IN THE NEWS--AN OLD GAME USED TO SETTLE A DISPUTE

A judge in Tampa, Florida, ordered two attorneys to settle a dispute over where the questioning of a witness should take place. When neither could come to an agreement, the judge resorted to the child's game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to settle the disparity.

For a few years now, our daughter has issued the same challenge while standing in a line or whenever things are really going slowly. "Wanna play Rock, Paper, Scissors?" Old coots like me who tend to be impatient most always answers in the negative. While I appreciate the diversion, sometimes I feel like I shouldn't have to endure any unpleasantries in life. Yet, if I'm dealt them, I'll endure the old fashioned way--with silent anger.

Once in line, Courtney posed that question to her maybe-even-more-impatient-than-I Mother who answered her with "Gun," and playfully shot our daughter. Not to be outdone, Ryan, a friend of Courtney's added "Bomb," to beat Gun, complete with sound effects.

Now, throw in a couple of Florida attorneys and there's no telling where this game could go. Stay tuned for further developments. And if you get bored waiting, just play a game of "Eeny, Meaney, Miney, Moe."

"I SELL LIVER SALT"

What a hard way to earn a buck. How many people even eat liver? I mean ever.

There is only one place where I'll try it: Don and Charlie's in south Scottsdale. It's a sports restaurant with tons of autographs and bats and jerseys and helmets and programs and uniforms and scorecards. But it's so dark in there that you can't see them. Oh well, he's from chicago, so most of his stuff doesn't interest me too much.

Except for his liver pate with onions as a appetizer. To be honest, he also serves up the best au gratin potatoes you've ever had, too. The rest of the offerings from ribs to chicken schnitzel are only good, but not great. It's a fun place to go.

But I never remember eating any liver that needed salt. Some of my friends like liver and I've never seen them add salt to the dish either. So I guess the man who "left it behind" in the ad would have had the chef him/herself as the targeted sales audience.

I always wanted to leave my kids a business or something when I checked out, but they gave someone else my classroom at school and my baseball card collection has gone the way of Krispie Kreme IPO's, so make a lot of money in your lifetimes, Scott and Courtney. I guess things could have been worse had I been a salesman for liver salt.

SO WHERE WILL THE CARDINALS BE WHEN PUJOLS RETURNS?

Some would say, first place, no problem. Some would say second but they can make it up. Others hope for a free fall. They're the ones who cheer for another NL team, though I don't know why.

I would suspect that the guys with the birds on the bat would have to battle this year. Come from behind. Maybe even get some momentum heading into the playoffs. Maybe even as a wild card team. How about that?

Well, it's going to be an interesting Summer in the heart of America. Mr. Pujols' injury will cause management, Tony, and Walt many sleepless nights trying to stop gap or revamp. And no one is feeling sorry for the good guys. Trade talks will begin with potential suitors demanding Wainwright and Reyes.

So while the Cardinals will miss Baseball's Best until after the All-Star Game, maybe someone can be an Abe Nunez who played super in Rolen's absence and parlayed a million dollar deal in the off-season. But St. Louis will miss El Hombre. Along with the rest of baseball.

Hasten, hie, get back quick, Prince Albert. Your cape awaits you.

WHOOP, THERE IT IS

Remember the javelina I wrote about in an earlier blog? Well, as the old Tag Team song went...Whoop, there he is. Looks just like him. Remember I saw him at just past dusk, but there were enough lights around for me to make a positive ID. This is the one!

And to think I disturbed him from eating. There are friends of mine who hunt them. They barbecue them and say they are tasty. I couldn't kill one. I think they are awesome.

I killed a gecko once in our house. They come in once in awhile now, but I never bother them anymore. I was trying to catch a little one in a paper cup and then release him outside. I'd done that a few times before. But this one moved and I clipped off his tail. Little red gecko blood marked the spot. I guess I thought he was in pain or would hemorrhage to death, so I mercy killed him. Right there.

First of all when I told Courtney, she made me swear not to tell anyone else. She thought they were endangered or something. "But it was to keep him from suffering," I pleaded. I also told a friend, a long time Arizona resident who told me that losing their tails were defense mechanisms, and that he wasn't hurting even if there was blood.

