocks (in the head), no salt (in the wounds).

I cannot stomach any commercial media news anymore (I rely on my old colleagues at NPR via the open airways every now and again for my News) especially television "news"; it is unbearable to watch. TV news contains nothing but tailored information and sensationalized brouhaha. It is a wonderful place for people with no opinion, or no original thought, to go mine their information from for their next cocktail hour conversation about social and political issues (e.g. - "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!" -- Bill O'Reilly, Fox News).

CNN used to be valuable to me. Now, if I ever want to see how Britney Spears is doing in fighting against her own compounding irrelevance: "CNN is there for YOU!"

Pardon my 'Freedom Fries' but ... ahem... FUCK. YOU.

After a recent conversation and email exchanges with a friend of mine in the U.S. Military (an F-15 pilot who was assigned to patrol the skies over New England right after September 11th and who has seen combat action in Iraq) we discovered, quite surprisingly, that we share nearly the exact same social views - me being far more moderate than he might have once believed and vice-versa (Moderatism: the new chic Radicalism?).

My friend shouldn't be so surprised we agree on so many things.

After all we both grew up in the same country (yes, let the court records show he from the South and me from the Northeast...) and for awhile the same neighborhood. I was a bit more "radical" as a youth certainly but I have never been "anti-military" like he seems to suspect. My brother, Mike, was air force, for one, and I'm sure as hell not anti-Mike because of that fact. I also 'get' that countries are only doing what countries do to protect their own sovereignty. Not me condoning brash, thoughtless aggression but this is what we do as humans in independent collectives.

Don't forget...I'm a "sports fan"; we do a lot of irrational things.

My point being certain political figures would have my F-15 pilot friend and myself as mortal enemies. Indeed, I am not happy with the situation in Iraq. But due to irreversible circumstances the guys with guns gots to be there!

I do not value my friend or his points of view any less because he is in a conflict I am having trouble understanding and believing in. He, however, must believe in what he believes for his own physical and psychological survival and, undoubtedly now, ours, too. That's a good thing, ultimately, because I know he's a smart guy and that he sees the world from multiple different angles at the same time.

He is like me; he wants to get the whole picture.

What worries me is that he might think that I was ever "against him" because he serves the federal government and I once served public radio. Current rationale, nay Conventional Wisdom, would have it that the two entities are mortal enemies entwined in a battle of wills (progressive v. conservative), the victor the one who overcomes the other a la 'Survivor' : Out think, out wit, out live! Or, how ever the foolish branding tag line goes...

Here is where getting the facts right is essential. We Americans can be told a number of things by a lot of outside and differing sources (forces?). I'm finding that none of the information media conglomerates and government pundits are telling me float with my own 'reality t.v.' I must be very careful now of deception. We must all be very careful of deception - even, and especially, if we want to believe it.

I am not buying the whole 'with us or against us' mentality and never will either. That's what's known in some circles as a very scary form of 'Nationalism' (read your un-doctored history books, kids, and see where that gets a country). This 'us v. them' position, in many cases, has even managed undoing the average American family household with its winless and opinionated bickering (oh, the irony with all of those family values messages so in vogue right now!).

I stopped picking arguments with people over 'political disagreements' because I no longer see the point in having these debates. I am not in government nor do I hold any position of power (anymore...) to change the current state of affairs - except perhaps with how I manage my consumer dollars. It is, in my view, energy better spent doing rather than debating.

I like my F-15 pilot friend for who he is. Hell, I like my F-15 pilot friend because he's a damn good pilot and despite the ramifications of the situation in Iraq he's the guy who's now responsible for keeping all this shit from completely going to pot.

I admire and respect that.

So, to the rest of you who are trying to win my heart and my mind over to whatever cause you're wearing on your own sleeves, left or right, don't bother; I like the facts that I'm finding all by my lonesome just fine.

As for my friends and family? You don't own me there either; I like them exactly the way they are already.

Now, would somebody get this guy a drink.

Meet The Coven

God just loves people who post pictures of their pets on-line, right? Just like he loves a drunk and pill-pushers...

