That's Me in the Corner

Like a Hurt, Lost, and Blinded Fool...

Well, the weekend is finally here, thank goodness. I'm feeling better, but still not over the lingering effects of whatever laid me low earlier in the week. Like most people, I'm not at my best when my health is shaky.

And, of course, the events of the week, large and small, haven't been much help either. Every once in awhile I find myself wondering if I understand anything at all about this world. I could use a brief respite from thinking about Big Picture stuff.

"To perceive is to suffer."

Yes, Ari, I know...

Wild Kingdom Bed & Breakfast Update

The new bird bath arrived yesterday, just as Amazon promised. I love Amazon.

Assembly was no problem, no tools required, and the verdigris finish looks as cool in person as it did on the website...

So far, at least, none of the patio regulars have tried it. Most of them completely ignore it, actually, but there have been a couple who have eyed it warily...

"It looks cool, but everyone's waiting for someone else to go first."

I understand. People are like that, too, sometimes...

"As are anteaters."

Jackasses of the Ancient World

This is from the marvelous Non Sequitur comic strip by Wiley Miller, which I have read daily for many, many years. I just love the way Miller's mind works...

And as for the "jackass" part: The notion that you "never end a sentence with a preposition," the well-known "rule" of English grammar which this cartoon is poking fun at, isn't an official rule at all. In fact, the folks who insist that it is are, quite simply, mistaken. So shut up about it, amateur grammarians everywhere. You don't know what you're talking about.

 I know. My readers are a pretty sharp bunch...

Cars I Have Known and Loved

No encyclopedia of my life (which is a major reason for this blog's existence) would be complete without some discussion of the various cars I have interacted with over the past 45 years or so. We'll start with this aircraft carrier...

1963 Chrysler Imperial

This is the car in which my father taught me how to drive (in advance of my taking Driver's Ed as a high school sophomore in 1968). Dad inherited the car from his dad, who always drove whatever was Chrysler's top-of-the-line car.

It was a remarkable car. If anything, it was bigger inside than it looks. It had a single bench seat in front, and I have seen smaller sofas in furniture stores. Unusual for its time, the whole bench could have its angle and position controlled electrically. It had Chrysler's famous push-button transmission, too. You flipped up a lever to unlock the shift buttons, then pushed whichever button you needed. The "D" button got you the three-speed automatic transmission (no overdrive gear in those days).

By modern standards, of course, the radio was a piece of shit, but when you turned it on the car automatically extended an antenna from the passenger-side fender, and retracted it again when you shut the radio off. Very cool. When I couldn't get the Royals game to come in on my crappy transistor radio, dad used to let me go sit in the car on warm evenings, roll down the power windows, and listen to the ballgame...

The car was powered by Chrysler's 413-cubic-inch "RB" engine, which had not one but two four-barrel carburetors.

This power plant produced 390 horsepower and 485 pound-feet of torque. By contrast, the V8 in a modern Mustang GT produces 435 horsepower and only 400 pound-feet of torque. There was a lag when you mashed down on the gas pedal of this behemoth, but once those carburetors opened up...

About a month after I graduated from high school, a close friend of mind from the debate team drowned at a place called Lake Viking. I drove the Imperial to the funeral. On the way home, just minutes after dropping off a female classmate who had also attended Glenn's funeral, the right rear tire blew out (this was in the days when bias-ply tires were the norm for passenger cars). I didn't lose control of the vehicle when it happened, but the rear of the car drifted off the pavement (I was on 169 Highway, speed limit 70) and the rim dug into the shoulder and caused the car to veer off the roadway. It rolled onto the driver's side and slid more than 200 feet. When it finally came to a stop, the car flopped slowly onto its roof, which crumpled in the front in a V-shape and shattered the windshield. There was very little other damage (sliding 200 feet on its left side hadn't even broken off the side-view mirror; they do NOT build cars like this anymore).

I was terrified about what dad would say when he found out I had wrecked his dad's car. Dad worked really late shifts at the TWA overhaul base sometimes, and this night mom sent me to bed before dad got home. Around 2:00 AM, I woke up and saw my dad sitting in a chair by my bed, just watching. He wasn't mad, but he was worried that I might have had a concussion from the accident, and he wanted to keep an eye on me. When I woke up, he sat on the bed, asked me a couple of questions, told me not to worry about the car, gave me a hug, and told me to go back to sleep.

The car, of course, was totaled, because the cost of fixing the roof would have cost more than the car's blue book value (sheet metal was really thick in those days). I felt terrible, but my dad found a way to make the best of it. He replaced the Imperial with one of these...

440 four-barrel V8, 390 horsepower. Have I mentioned that my dad liked powerful cars?

"Wow! Did it go fast?"

Yes. It ran "like a scalded ape," as my dad used to say. Miss you, dad...

Until Next Time... 

Most successful bands have a single song that, for whatever reason, their fans embrace and make their favorite. In the case of R.E.M., that song was "Losing My Religion," from their 1991 album Out of Time.

Asked about it in interviews, members of the band often stress how this particular song always gets played exactly the same way in concert. No fiddling with the arrangement, no adding or subtracting instruments, etc., as bands typically do with popular songs in their catalog, just to keep things fresh and interesting. The band members say it's because they respect the affection their fans have for this song so much that they want to make sure they get to hear the song as they fell in love with it. Lead singer Michael Stipe says that the song "belongs" to the fans. Watch the way the crowd reacts in today's send-off clip, and you'll see just what he means.

The title of the song is widely misunderstood, by the way. It has nothing to do with faith, or the lack thereof. The expression "losing my religion" is a southern regionalism which simply means being at one's wit's end, pushed over the edge by a problem or situation, etc. Being based in Athens, Georgia meant Stipe and the rest of the band members would have heard this expression often growing up...

Did I sing along to this song when I saw them live at Starlight Theatre in Kansas City a few months after this was filmed? Why yes, yes I did. Enjoy...