WHAT PICTURE DEFINES YOU?

For most of us with any age upon us, there can be no single picture. High School or College grad pictures would work only for someone in their thirties at most. A wedding picture, while nice, would probably not be a defining picture either.

Yet when I clicked on this picture of Jack, from the 1980 movie The Shining, I knew that this was it for him. I clicked on the next picture and got a ton of head shots from Scarlett Johanson or Jacobsen or Jacobius, I don't know, I can't even get a defining name for her, but there were none even close. There was a full red carpet shot of her that was pretty or rather unflattering--a right boob pushing up over the top of her gown, and a left one sagging down, but hey, all that does is define she's human. And just think some of the shots they could get of us if they followed us around 24/7.

But Jack has a variety of looks, yet none so epitomizing (I may have just coined one) as that look.

I have no idea of the one photo of me that would capture who I am. Maybe my first grade picture with skinned nose from a fall on our front steps. Or my third grade picture where I was smiled proudly showing a huge gap where four front teeth were out. Maybe a family shot, but my full family transcends three or four generations, so that's not possible.

If I had to select one, it would be my coming out of the Jordan River in my baptismal gown. Yep, I think that would be the one. Kind of an antithesis of Jack.

NO WAY, ORENTHAL

It's really hard to figure out Fox Network. I heard from an Arab Christian and returning Iraqi War soldiers that Fox was the best, the most accurate assessment of world news. The most respected by most foreigners. They call CNN laughable in its coverage of world events.

Yet it's Fox who is carrying the horrific Orenthal James Simpson's lowest of low tv coverage. And a parent company is publishing his book. I'm floored.

When people flock to this killer (don't forget he confessed to buddy Marcus Allen after a few too many.) And don't forget Nicole's blood was found on his shoes and hairs from Ron were found on Orenthal's clothing.

Also keep in mind that Nicole is the mother of his two children. If he has no consience, neither does Fox. I'm floored. It's a crazy world turned upside down. Fox. Join the other networks who lost self respect long ago. As far as Orenthal, he never had any.

ISN'T IT JUST ABOUT TIME

for Bobby Knight to say farewell? And all those who enable him?

Once at a grade school basketball game I observed a coach insert his thumb and index finger into the neck of the jerseys of his players and actually jerk them around when he talked to them or substituted them into the game. It wasn't with force, but the guys were little. He wasn't.

I was standing there with a friend of mine whose son was a star for that team. I said mattter of factly, "I'd have a ton of trouble with that coach if it were Scott's team." All he said was, "We're watching him very closely."

A coach never needs to touch his players. Certainly not the way Knight did. It is absolutely out of line. Don't buy the litany of excuses that Knight followers have. They are wrong. He was wrong. He should be fired. It's that simple.

But the player who was abused (and yes, it was abuse) and his parents supported Knight. Just like the grade school parent I mentioned. They want their kid to play. It's that simple. Maybe they should be fired, too.

Knight will go Woody again. You can count on it. And when he does, just remember the line offered by former U of I coach Lou Henson, "he's a classic bully." No one ever said it better.

PARKWAY HAD THE MALTS


Dennis Hoffman and I loved chocolate malts. Parkway Sundries was located across the street from the Shoe Factory where I was once promised a Summer job. At one time, it was a very busy factory in MTV. They even blew their loud whistle at noon and closing time. It could be heard from blocks away.

Also Horace Mann Grade School was right across the street. Next to Parkway Sundries was a tavern called The Corner. Surprisingly, it's the only one of the four still in operation, though Horace Mann and the Shoe Factory may house other enterprizes now.

But Max Stull's Parkway is no more. And it wasn't because of the malts. Thick and chocolatey and served in those cold tumblers, you got plenty for a quarter. There were other guys who'd make the walk of about six blocks to partake, but I remember having most of my drinks with Dennis or Butch as we called him in old neighborhood days. We'd sit at the counter where he served lots of burgers for noon time workers at the factory. He had magazines and art supplies, too. Some that you couldn't get anywhere else in town.

An old fashioned bowling machine was in the south corner and sometimes after a haircut about three doors down, I would stop and pump a dime in the machine before walking back home. I don't think I was very proficient at it, but it was fun. But those chocolate malts...

"IF I JUST CONCENTRATE"

Remember when I drank the milk...
And it came trickling out of your ears...
Yow. And the time I licked...
The pole when it was really icy...
Yow. And when I sang The National Anthem through burps?
How could I forget?
Well, you're not going to believe this, but early this morning, I strained and strained and held my breath and really concentrated and, and popped out...
Ohhh...Alright... I'll be there...Just give me a minute.

THE MUG

When you'd meet northern people prior to the opening of I-57 and you told them you were from MTV, they all knew The Mug. Located on Route 37, The Mug was a Mel's Drive- In without the roller skates. If you wanted roller skates, you had to head south on 37 to a Taco place where once George Harrison of Beatle fame ate. At least a stall there proclaimed it. His sister did live in Benton, some 20 miles south, and he did purchase a guitar at Fenton's Music Store in MTV, so I guess it's possible.

But The Mug was more famous. It caused massive traffic tie ups because of teens cruising to see who was at The Mug. It was a stop made at least four times a night by anyone of that age with a license. Thus, the traffic; thus the notoriety for those northbound travelers eager to get home and caught up in the logjam.

Frank Morgan was the first owner I knew of and his specialty was ribs. There was a rib pit in back of the drive-in, and Frank was expert at his craft. He also served the burgers/fries/tenderloins, but his ribs were the best. A Saturday night memory of mine as a ten- year old was Frank's ribs and the tv show Your Hit Parade that featured the Top Ten songs of the week. I loved "Splish Splash I was taking a Bath" back then. Well, I still like it and am reminded of ribs. That's what's so great about music. You hear a song and a flood of memories comes back.

I can even remember where I was when a particular song played on the radio, and it didn't have to be any major thing either. Example: we were riding around one night with just a bunch of guys, up to nothing, but possibilites of a great night. The song "Ferry Cross the Merzey" comes on the radio, and one of the guys, James Minor, makes the comment,"You know, there aren't many songs that aren't about guys or girls or getting together or breaking up. But this one's just about a place." He said this on North 27th across from Jay Paul's Cleaners now, and tell me why in the world I would remember it?

Oh well, I blame The Mug. And those ribs.

IT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE

Whether she's on the receiving end. Or is it her thoughts? Or has she just spoken those words to the person on the other end of the line?

Inflection is also paramount to meaning. And is the elipsis (the three dots) a pause? How long?

How long is the hhh? Is it said with excitement? Mystery? Curiosity? Disgust? Back to inflection--does the voice go up or down towards the end of "Ohhh"?

How about the other word? Why is it shortened and made into one word? How about its inflection? Approval? Surrender? Finality?

What about volume? How she's holding the phone? Is there a sense of immediacy? Is she highly motivated or bored? Is this the beginning of the conversation or the end?

And finally, what about her expression? Intrigued? Frightened? Desperate? Saddened?

When you have the answers to any or all, then you have the same idea of the artist who created this picture. As for me, I'll tell you in a couple of days in the form of another dialogue.