January 2004 Archives

The race is heating up!

The contest over at BlogMadness 2003 pits one of my modest epistles against an entry from Scam City Version 6.0. As I write this there's only a scoshe more than a day left in the current round.

I'd be ever so grateful if you would head on over and vote for me. Of course, in all fairness you should read the other contestant's blog entry first and vote for whichever one you think is better.

Please, please, please, I'm begging. I turn 50 later this year... cheap thrills are all I have left!
K-

I got up at 6:15 thinking that my kids' high school marching unit needed an additional adult volunteer at this morning's sub sale fundraiser only to find out I was superfluous. This gave me an opportunity to get to a couple of Harry Homeowner fix-it jobs that I've been putting off.

The first job was taking care of a slow-draining bathtub. This turned out to be a piece of cake. Well, no, it turned out to be a big nasty wet blob of hair clinging tenaciously to the drain plug but you know what I mean. (Who'd have thought two boys - one of whom likes them "high and tight" - could generate so much hair?)

The second job was recaulking the shower stall in my bathroom. I don't know about you but I always dislike jobs that involve caulk. First you have to remove the old caulk. And in my houses, it always seems the caulk removal process invariably reveals rotted wood or some other deterioration that requires major renovations. This morning I was lucky. Everything looked OK but it did take me a while to remove all the old caulk and loose tile grout.

Next you have to apply the caulk. I use a caulk gun for this. I simply squeeze the trigger applying a nice even bead of caulk. The pain-in-the-ass part is that extra caulk keeps coming out of the tube even after you've stopped applying the nice even bead. And it's not a little bit extra that comes out... a whole lot extra comes out.

But the finishing touch of a good caulk job always requires you to "use a wet finger to smooth the caulk into place." Whenever I do this I always, always, always get caulk all over my clothes, my hair, the work area, the area around the work area, the telephone, and the computer keyboard. This morning was no exception. Blech!

Let me tell you something... I definitely finished this job with a wet finger.
K-

I was checking out how things were going over at BlogMadness 2003 and I discover that Plugs and Dottles was offered congratulations for being a randomly selected top seed. My sense of excitement is underwhelming.
K-

I've seen them a few times before. I saw one again today on the way to work...

There's nothing like a car fire to get people's attention.
K-

I stayed home from work today even though my employer was open normal business hours. The forecast called for freezing drizzle till noon and then intensifying into freezing rain. That a reasonably substantial layer of ice accumulated on my windshield during the hour I jogged in the neighborhood workout room early this morning convinced me that I should just stay home rather than endure the hassle of chipping an ice tomb from my car at the end of the workday.

But the freezing rain has yet to appear. The forecasts sound less foreboding than they did this morning. And ice is not accumulating on my flora as I was anticipating. I think I misjudged the situation and should have gone to work. Now I've used a day of vacation and all I have to show for it is this overwhelming feeling of guilt.

It's as if I skipped school or cut class or something.

Update
I found out that my employer released everyone at 2 PM. So I won't have to take a whole day of vacation.
K-

I'm sitting at my computer - commenting to Heather in point of fact - when two birds zoom past my window. One bird trails directly behind the other as if in hot pursuit. Their high-speed chase catches my eye and my immediate thought is that the pursuer is a bit larger than the pursued. I turn from the computer, follow their trajectory, and discover a Cooper's hawk bound hell for leather after some hapless mourning dove. My guess is that the dove was feeding at one of my backyard feeding stations when the hawk decided he simply needed a quick morning meal. Only the fact that mourning doves themselves are swift in flight saved it from dire consequences. After giving up the chase at the end of my street, the Cooper's hawk turned and settled on the top of the house across the cul-de-sac. It rested some few minutes, giving me beautiful views through my binoculars, before flying off into the woods.

Cooper's hawks are nature's bird eating machines. My mourning dove doesn't know (well, maybe it does) how close it came to being a mid-morning alfresco snack. (Oh, and please don't think I took the photo; I swiped it off the net.)
K-

The madness – or is it illness? – returns.

The truly observant visitor to these humble blog pages will undoubtedly notice the list of books that I’m currently reading grows. Last August the list stood at a manageable four. It’s grown to nine. New titles flow in without a concomitant flow out of completely read tomes. The stack of books I’m currently reading (or intend to read “real soon now”) lengthens whereas my list of completed books enjoys no corresponding growth spurt.