To our credit my wife and I are in kind of an awkward position where we can't not show them. Because of our own personal and peculiar feline affliction people just plain don't believe us when we tell them about our cats.

We have three.

But that's not the kicker. They're all black. We love black cats. Must be the mystique and lore behind them. Although, we're not pagans (last time we checked anyway) nor superstitious in any manner. We're not even crazy-cat-people like you might have us to be.

Quite the contrary (well, at least functional within society anyway...).

We have never EVER been to a cat convention, for one (OK! So there was this one time when I was young and impressionable, and curiosity (...ahem...) got the best of me - CatCon 1990 in Boston - but I was so creeped-out by the whole event that I've never returned to any since! All those fuzzballs in cages being exploited like that! Yuggs! Best-In-Show-types are nuts...).

My brother, Mike, has visited us on several occasions and swears he has only seen one of our cats! That while having all three of them at one time sitting on his lap ... yeah, same fur color, different cats, dude.

With all the confusion going on (and with this in-your-face blog venue to exploit!) we decided something had to be done!

So, without further adieu I present to you ...

"THE COVEN"

TOSCA (AKA - TOSCANINI)

Our noble import from the kiwi island nation of New Zealand. Heather brought Tosca stateside after living abroad for several years. She found her in a local Wellington Cat Shelter cowering in the back of her pen. It was love at first bite. Heather's theory is that Tosca was abandoned after living with an elderly person who might have passed on in her presence; she has this funny penchant for putting her paw over your nose and mouth while you're asleep. We postulate that its her way of checking to see if you're still breathing and alive (some might argue she's just trying to suffocate us...). Tosca is rotund. Ummm, kinda F-A-T actually (shhhh, we think she may know how to spell; she's a literary cat surmised from her love of crosswords - sleeping on them at any rate). She doesn't so much walk as waddle. She rarely makes it more than about a foot in total ground covered before she collapses on the floor falling into a coma-like state. She is a fuzzy, black, fluffed-up pillow with four semi-stumpy stout legs sticking out. Her purring has been known to shake cabinetry dishes loose from their settings. Read: Loud! and loooong. Very love-able but just don't pick her up quickly; you might strain your back. Always lift with the legs! The epicenter of tremor-like activity has been registered on the Austin Richter Scale with locations roughly around our neighborhood every time she jumps off the bed and lands.

MARLEY (AKA - JACOB MARLEY)

Poor misunderstood, misrepresented, maligned, malcontented Marley. My friend, Elaine, found her 'treed' in her back yard by another neighborhood cat in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts one winter when she was a kitten. She took her in a few weeks before Christmas time but decided she couldn't have another pet. She emailed all of her friends with a picture and a note and I ended up answering the call. Neither did I know: total flippin' feral spaz! A real curtain climber, ceiling hanger, Animal House meets Animal Farm wack job. I hemmed and hawed over a name for days after taking in this bizarre little energy-mass. Almost settled on "Cat" when one night while watching the Alastair Sim film version of the classic Charles Dickens 'A Christmas Carol' (1951, B&W - best version hands down!) it dawned on me: the Ghost of Jacob Marley. The first apparition who appears Christmas Eve warning Ebenezer Scrooge against greed and cruelty and begs for him to discover his own inner kindness. Marley the cat needed lots of my inner kindness I assure you. She is like a ghost, too. She hides a lot when strangers show up, but once you get to know her its all gentle head butts and purrs from there. She has since calmed down to unrecognizable degrees and has found another happy incarnation as a paper weight and 'lap cat'. She will frequently make a perch of your leg and hang her arms over either side of your knee at which point she takes on an uncanny resemblance to one of the famous Notre Dame Cathedral pensive gargoyles ... or perhaps a wise old panther on a tree limb in wait.

