ANOTHER CUBAN CRISIS

Not the country. The man. Mark Cuban is an NBA owner. He runs the Dallas Mavericks. One of his players, an ingrate called Josh Howard, showed much disrespect to the National Anthem.

Basically he said because he is Black, he has no respect for the anthem. He added something about Barack Obama, but it was not clear what his comments about the Presidential candidate were.

What is clear is that this Mav is under contract for $9 million dollars in a country that he doesn't care for because he's Black. And some of you readers thought it took Michelle Obama a long time to get it.

I want to dismiss him as an idiot, to call him "Raca", but scripture tells us not to, so I won't even refer to him as O'Reilly does, "a pinhead". But his beliefs, his anger however misdirected, are becoming more prevalent in our country. A nation of whiners? A nation of ingrates? A nation of those unable to think?

I'm not sure what we have become. I just hope it's a relative few who seem to be grabbing headlines. Where's the Silent Majority?

Meanwhile Howard has a required meeting with the NBA commissioner. That'll put an end to it. Right. And Mark Cuba will only sign good citizen players to his basketball team.

IT'S NOT EVERYDAY

Volumes, that's what I want to know,

Not just the Summer in the small house,

But of noise, not trouble.

Cupolas, squires, and balconies that were scrolled

Hung in a cloudless sky the color of ochre.

But that was the type of day it was

That poisoned by praise of unworthies,

He glanced to the street.

Debris was a damp dispersion

To a mind content to sit and stew.

Nowhere could he escape her.

And she, arm in arm, with him.

He creaked as he rose, ankle or knee,

It was of no consequence, and he had no time to think of which gave out the sound,

For there she was

With him

Did I say arm in arm?

That's not quite right on further inspection.

His hand around her waist as they walked

Hers, non-committal by his side.

But it was enough, the look of acceptance,

Of serenity in those brown eyes,

The rejected one with creaks

Yelled to him,

"Let her go. She's mine."

Or she should be.

WHAT A CATCH!

But that's not what today's entry is about. It's about butterflies and humans. So why wouldn't I put a picture of a bear?

You see, it's easy to see where a bear is able to taste. Just like us. Not so with the lovely butterfly. The mouthless butterfly has to rely on another body part for taste sensation. Don't read another paragraph before you guess, and no it's not through the antennae.

If you couldn't wait; if you forged ahead, you found the answer, but I'll drag it out to this line--the feet. That's right: that's where their taste buds are.

Now the application. If humans taste were in their feet, think of the possible repercussions. How could wine ever be made by stomping grapes? How sticky would floors be at the places that offer free samples of ice cream? Would we have to use mouth wash on our feet? Would people with bigger feet eat more? And when you had to throw up, would it be with one foot or two?

Ok, that's it. No more exploratory realms for me. One more: I lied. Mouth-to-foot resusitation? Nope: foot to foot.

PUT IT TO BED, BABY

For me, it was August 1. When the Birds on the Bat did nothing at the trading deadline. With serious injuries to the starters and erstwhile closer turned fireman a la Farenheit 427 where the firemen started fires rather than put them out, and they sat on their fat wallets. I know it was the demise of the 2008 Cardinals.

Even when waiver passed over players (see Adam Dunn) changed teams, the owners of the Cardinals were silent. Even at the September call up, they proved tight not promoting either of two third basemen prospects, so as to keep them arbitration eligible for another season.

Play with what you got, Tony. Which is no match for the other two, recently three teams in your divsion ahead of you. But enough.

Wait till next year. Well, we'll see. I don't see a lot of press about signing a free agent stud or three. Still no experienced closer. Still no shut down lefty reliever, still no bona fide second baseman. A few free agents of their own that didn't get tied up.

And most importantly, what great minor leaguers that the Cards wouldn't trade are going to make an impact next season? What the heck are they playing for 2015?

I hate to be so negative, but hey, my team's not going to the playoffs. The Cubs are. That hurts. And I don't see much of a change on the immediate horizon.

SO BORING

I still remember the holes in the ceiling tiles in grade school. I'd look up at them. I'd count the dots in each panel. I'd be bored to death.

What does that say about a 5th grader? To me it says I wasn't challenged. Not that I made great grades. Not that I didn't love learning. The repetition, the structure, the wasted energy just got to me.

I don't know if I was gifted or not. I know my teachers at Field/Hall Grade School echoed the same reports to my parents: "he's not working up to his capabilities". Every year. So was that supposed to inspire me? Or were my parents supposed to do that? The teachers didn't. Not that I disliked any of them. In fact I liked almost all of them except my third grade teacher who sapped a lot of my enthusiasm for school. I mean I even liked Miss Lerch for 6th grade reading. Almost no one liked her.

We had plenty of smart kids in our grade school, too. From our class we had a medical doctor, an economist, several teachers, several successful businessmen and women, and a mayor. I don't know if they worked up to their capabilities or not. "I can't know," as our youngest grandson says, but I have a feeling there were others in our school similar to me.

I wish I could say it stopped in grade school, but the same pattern followed me to junior and senior high, undergrad and graduate school, though I did get much more grade conscious in grad school. But I could still count the dots. School still bored me.

So what vocation would I choose except teaching. It was rarely boring to me on the other side of the desk. Now teachers' meetings, conferences, and in-services had me searching for those tiles.

THIS MESSAGE IS APPROVED BY...

So whom would some icons of the 50's be supporting for President this year? You'd have to go back all that far to have to wonder, because today's celebs are all too anxious to reveal their stances.

Why just the other day, Pamela Anderson let it be known what she thought of VP candidate Sarah Palin. And if Pamela doesn't like her, well, then how can I?

I liked it a lot better when they kept their political beliefs to themselves. While most tend to be left wingers, I chose the term anxious--with anxiety rather than eager--looking forward to in the first paragraph. As I've blogged before, it really makes it difficult for me to separate their ideological (or is it idiotlogical) choices to themselves. Do I like Bruce Willis better now than George Clooney? In a word, yup.

I just have trouble identifying and supporting someone who openly bashes my candidates and embraces the ones I don't favor. Stubborn? Unforgiving? I guess, but as stronge as my beliefs are, I just am not mature enough philosophically to accept the gulf of difference.

It's different with friends. While I have trouble understanding their political preferences, since we're friends, I can still accept them. But Streisand and Daddy Yankee haven't called me for weeks, so all relational intercourse is one-sided. And they haven't even heard my side of the argument.

As far as Dean and Dee. I have to think them both McCain/Palin. I mean James was a rebel himself, and Sandra's just too sweet, too innocent to be a mean old Obama/Biden supporter.

THE GRACIOUS ONES

The tennis sisters. Actually the Williams', Venus and Serena. Are there two better sports? They never fuss, throw tantrums, disrespect the other or their opponents. Yet, we hear relative little about them.

I know: tennis is not a big sport in the US. It wasn't a big sport at all in high school when I played. And, like golf, it's really not that great to watch. Oh, there are some great volleys and great saves that are amazing, but most of the action is pretty slow.

I used to think I expended more energy walking to the screen to retreat tennis balls than I did running all over the court in actual play. My point: there's a lot of down time.

Even the bad boys of tennis--Jimmy Connors, John McEnroe, et. al, and there were a lot, couldn't add to the game. And then along came two great women players, no not Billy Jean King and Chrissie Evert, but the Williams' who are real pros, and the same result. Apathy for the sport or half-hearted interest.

That's too bad. It, like soccer, is a great sport, but not much fun to watch. And, it's too bad for two world class athletes, Venus and Serena, in every sense of the word.

Maybe if we all started saying, "Tennis anyone?"