I’ve always enjoyed reading. I can’t imagine how many books I’ve read in my life. Tens of thousands probably. I can't imagine life without books. But there’s a darker, more sinister aspect to my love of reading.

I must own books.

The madness began in fifth grade. Once a quarter, Miss Roberts - a battle-ax if ever there were one - would distribute to my class a Scholastic Books order form. Most of my classmates would simply toss the form aside. Not me. I read the description of each book carefully. I’d read each blurb a second time and a third. Had I overlooked one? During recess the order form exegesis continued. Then the book-buying urge would descend upon me. I would beg, cajole, harass, inveigle, nay, demand, my mother buy me books. She always did… four, five, six, seven books at a clip. Far more than I could ever read before the next Scholastic Books order form was distributed. She was my enabler. She let me read at the dinner table! No junkie was ever more strung-out than I was the day before the Scholastic Books order was due to arrive.

I still remember that hot August day at my grandparent’s house. On the back cover of one of their ubiquitous Reader’s Digests I discovered an ad for the Book of the Month Club. Whooooaaa… Get 10 Books For Just One Dollar! The ad beckoned like nothing I’d ever seen before. A box of Playboys could not have been more captivating, more enticing, more mesmerizing. Ten books… one dollar. A brand new book for just 10 cents. One thin dime. Never mind that I had to buy four additional books at the “regular club price” during the next year. For a dollar I’d get ten wonderful new books. Books to hold; books to caress; books to smell; books, maybe, even to read. Ten books for only a dollar! An eternity passed before the mailman brought me that first club fix. Only after many years did my peculiar tastes diverge from club offerings sufficiently to warrant a separation.

Over the years, I've joined other book clubs - the Quality Paperback Book Club, the Science Book Club, the First Editions Book Club, the Scientific American Book Club – all in a desperate attempt to quell the craving to buy and own books. It's never any use. It's always the same siren song: Ten Books For Only A Dollar…

Amazon.com completed my life as an addict. A job, a card, a site, a click- books arrive. Occasionally I whittle my stack of books to be read down to one or two. But it never lasts. I’ll continue to buy until I’m lying horizontal in that telephone booth. My legacy to my children: disposition of my library.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think my wish list needs some maintenance.
K-

Did you ever see a movie that was so bad you just had to keep watching it because you couldn't believe how bad it was? Last night I was cable surfing when I stumbled across the AMC channel showing the movie Earthquake.

This movie was simply awful. Bad acting, bad script, really bad special effects (like when the earthquake hits there's a lot of shaking of the camera to convey the motion caused by the quake.) There's a scene with an airplane attempting to land during the quake. Pathetic. And Ava Gardner plays Lorne Greene's daughter for crying out loud. Charleton Heston was in the movie; I can only guess he needed a paycheck. (Although my Leonard Maltin guide tells me that this movie actually won Academy Awards for pioneering the Sensuround special effect.)

My favorite line came when some quake victims stuck in a skyscraper were lowered one by one to the floor below. They used a fire hose and an office chair to perform the actual lowering but they needed something to keep the people safely strapped in the chair. So Lorne Greene turns to some woman behind him and snaps "Barbara, give me your pantyhose, dammit!"

Well I just lost it.
K-

Following a snowy drive this morning to get a final signature from the troop committe chair on his application and the delivery of his service project report to his Scoutmaster, A- has finished everything he needs to for Eagle. Now everything is out of his hands until the application is approved and the Board of Review is scheduled. He hopes in 3 to 4 weeks.

I have to hand it to him. There's been a lot of work, a lot of phone calls, and a lot of visits these last 4 months to get his service project complete and everything for the application in place. He's done it all.
K-

Who placed us with eyes between a microscopic and a telescopic world?
-Henry David Thoreau

I abandoned the treadmill in the workout room for my morning run today. The treadmill is boring and I get just too pissed off watching the codgers hog them for their power walking. (Which, by the by, they could do later in the morning giving people who have to work an opportunity to use them.)

Instead I just opened the door and enjoyed the Maryland winter. The wind of the last two days has diminished, so even though it was only 14F when I headed out for my run, the beautiful clear sky together with the remnants of last Sunday's snow made for a great morning jog. Today the windchill and the air temperature were the same.

And I'll tell you what... a run when it's 14F is a heck of a lot better than the same run 6 months from now when the temperature is 70 degrees hotter.
K-

Sunday I find out "Carolina" has a professional football team.

