HERE HERE OR A CONFESSION OR TWO

With our new tv a year and a half ago, they threw in a sub-woofer, which means even though it was a special, we paid too much. It's the first kind of woofer I ever had. I remember wanting a reverberator that a friend of mine in high school had rigged up to his dad's car. It made every song sound like that hollow Phil Collins' sound in "Something in the Air Tonight." But it was cool, or the girls thought so.

When I teached school ( I think I'll start talking like that once in awhile just to get a reaction and then explain that I certainly wasn't paid enough to use the Queen's English correctly, so you get what you pay for--or as a former school board member's husband once said, "you don't get much of a show for a nickel".) I had a room heater that squealed a sound whose high pitch I couldn't hear. But my students could and they would beg me to stop the awful sound. A good kick in the front by the motor usually did the job.

And that relates to my sub-woofer how? Well, not only did I not hear that sound years ago, I don't hear as well as I once did. But when "Glee" comes on tv on Tuesday nights--see there's my second confession: I watch "Glee". Have since the start. I'm that way. I used to watch "Dawson's Creek". When I was high school I watched the tv show Peyton Place with Mia Farrow, Ryan O'Neal, and a beautiful girl named Barbara Parkins. I think she was in "Valley of the Dolls", too (not II), but that's all I ever remember seeing her in. She was cool. So I have a history of watching stuff that someone once said, "there's no accounting for taste".

But in "Glee" when Britney speaks, I can't understand a word. She's one of the funniest on the show--last week when forced to sign a contract, she asked how to make an "r". That's funny to me (remember about taste) but I had to ask my wife what she said.

So there you have it. Two confessions. But I wonder if the big Magnavox megaphone speaker would fit in our family room?

WHEN A BARBERSHOP WAS A BARBERSHOP
When the floor tiles were black and white. When Wild Root hair oil bottles lined the few shelves above each barber's station, not cordoned off but for all to see. When walls were pretty bare, displaying only a Barber College diploma.

When "Who's next?" was the call. You could pass and wait on your preferred cutter, but most didn't. One day when I was in the shop, a man offered a customer some money (I don't remember how much) if he could go before him since he was in a hurry. All I know is I thought the guy lucky to be paid for passing up a chance to get a haircut. Had it happened very much, I would have probably hung out there in hopes of making some easy cash.

I remember introducing my main barber to The Beatle haircut. I never did go all the way with mine--a modified Beatle with a part. My Senior picture looks pretty goofy with that style, but most high school pictures are looked back years later with fondness and laughter. My senior picture in college wasn't a whole lot better with lamb chop sideburns extending to my lower jawbone. But my hair was reasonably short for the time. I always thought if I didn't look too much like a hippie that the local draft board might not send me someplace I didn't want to go.

But the hair on the woman pictured. Wow! Talk about big hair! 'nuff said. Good picture.

SO WHAT

if I happen to be a bit of a reactionary? At least a nostalgic. A reminiscer.

It doesn't mean I prefer the past. I don't. There are just some things I miss. And yes, I miss clotheslines and washing hung out to dry. No fabric softener or Bounce can duplicate the smell of clothes dried outside.

Plus, clotheslines served as goalposts for extra points in many backyard football games. The posts served as chin-up bars. Back to the lines, they were beneficial for the little guys who could run under them with ease while the big guys chasing them had to duck or they would, well get clotheslined.

Even when we've traveled and seen some pretty makeshift, desolate looking clotheslines hanging much used clothes several tenement stories high, I like the look. Laundry just needs to be displayed. Well, at least shirts and pants. Unmentionables (is that old fashioned or what?) can be on the backside (pun) of the double line and out of view. Modesty used to be in vogue (ok, another pun) in those olden times.

I did a double take just yesterday when I passed our old neighbor's house and thought I spotted a clothesline of sorts. Upon closer inspection, I saw it was only a dog run for his dog, Lola. Whom I call Lulu for some reason when we three congregate on the street.

Last house we lived in before our Western move had a clothesline post. Just one, so no fresh shirts for me. But where we lived,we had some leaf torchers to the north--she was all-world; and one a little farther south, so I'd have to catch them on an off-day. Even then smoldering could linger for days, so I'd have had to resort to lavender Bounce. Which brings back no fond memories or olfactory satisfaction.

Laundry just isn't laundry unless it's visibly shared.

THE BEST

What's your favorite romance movie? The best on-screen kiss? The biggest heartache flick?