ANUBIS (AKA - DUMBASS)

Ahhh, Anubis. Where to begin? Perhaps everyones' favorite as she excels at defining the word 'Dope'. But in the most adorable of manners. Another lost soul found in Sidney, Maine. Our friend, Chris, and her husband Rob, found, then "Sunday" (christened for the day she wandered into their lives), at the time bounding out of a corn field. She made herself right at home and nurtured an immediate cuddly companionship with their baby daughter, Ruby. It was decided that another cat wasn't a good idea, so again, Dennis & Heather to the rescue! And, added bonus, "she matches the other cats!" On the car ride back to Boston, we noticed this cat had an undeniable Egyptian heiroglyph-like profile to her. Astounding, really. I thought, now what's the name of that Egyptian cat god? You mean, "Bast"? Nahhh, dang, that doesn't sound right for her. But, Anubis, the Jackal God of the Dead... perfect. Anubis doesn't meow so much as "hum". It almost sounds like a whinny at times. I gather she may have spent a lot of time in a barn with horses. She is fearless to the point of stupidity. We think she may have been a 'frat-boy' in her past life. When she assaults Marley (Tosca will have nothing to do with her) she puffs out her chest and bends out forward both her front legs resembling a total dude-with-attitude. At night when she's running around the house we can hear the sounds of her buck teeth scraping along the floor. She is a charmer.


There you have it. Tournee du Chat Noir a la flesh and fur! Come visit us on Halloween sometime; it's always a hoot when the kids see our little black 'Coven' greet them.

(Anubis in jack-o-lantern lit silhouette)

The Birth of Foley's Crack

Photograph by Chris Engles

(Dennis & Heather - Boat Ride to Manley Island - Sept. 2006)

The story goes something like this...

On the North side of Manley Island in Forest City, Maine there is a natural docking area for visitors of the Snow family camp to moor their boats. It is a superb landing as it is greeted by a thin, woody path that inclines up and over a gentle slope leading directly to the back door of the cabin's kitchen space.

Unfortunately, the inlet's near perfect parking spot had been 'interrupted' by a rather large and ungainly stone that prevented any straight approach inward. During the winter months East Grand Lake inevitably freezes over. The shifting of the lake ice would jog the rock precipitously closer to blocking off the entire ingress entrance with each colder season passing. Come after the thaw if a boat were to coast in awkwardly or unawares it might risk severely denting the hull, if it were metal, or breaching it outright if made of wood.

The Sunday afternoon after our wedding (September 2nd, 2006 at Wheaton's Lodge) Heather's father, Bruce, knew a good thing when he saw it: several strapping young ceremony attendees that would make for one mighty entourage to help move the dreaded boulder out of harms way.

Members of the stalwart crew included my brothers, Michael and Stephen, close family friend and fellow island inhabitant, Peter Morley, Heather's cousin, Chris Snow, her childhood best friend, Sonja, family friends, Mike Huber and Carolyn French, our friend and photographer, Chris Engles, Heather's dad and supervisor(!), Bruce, and of course, the Happy Couple.

Now that's alotta people!

The christening name, "Foley's Crack", was actually coined from a misunderstood remark made by Sonja once the rock had been thoroughly bested, "Just think I was actually here to witness the historical making of 'Foley's CRAG'!"

What everyone else heard was ... well, you know. (insert already been told jokes here)

Our wedding photographer, Chris Engles, was capturing the entire event on film as it unfolded that day.

He has created this wonderful video montage using black and white stills set to piano music (giving it that old-timey feel) to tell the story.

Enjoy.

Mrs. O'Leary's Cow

There's a fire raging in Chicago.

There has been since 1908. It almost got extinguished in the "Fall" of 2003. Sadly, the flames were "fanned" again on October, Game 6th, 2003 by some poor unfortunate soul: one Steven Bartman (aka - Mrs. O'Leary's 21st Century Cow - or, as Cubs fans would have it, Mrs. O'Leary's 'Goat' - their official team mascot).

Oh, woah, ye who may dare enter here...

Bartman: Guilty as charged of crimes against hum-inanity... and I promise this will be the last word from me on Sports Fanaticism (until the next act of complete and utter stupidity, that is). But, I'm not going to railroad Mr. Bartman like everyone else seems fond of doing; he has a lifetime of that ahead of him.

And that's where I'd like to begin. Albeit more briefly this time...