When did that happen?
K

OK, today I can officially be declared unobservant. I have slipped into the hoi polloi, the great unwashed, Mencken's "booboisie".

I'm doing my morning run on the treadmill (again - wind chills were below zero) with an eye on the TV. Here they are interviewing victims (uh, I mean, candidates) from yesterday's Iowa caucuses when Matt Lauer says to this guy I've never seen before:

"So tell me Senator, did a second-place finish surprise you?"

I come to find out the guy Lauer is talking to is Senator John Edwards of North Carolina. He's running for the Democratic nomination for President. I didn't know that. I guess I'd better start paying more attention.

And when did Al Gore drop out?
K-

On this date, January 20, one hundred and fifty years ago, the University of Michigan's first engineering class met.
K-

The Maryland General Assembly is open for business. In Maryland, the General Assembly meets for 90 days beginning early in January and ending in April. It’s a vestige of the days when delegates and state senators had to get back to their farms and villages in time for spring planting and fishing.

Needless to say a lot has to get done in a short amount of time. Today I read about two Maryland assemblymen – Dan Morhaim, a Baltimore County Democrat, and Charles Boutin, a Harford County Republican – sponsoring a bill to allow dogs in Maryland restaurants. Yes, you read that correctly, these guys want to remove the long-in-place ban on canines in our eating establishments.

Now I like dogs as much as anybody - well, no, that’s not right… OK, I don’t like dogs as much as anybody - but even if I did like dogs, I think I would still find the notion of dogs in a restaurant repulsive. Inspired by Europe, the sponsors claim that there is research proving there’s no health risk posed by the dogs. Evidently the big constituencies for enacting this law are people dining at night in Baltimore who might otherwise be too afraid to come out onto the street without their Rottweilers and kids who might be more inclined to eat out if they knew their pal could come along too. The funniest argument given by the sponsors of the bill is that “it is common to see dogs in France’s fine restaurants.” (Oh, great. We’re overruling decades of American public health practice because of what the French do.)

I always wonder how these wacky bills get started. I can’t believe there’s a big corps of dog owners lobbying for real dogs to carry the doggie bags. And Lord knows the General Assembly has more important things to deal with. (Like the Maryland governor holding our state education program hostage to the legalization of slot machines.) I suppose if the bill passes the giggle test it might gain some momentum.

All I know is that if it ever does become legal for Rover and Fido to be dinner companions, I’m going to be mighty careful what I order in Chinese restaurants.
K-

I've been looking at the photos returned by the Mars Rover. They're really amazing. So far the neatest thing about these pictures isn't that the soil is largely red (duh), or that it deforms in a mysterious way when something heavy moves across it (the so-called Magic Carpet), or that we can see the images in 3D or as animations. For me, the neatest things about the photos is:

Mars has a sky!
K-

Today A- received his first real letter from one of the colleges he applied to - The University of Michigan. He was out when it arrived so we were all in a tizzy that maybe he had heard something. No such luck. All they wanted was another teacher recommendation.

You'd think they could write "This envelope does not contain admissions decision" on the outside or somthing.
K-

Last night while coming home from Confirmation Class, my younger son mentioned that all the kids were talking about a tragic traffic accident that happened right here in Howard County. A tanker carrying petroleum of some sort careened off an overpass of the Harbor Tunnel Thruway and tumbled down onto Interstate 95. At least two semi-trailers, a pickup, and an automobile collided with the tanker causing a huge explosion, four deaths, and the shutting down of the major east coast highway for more than 12 hours.

D- seemed especially affected by the accident even though no one he knew was directly involved. Last night he asked if I had heard about it and wanted to know the details, as I understood them. This morning he again mentioned the crash. He seemed troubled and appalled that in life you could be doing everything right, not looking for trouble, and then all of a sudden - WHAM! -you're dead.

"Those people were just minding heir own business," he said.

It's interesting what comes on kid's radar screens. Very troubling things - daily murders in Baltimore, natural disasters, the war in Iraq - flit across my son's consciousness with nary a perception. But a single traffic accident, albeit horrific, grabbed his attention because of its seeming capriciousness.

I reassured him that the probability of any one person being involved in such an event is remarkably small. But that didn't seem to reassure him.

It didn't reassure me either.
K-

I've found a new love.
A friend recently introduced us.
Common first name, unusual last name.

Ginger Altoids.

Simultaneously spicy and sweet. For me an irresistible combination.
K-

Warmer.

Done painting bedroom.

