WINEHOUSE, JOPLIN, AND CLEMENS

Too much time on our hands. How else do you explain our obsession with celebs accused of drug use and abuse?

I bring up Janis Joplin because she was of my generation. All I know about the winner of 5 Grammies in 2008 is that she couldn't attend the awards show because of some US drug violation. Joplin, well, she was a mess in the 60's and 70's.

From what I can tell, neither Whitehouse or Winehouse or Whinehouse has much more appeal to me than Joplin did. Screaming, screeching, eating the microphone and having a smoky voice just don't add up to an enjoyable listening experience. Give me Warwick or Underwood or Streisand.

The Congressional hearing on steroids in baseball is no more appealing to me. Roger Clemens, certainly a gifted athlete, doesn't appear to be a gifted liar. But he has the public split as much as OJ did. That is about 20-80. Twenty percent believe both athletes. But again, why the insatiable interest? Why the wasted time, and in his case wasted tax payer money? What purpose does it serve? I mean, Andy Pettite seems to be the good guy in all this, and he admitted using steroids, he ratted on Clemens, and now he is preparing for Spring Training with the Yankees. So if there's no penalty for him, then why harrass Clemens who has probably pitched his last game anyway?

My point. We hypocritically denounce drugs and drug users, unless they're our drug user. It doesn't have to be that way. We could embrace cheating coaches who are drug free. Like Bellichek and Sampson and Pearl and....

MERRY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

Why is it only Merry Christmas? And why does it sound strange to say "Happy Christmas"? You can have a holly, jolly Christmas, but not a Jolly Valentine's Day.

Make Merry is an expression appropo for Valentine's Day. You can have a Top of the Morning, too, but not a top of the Valentine. There's certainly no song about Born on Valentine's Day. In fact, I know no one who shares that day with Cupid. You know there are Valentine babies even though I've never heard of a first baby of the 14th of Feb.

One thing I really like about it, is it's exactness. You can always count on Valentine's Day, the Fourth of July and Christmas as being on the same date every year. Ok, New Year's Day, too, but of course not New Year's Eve.

A day devoted to love and lovers is kinda cool, too. And like Thanksgiving, it's many times a time to celebrate food, so that's good. And presents. Sure, you're pressured to get your honey a present on this day (whoever heard of a Thanksgiving present?), but you get one in return, so that makes it a good day.

If you don't have a Valentine, then there's anticipation of what next Valentine's Day will bring. Remember, anticipation is often greater than reality anyway(s).

Have a Joyous Valentine's Day. Oh gosh, that doesn't sound right either. Have a Happy V Day sounds too much like VE Day or VJ Day from WW II. And no way would I wish anyone a Happy VD, so I'll just close in saying "May all your Valentine Days be bright."

THE BIRD WHO SOUNDS LIKE A PHONE

There was this hole, see. On a golf course, you see. It was at Karsten, ASU's home course, ya understand. All four of us were on or near the green, you know. And we's was all putting for pars or birdies, naturally.

When all of the sudden (ok, I'll stop now, because of all the little verbal pauses which become written hiccups, or hiccoughs as I've seen them written, all of THE sudden, bothers me the most, well except for all the sudden. It's all of a sudden, Ok?) this bird starts chirping. And he sounds just like a telephone ringing. Not one long and two shorts, but two rings.

He must have bothered us something awful because we walked off the green with 3 pars and 1 bogey. Imagine that. Skilled as we are to be upset to the point of adding an additonal stroke or two because of a bird who wouldn't quit chirping. Or who was too lazy to pick up the phone.

It reminded me of an old neighborhood comedy routine pulled off by the stoic Jerry Hongersmeier. He told Colleen Garry that she had a funny name. Imagine this phone coversation, he'd say.

"Who were you calling?"

"I was calling Colleen?"

"I know you were calling. But who were you calling?"

"I was calling Colleen."

He went on for awhile, just like "Who's on First?"

But we didn't play golf back then. And if a bird would have making that sound then and there, somebody would have rung his neck.

THE EYES DON'T HAVE IT ANYMORE

Blessed with great eyesight, until the age of 45, I never appreciated how tough it is when one doesn't have clarity, when one simply can't see.

I wore glasses for awhile. Hated them. Always misplaced them. I refused to go with the glasses on a string strapped around my neck.

I wore one contact for a few years. That's right, only it was in my left eye for reading only. I had to pop it out when I played golf, though. Once when I left it in for awhile, I noticed I putted better, but still.

Then I went to some kind of surgery that I've wrtten about before where they reshaped my aging eyeballs without cutting the flap as they do in traditional laser surgery. Not much pain, but not much vision for about a week. And for a few months, good vision though I couldn't see the golf ball much past 120 yards or so. But I was told there was some give and take.

I was also told that I might have to wear reading glasses if I was reading for 3 hours or more. Bottom line. I can't see squat now without my glasses.

Oh, I can watch a big screen tv and even read the big print books they have in libraries, but basically without the specs, I'm a mole.

So why do I re-hash. Well, number 1--don't have the flapless surgery. Number 2--I don't know what kind of flower is pictured above, but when I saw it, even with glasses on, I thought it was a man with his arms in the air as he was checking for b.o.

GRIFF

My high school typing teacher was one class act. Hubert Griffith was a gentleman's gentleman. Distinguished, articulate, demanding but not overbearing, Griff was simply one of a kind.

Tall, stately, he was a throwback to a different time. He commanded respect and he got it. A very good tennis player, he also sponsored the Color Guard. The high school Color Guard was one of the best in the state, using actual military rifles, which weighed a ton compared to some of the replications, some even made of wood that other schools used.

Respect, honor, dignity--all were espoused by Griff and his Color Guard.

He loved the gruffest of the gruff teachers, Bloody Mary. He actually loved a geometry teacher at the school, but he loved to tease Mrs. Foreman, Bloody Mary. She simply ruled over her domain--high school freshmen. She even scared some of the faculty with her rough exterior. Inside, she was very kind, very loving, and certainly great to teach with.

She had a cat, D.C., for damned cat, but she loved it. Griff would tease her with cat stories. A professed cat hater (he wasn't), he'd tease Mary in the Teachers' Lounge about finding the cutest little kitten on his front porch. As he walked over to help the feline, he couldn't help himself, and kicked it all the way across the porch and off the steps.

Mary would howl, Griff would laugh. On-lookers didn't know what to do. That's the way it was back then, and I miss the comraderie.

SAVER OF A TV SHOW

I'm just a little. Too young. To remember. Much.

About Dave Garroway and NBC's Today Show. I remember my parents watched. And if I did, it was to see J. Fred Muggs.

Any monkey who had a girlfriend named Phoebe B. Beebe had to be cool. I suppose she was a chimpanzee, but I don't know. I don't know whether she was like Jimmy Durante's Mrs. Calibash, "wherever you are". Things were like that in the 50's. There was more mystique back then.

TV Guide even named an award for the chimp representing Distinguished Foolishness in the industry. How, oh how did they ever quit awarding that one? It could be bigger than the Country Music, Grammys, or Emmys in today's world. Just think of the nominees for this year alone.

I'm quite fuzzy about the particulars (as we used to say in Southern Illinois; well, I never said it, but anyway[s]) it seems J. Fred saved Garroway's job somehow. Maybe ratings. But the little guy survived from 1953-57. Not bad for a pre-Topo Gigo. Not bad for a non-talent in tv land. But now I'm getting redundant.