For the whole sordid tale just Google the poor S.O.B. (Son Of a Baseball fan). Let's just say he did what any other fan would have done at a game when a foul ball was coming his way: he reached out and grabbed for it.

And that's where sense ends and hysteria begins.

In short, Bartman will forever be blamed for disrupting a Moises-Alou-playable-ball and thus undoing the Cubs karma as they went on to lose to Montreal that day.

Unfortunately, that particular game was the cradle in which Chicago Cubs' fans were nursing their World Series Baby New Year, a game so important, it could have potentially lead to ending 99 years of World Series championship drought, misery and "Curses".

We Red Sox fans (could once) totally relate.

But what of Steve Bartman, the man who would be crowned Chicago's Robert Bruce to the Cubs William Wallace? Now vilified for his act of treason Bartman no longer talks to the press, rarely ventures out of doors and, oddly, has never moved out of the state of Illinois. He has been the victim of any manner of degrees of mockery...



















...grievous personal violence sworn upon his knee caps, death threats(!), and now having to relive (revile?) his forlorn legacy as the Cubs make yet another charge for the coveted World Series Trophy. As of this writing those bears were just bit by some snakes from Arizona in a pitcher's duel that ended on the wrong side of the bullet for them...

















I wish I could meet Steve Bartman; his fate fascinates me. He'd be safe in my company, of course. Like I said, anyone would have done the same thing (in fact, praise him for his instinct as he stopped a speeding projectile from possibly beaming another fellow cave-dweller!).

I'd like to meet him because I want to ask him this one question:

"What is it like to be convicted (by a mob) and then condemned as a fugitive for a non-crime?"

My existential synapses go into unstoppable overdrive whenever I think of the weight on this person and his place in history now. Living out his days as the Excuse (have you gotten a call from one Bill Buckner lately?).

One side of me likes to think of what literary great, Kurt Vonnegut (a baseball fan himself), might have thought about this whole affair: "Listen! Kid, I assure you, we're all here on this earth just to fart around. Don't worry about any of this nonsense. People were wiped out in droves when I was young. I saw factories and school yards bombed into oblivion as young men, with their guts making grand external debuts, screamed for their mothers. You? What did you do? You tried to catch a ball!?"

But, I also look at it this way: If there's any truth to the legend of Babe Ruth's "called shot" promise made to a critically-ill child of hitting a home run during the 1926 World Series (he hit three that game...) I can certainly see how much these mere games can inspire so much hope for so many people. And what are we so dearly lacking in in today's current grand guignol...?

How would I live my life in a similar 'imaginary criminal' state then? I don't know Mr. Bartman, so I can't speak for his character, but I do hope he's a real-real tough guy deep inside and gets the punchline to this whole cosmic joke.

Me? I wouldn't have the stomach for it. Any of it. Nor the discipline of a sturdy enough soul to anchor me against the constant assault of multitude strangers' abuse. I've watched myself in action before at sporting events, too, so I see the "Dark Side" my wife observes with cautionary eyes. The nature of being a fan continues to baffle me. I may, in fact, believe there is 'magic' at play:

Be wary, baseball fans, keep your hands in your pockets the next time a foul ball presents itself as any souvenir opportunity; there just may be a spell on that thing!

But, I can take solace in one last observation made by the great Dresden survivor; Vonnegut also said this shortly before his death in April of 2007:

"When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life; old age is more like a semicolon."

So it goes, Steve Bartman";" assuredly so is sports history...

Happy New Year,

Dennis

A Crash Course On Cursed Clowns

Above one of my favorite "Clown Moments". You'll understand why in a minute... (if the link doesn't playback for you here just go ahead and search for "Funeral of Chuckles The Clown - Mary Tyler Moore Show" on YouTube)

Props to the lovely Bethany, in Berkeley, California who recently asked her readers to identify their favorite television moments on her blog site (hers had to do with a humorous assault by a few very agitated clowns!). She received several great responses (that you'll just have to go check out for yourself!) but so excellent was the concept I just couldn't resist swiping my own comments from the post and expanding on them here. They were spun from the same clown motif.