:-)
K-

3 degrees Fahrenheit at 9 AM.

Painting a bedroom.

:-(
K-

I haven't bought socks in recent memory but this morning I noticed my sock drawer was filled to the brim. There are more of those woolly critters in there than ever. My socks are either putting on winter weight or they're taking after the hangers in my closet.
K-

Marie (Disarranging Mine) talked me into entering the Blog Madness contest now going on. (Yes you did, Marie, there's no use denying it.) Individual bloggers are invited to submit their favorite/best 2003 blog entry. The contests pits one entry against another kind of like March Madness.

There were so many (*blush*)... but I picked my blog entry about my Grandparent's medicine closet. I kind of liked that one.
K-

It was 19 degrees outside when I headed out for my morning 5-miler. Thankfully no wind. Coldest run in a while.

Running in the teens is still better than a treadmill.
K-

St. John's Episcopal Church in Ellicott City, MD, has an additional URL. You can now find St. John's Episcopal Church in Ellicott City at the following URL:

http://www.stjohnsec.net/

At St. John's you will find a congregation striving to bring other people to a closer relationship with God and each other in Christ.
K-

Yesterday A- called me at work. I love him dearly but about the only time he calls me at work is when he needs me to buy something.

Sure enough:
"Daddy, don't forget to get me a 9-volt battery on the way home. And could you also bring me a news magazine?"
"Like Time or Newsweek?"
"Whatever. We're doing an impromptu in speech tomorrow and it has to be about something from a weekly news magazine."

Later in the checkout line with the requested battery and Newsweek, I noticed there in front of me a news magazine of a different sort: Weekly World News. Of course! That's the perfect news magazine for A- to talk about in speech class. It even has the words "weekly" and "news" right there in its name! What more could he want?

When I got it home, he said he probably could use it for the basis of his speech. Looking through this latest edition, we found the obligatory "Bat Boy" story. This time we learn Bat Boy helped lead US Troops in Iraq to Saddam's hole-in-the-ground hiding place. There were also stories about a famed musicologist who ranks Britney Spears with Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven as a great musician; "secret" news from NASA that the space agency is exploring the outer reaches of our galaxy using the out of body experiences of Earth-based "mind-o-nauts"; and (our favorite) a report about a restaurant in Tokyo serving mermaid sushi.

He asked me what everyone always wonders: Do people really believe the stories in the Weekly World News? I told him that, obviously, the "Bat Boy" story was a little too farfetched to be true but Britney Spears... she's one damn fine musician. And mermaid sushi probably tastes a lot like chicken.
K-

Pete Rose is making the media rounds acknowledging what everyone knew: he bet on baseball. The timing of Rose's announcement (being in no way an apology) coincides with the publication of his new book and his realization that if he's not voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in the next few years, he loses his eligibility forever.

I'll be blunt: I've always detested this guy. Sure Rose was a great hitter, deserved the nickname "Charlie Hustle", and on the field was a team player. But I also found him arrogant and not a little stupid. Now we know Pete Rose is a liar as well.

Yesterday Paul Molitor was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. The same accolades used for Rose - great hitter, "Charlie Hustle", team player - describe Molitor to a tee. Yet Molitor managed to achieve his success (3319 career hits and a 0.306 lifetime batting average) without the arrogance and ego Rose has so amply demonstrated for so long.

That Pete Rose should steal the least little bit of limelight from Molitor's honor (or from Dennis Eckersley who is the best relief pitcher ever) I find particularly galling. Here's hoping future baseball writers and Hall of Fame Veterans Committee members continue to deny Rose entry into the pantheon of baseball's great players and, in the case of Molitor, gentlemen.
K-

Today is the 150th Birthday Anniversary of

(William) Sherlock (Scott) Holmes

Born at the Farmstead of Mycroft

In the North Riding of Yorkshire

January 6th, 1854

(Please Make the Usual Canonical Toasts)

..."You have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world." A Study in Scarlet
I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix. The Mazarin Stone
You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae. The Sign of Four
I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles. The Lion's Mane

In case you were wondering what Canonical Toasts are:

Written by Elmer Davis, the BSI Constitution reads as follows:
Article I
The name of the society shall be the Baker Street Irregulars.

Article II
Its purpose shall be the study of the Sacred Writings.

Article III
All persons shall be eligible for membership who pass an examination in the Sacred Writings set by officer of the society, and who are considered otherwise suitable.