Then I felt bad. I still feel bad. I love geckos. I have counted as many as 11 at a time on our covered back porch. They are especially cool when they've eaten something and take on the color of their finds.

I'll never harm another. Promise. But if I knock off a javelina's tail, you can bet that big guy's going down.

STARBUCKS I

Can you picture a world when there was only one Starbucks? And it was located in Seattle.

Well, that was then. Who'd have thunk such an explosion. Over coffee. Latte, espresso, ground right in front of the customer. Coffee drinkers at every hour of the day.

I remember my first cup. I never drank it at home with my parents who would typically split a small pot, one time a day drinkers. I waited till I was in college.

Junior college at Mt. Vernon Community College which shared the high school campus with 1800 other students. Mt. V C.C. had about 200 students, probably half of whom also came from Mt. Vernon. We used to call it doing post-high school work at In Town or 7th Street University.

A typical hamburger joint of the 1950-60's, Sailors set on the southeast part, just across the street from the campus. One early morning, I decided that since I was in college, it was time for me to be an adult. "I'll just have a coffee," I told Mrs. Sailor.

When it came, I loaded it down with sugar, sugar, sugar. It was terrible, but I got it down. I drank my coffee that way for about six months until I ordered it black once when I didn't feel well. No sugar has touched my coffee wet lips again. Just black, I'd tell Mrs. Sailor nowadays.

But Sailors, Mt. Vernon C. C. are long gone. It was quite a place that little restaurant. I met one of my friends there one morning after his first day of school at SIU. He's come back to Mt. Vernon and joined the Air Force. No college for him. Till Later. Had he just waited, enrolled at the juco, and been with me when I ordered and sipped that first cup of joe, he might have invented Starbucks or something similar. I might have gone it with him. Then neither of us would have needed college or the Air Force.

THERE'S ONLY ONE REASON WHY I WASN'T A SCIENTIST

My high school Biology insect collection. I worked harder on that project than any except for term papers. And I blubbed it badly.

The picture of the dragon fly was my reminder. I chased a couple all over the back part of Oakwood Cemetery one Saturday and finally captured one. It wasn't the best one I had ever seen. It wasn't the best one I saw that day, but he was accessible and I snagged him.

I must have garnered up twenty insects totaled. I was ready to pin them on the board. I had all the right materials. But I didn't have adept 15-year old hands. Oh, I could catch a baseball and block the plate with the best of them, but not put a pin in just the right location on a dragon fly.

You guessed it. Alice in Wonderland captured it perfectly, "Off with their heads." With some glue, I reattached it, but it was miserable looking. Ditto for my project. Result: D+

I knew next year in Chemistry, I would make my mark as a budding scientist. Well, I made my mark, all right. Mr. Wayman, that is, made my mark. And it in no way led me to believe that chem was in my future. At least they don't use slide rules any more, for my hands were no more adept for them than the Biology project. Wait a minute: maybe it wasn't my hands after all. Maybe it was, gulp, my brain. Naugh.

THE LIGHTHOUSE

Although this one's at Nova Scotia, a more famous one may be at Hilton Head because of a golf tournament.

Like many, I've always been intrigued by the lighthouse. The views atop them are usually spectacular, but I think it's more than that. It's the seclusion one imagines as a watchman at the lighthouse.

First, the responsibility and value are huge. Your beacon lights the way for ships. So you know you are providing a valuable service.

Second, the isolation. What do you do when on guard for an eight or twelve hour shift? You must pay attention, but there's all that time of quiet. Of desolation. Of reflection. Of plans for the future. Of suspense. What was that noise? Ray Bradbury has a short story about a lighthouse and a rat that gets in. In Skeleton Key the rat becomes as large as a panther when the lighthouse watchman fights him.

Third, the intrigue. How many people have ever met a lighthouse watchman? How romantic is his job? Does he have visitors at night to help him out, or do people visit him while he's at work? Does he live there when he's off duty?

Lots of questions for the first lighthouse watchman you meet. I'm gonna ask how often he has to change the bulb.