I, like many people, have an aberrant love/hate/fear response issue going on with those painted jesters of tragi-comedic folly. All colorfully done up to make us laugh my ass! The very nature of the clown is to poke fun at life's absurdity. It goes to reason that the clown was invented to sweeten the otherwise bitter (and oftentimes serrated) gallows humor pill that life has to offer. That's one interpretation anyway...

Somewhere along the line these gullible, gleeful guardians of guffaw translated into pure evil for me. I'm not afraid of clowns, per se, I'm just terrified of their symbolism. It must have germinated sometime after seeing either a Twilight Zone episode or some Outer Limits show as a kid. The story line was based on one gentleman's pathetic life as a clown: alcoholic, poverty stricken and disease ridden until meeting a sad and lonely death right after his one final performance. Yeah, the whole 'masks we wear in life' thing all gone awry.

I believe the title of that episode might even have been called "Always Leave Them Laughing".

Ha.

Reeeeeal funny.

But I digress.

I've gone ahead and thrown in a few other clownish contemplations to the clown cart conversation since... feel free to add your own afterwards:

• Favorite clown in a movie remains the 'Poltergeist' clown scene where the kid looks under his bed to find out his toy doll clown has come to life as a possessed freak-out clown and attacks him. The boy goes on to literally tear the stuffing out of it.
  

• Favorite clown art is anything by Margaret Keane the godmother of the "big-round-eyed" creepy child paintings. Our neighbors had like six of these hanging all over their house. I always hated when they asked us to take care of their cats; those paintings always gave me the willies! I cannot find an image of "Randy the Clown" on-line, surprisingly, but if you come across it you'll know exactly what I mean!
  

• Favorite clown short story (though not technically a clown but more court jester) remains Edgar Allen Poe's Hop Frog: Or, The Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs where our unlikely hero, and rather dwarfish protagonist, lights his tormentors on fire with the "waxen drippings" of an overhead cauldron of molten tar! Bravo.
  

• Favorite clown urban legend definitely goes to the disgruntled kid myth on the 'Bozo The Clown Show'. The story goes that after uttering an expletive by failing to win a prize during a live program the young boy was met with Bozo's reprimand, "Uh-oh, that's a Bozo-No-No." The kid responded with this gem, "Aww, cram it, Clowny!" Apparently, this never actually happened but many viewers during the era swore they saw that very broadcast. Either way, it rocks my clown curdled world.
  

• Favorite personal clown moment was at 'Spooky World' in Foxborough, Massachusetts one October. My friend, Diane, had (rather un-strategically I might add!) mentioned to me before entering the 'Haunted Mansion' together how much she was terrified of clowns. So, of course, I said REALLY LOUDLY, "Diane, you're afraid of clowns!?!". Right on cue a half dozen scary mutant clowns came out of nowhere and assaulted her while screaming, "DIANE'S AFRAID OF CLOWNS!? DIANE'S AFRAID OF CLOWNS!?" That was classic. She has never forgiven me to this day.

• Favorite clown introduction was actually meeting a Ronald McDonald at a sporting event when I was reporting for the NPR radio show 'Only A Game'! I even managed to ask him a fairly charged question for tape and it really pissed him off... again, angry scary clown does nothing to help own cause.
  

• Favorite quote about a clown: "Most people think clowns are funny, but I've always thought they're kind of scary. I think it goes back to when I was at the circus when I was a kid, and a clown shot my Dad." -- Jack Handey

• Favorite TV show where, ironically, I laughed the hardest at a clown was the "Funeral of Chuckles the Clown" (again see above) on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. This scene still cracks me up to no end. If you've never watched it check it out - it's hysterical!

• Favorite clown T-Shirt: "Can't Sleep Clowns Will Eat Me" worn by our mechanic back in Boston. Love that shirt.
  

• John Wayne Gacy is the scariest clown of them all...and my least favorite.

• I couldn't possibly end this post without at least a brief mention of the classic Stephen King horror novel, "It". The story takes clowns to a whole new level... Pennywise, pound foolish.
  

"Have a nice day, kiddies!"