Article IV
The officers shall be: a Gasogene, a Tantalus, and a Commissionaire.
The duties of the Gasogene shall be those commonly performed by a President.
The duties of the Tantalus shall be those commonly performed by a Secretary.
The duties of the Commissionaire shall be to telephone down for ice, White Rock, and whatever else may be required and available; to conduct all negotiations with waiters; and to assess the members pro rata for the cost of same.

The BSI Buy-laws
1. An annual meeting shall be held on January 6th, at which the canonical toasts shall be drunk; after which the members shall drink at will.

2. The current round shall be bought by any member who fails to identify, by title of story and context, and quotation from the Sacred Writings submitted by any other member.
Qualification A. If two or more members fail so to identify, a round shall be bought by each of those so failing.
Qualification B. If the submitter of the quotation, upon challenge, fails to identify it correctly, he shall buy the round.

3. Special meetings may be called at any time or any place by any one of three members, two of whom shall constitute a quorum.
Qualification A. If said two people are of opposite sexes, they shall use care in selecting the place of meeting, to avoid misinterpretation (or interpretation either, for that matter).

4. All other business shall be left for the monthly meetings.

5. There shall be no monthly meetings.

Canonical Toasts
The obligatory canonical toasts are typically as follows: to the Woman, Irene Adler; the Master, the Doctor and, of course, long suffering Mrs. Hudson. These are always followed by toasts of varying propriety to the more colorful characters of the Canon and often the less fortunate fellow Irregulars.

(Note: I have yet to become an investitured member of the BSI.)
K-

I called the Dodger organization today to find out what I could about George Pfister, the player whose name shouldn't be on my 1952 Brooklyn Dodger autographed baseball.

I spoke with the Dodger Team Historian, Mark Langill. This man was very friendly and helpful and patiently answered all of my questions. I thought my question about George Pfister was a little off the wall but he assured me that he's heard them all.

George Pfister was on the 1952 Brooklyn Dodgers team as bullpen coach. The Dodgers hired him in 1951 as bullpen catcher and kept him on the following year as coach. The other Brooklyn coaches that year included Billy Herman, Cookie Lavagetto, and Jake Pitler. Why they didn't sign the ball is a mystery.

Based on some other information that Mr. Langill gave me, I now believe the ball was signed sometime in August or early September 1952.
K-

I've admitted elsewhere that I came unequipped with the male professional sports entertainment gene. I like Orioles baseball and I follow Michigan football but that's pretty much it. And now that the Rose Bowl is over, the Baltimore Ravens are out of the NFL playoff hunt, and Spring Training is weeks away, I get a sweet respite. For me, the sports pages become just so much fish wrapping until Opening Day. The feeling of having one less thing to read in the morning newspaper is so liberating, so cathartic.

NCAA Football champs? Don't care, it's not Michigan.
NFL Playoffs and Super Bowl? Don't know who's playing and I couldn't care less who wins.
NCAA basketball? Meh.
NBA and NHL? Puhlease, isn't there any daytime television I could watch?

How about that Mars landing?
K-

Yesterday I heard my oldest son A- and his best buddy down in the basement making screwing-around noises. So I went down to investigate. It turns out A-'s buddy, who plays the electric guitar, had some minor repairs to make to his axe. The two boys were making use of my soldering iron and workshop. After I made sure everything was under control I noticed that a second guitar was sitting by itself in a semi-obsured area of the basement.

"Hey, B-, is this other guitar yours, too?"
"That is not my guitar."
"So did you borrow it from someone?"
"That is not my guitar."
"Well, if it's not your guitar whose is it?"
"That is not my guitar."

Finally I got the message. "A- is this your guitar?"

Turns out the two of them had just returned from a shopping jaunt to procure said guitar. I was kind of surprised because A- hadn't mentioned that he'd be buying a guitar.

At various times in the past, A- has casually mentioned that he'd like to play the guitar. I always assumed it was in the same vein as when I say I'd like to be a jockey. Looks like he cashed in his coffee can of spare change, grabbed the bull by the horns, and bought himself his own Lucille. I just hope it doesn't become a dust collector.

Anybody have a spare Marshall amp?
K-

Be forewarned: this story has no nice conclusion, no pat ending. It's a work in progress.

My birthday was last week. I got some nice presents: a couple of books, a bag of pistachios, a little cash (in-laws), and a baseball. The ball was presented to me wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom of a gift bag. It had been placed in a clear, plastic box.

The baseball was a gift from my mother who found it while cleaning out my dad's dresser earlier in the year. She knows I'm a baseball fan and thought I might like to have it. But this was not just an ordinary baseball. This one had been signed by the Brooklyn Dodgers.

"Where did Dad get it?" I asked.
"Your grandfather gave it to him."
"Well, where did Grandpa get it?"
"I don't know. I suspect a client gave it to him but that's only a guess."
"Which Brooklyn Dodger team signed it?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have a list of who signed it?"
"No."
"Did Dad ever tell you anything about it?"
"No. He wasn't a big baseball fan."
"So there's nothing more you can tell me about it?"
"No. It rolled around inside your father's bureau for years. He got it from his father. That's all I know about it."

How piquant, a mystery of sorts.

Tuesday I spent the afternoon on the web trying to figure out which Brooklyn Dodger team signed the ball. The ball itself looks old. It is yellowed and a little soiled. Some of the signatures have faded; a few are badly faded. Because I vaguely remember seeing the ball as a child (where and when I can't recall) I'm almost certain the ball is not a fake or forgery.

There are some easily identifiable signatures that assure me the Brooklyn Dodgers had, in fact, signed the ball. Signatures for Gil Hodges, Jackie Robinson, and Roy Campanella are among the least faded. So I started looking at Dodger rosters from the late '40s and early '50s. I noticed that one of the signatures was all by itself: Chuck Dressen. I discovered he managed the Dodgers from 1951-1953. After perusing the rosters for those three years, I convinced myself that the 1952 Brooklyn Dodgers had signed the ball.

Once I had the roster in hand, I was able to determine - almost - who had signed the ball. Other baseball luminaries who signed include: Andy Pafko, Joe Black, Carl Erskine, Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Ralph Branca (threw the pitch to Bobby Thompson that was hit for the "shot heard 'round the world") and Carl Furillo. Other less notable signers include Bobby Morgan (8 years active), Ed 'Sandy' Amoros (7 years active), and Joe Landrum (2 years active).

Maddeningly, some of the signatures are difficult to make out. I'm fairly certain two of the signatures belong to Ben Wade and Clyde King. One of the signatures has quite a flourish to it making it difficult to decipher. It could be Clem Labine's signature but it's hard to say.

But the most perplexing signature on the ball belongs to George Pfister. His autograph is clear - George Pfister - right there between Joe Landrum and Rocky Bridges. There's only one problem:

George Pfister didn't play for the 1952 Dodgers!

George Pfister played exactly one game in major league baseball. He was a catcher on the 1941 Brooklyn Dodgers. He had exactly two at bats, got no hits, no walks, not even a strikeout. Then he vanishes from baseball history. Yet there's his name, clear as day, right on my ball! Now a certain George Shuba played for the 1952 Dodgers but there's no way this is George Shuba's signature.

What is George Pfister's signature doing on this ball? Was he a coach? I haven't been able to find that information on the web. Was he a trainer? Why would a trainer sign the ball? Could Baseball-Almanac.com have the roster incorrect? Maybe but I doubt it. Perhaps George Pfister is a crank who forged the entire thing and included his name along with the others from this great baseball team.

I don't know how much the ball is worth. The guy at the local card store said it could be four figures. I kind of doubt it though since it's so yellowed. I'm putting it in my safe deposit box nonetheless.

Four Hall of Famers - Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, Pee Wee Reese, and Duke Snider - and George Pfister have their names on my ball.

I guess I've got some more sleuthing to do.
K-

Happy New Year.

I'm returning from an unintended but theraputic break from blogging. During my hiatus I managed to download about 100 CDs onto the new Ipod Santa brought me for Christmas. A 20 Gbyte hard disk in something the size of a deck of cards. Amazing.

New Year's Eve was very low key. During the holidays we attended four parties so we stayed in last night. I grilled New York strips for dinner. Then I watched boring chick flicks - not one explosion. I hung in there till midnight but it was hard. Never in my life have I felt this need to celebrate the New Year and last night was no different. Some folks feel like social failures if they're not out New Year's Eve hooting and hollering. I'm way too boring (uh, I mean secure) to feel distressed at not participating in forced jocularity.

The best news is that I got all of the Christmas decorations put away today. Yes!!! The tree is always tedious. As I get older I find myself ever closer to the artificial tree camp. But it's all away and I'm ready for the weekend.

Remind me to tell you about the baseball my mother gave me for my birthday.
K-