I'll get right to it--Lady and the Tramp. When they get to the end of that piece of spaghetti, well I wish I was Tramp. And I'm not much into dog kissing. But Disney did it for me.

I also need music to along with the romance. I think that's why "A Man and a Woman" is one of my favorites along with "Top Gun". Without the music, and, of course, I haven't forgotten "Lara's Theme" from "Dr. Zhivago," then it may just be a bunch of mush.

Color, or technicolor as the old movies advertised, is a necessity for me, too. Burt Lancaster's kiss on the beach just didn't get it for me, though it is highly regarded as one of the bests on-screen smooches ever. Even a comedy like the great "Seven Year Itch" had a great kiss with Tom Ewell laying it on Marilyn Monroe. And, no, not all Monroe kisses were that great--she had to be in color.

So there you have it. For a pre-Valentine's Day movie guide to big kiss screening. You may just want to NetFlix one, but remember the criteria--music, color, and quality movie, too.

You know, I once was really attracted to a leather couch because of the name. It was out of some of our favorite furniture line--the Bogart Collection. It was called (I thought) The Big Kiss couch. After we purchased it, I discovered it was called The Big Kid couch. Oh, well. It's still a nice piece of furniture, but I bet they would have sold more calling it The Big Kiss.

TED AND THE NEIGHBORING BOBCATS

So they're not lions and I'm not Tarzan. We have two adult bobcats living in our 253 family subdivsion. And they are awesome.

We have seen them 3 times now in a period of 3 weeks. Almost every other neighbor has spotted them walking near their house or leaping with ease up onto a wall.

One of our guards at the gate said the really pretty one sat on top of the six-foot high wall for about an hour one day and just observed the cars coming and going.

The first one we saw crossed the street about 75 yards in front to us. This one, the female, I think, hangs around some friends' back patio. Then about a week and a a half later we saw the male, bigger and yellow, sitting comfortably in the shade of a driveway near our old house. We fumbled around with a cell phone trying to get some pictures, but because of the shade and sun shining over the top of the house, we couldn't discern much detail in the pictures. But he didn't seem to mind--not the discernment; the taking of his picture.

Until yesterday when another neighbor was taking his picture with a big old professional camera. As I got a little closer to look, he moved and looked at me as if he didn't remember how cool I was just awhile back. He wasn't angry; he just wasn't as docile. He slowly walked to the next house and jumped on top and then over their wall to the backyard and adjoining golf course. Hole number 8, where I'm afraid if he stuck around long enough he might just learn some new vocabulary that he hadn't heard on our streets. It's a tough Par 3.

I didn't walk our allotted miles today, deciding to send my wife out solo due to some Super Bowl indigestion or sugar haze from yesterday. I know what some of you are thinking--nothing for me stronger than a diet coke or two. But my wife reported no sighting.

I'm afraid some touchy neighbors will call the animal removal people. Those with small animals or small children. I figure they'll leave on their own after diminishing some rabbits that multiplied when the coyotes left.

I'm telling you, it's a jungle out there/ aaeeeaaa (that's my Tarzan yell, modified and not quite so loud.

HONEYCOMB OR FURNACE FILTER

I don't know which. But it gave me a topic to write about.

Most Satiddy mornings, as Thornton Wilder called them, will find us at an area Farmers' Market. Two weeks ago we hit the jackpot.

But to hold the suspense awhile, I'll share that we buy soup, chili, pulled pork sandwiches and pita chips, gourds, some kind of spicy pickled celery, spinach artichoke dip, and other kinds of stuff that the 7 grocery stores we frequent don't offer. Including farm grown eggs.

But the focus of this entry is on bee pollen. I understand from one of my sis-in-laws or sis's-in-law that bee pollen helps with allergies. Which I have. Which have been on the increase as I age or since I moved to Arizona. So I talked to the bee pollen hawker and she gave me a three-page sheet explaining how it works and that to be effective you have to start slowly taking one granule a day and increasing it to half or maybe one small spoonful.

I used to take 160 mg of Allergan before they went all generic on me and I don't know what I was taking, but it seemed like a lot. Plus, it didn't diminish my symptoms very much. So I quit taking anything. No difference.

Until I found the pollen produced by bees in neighboring Gilbert, which evidently is close enough to Scottsdale to work effectively. But if I took it with me to MTV it wouldn't work. I had a few allergy symptoms there but not as many as AZ.

Now I'm not one who embraces a lot of home remedies or alternative healing options. I'm in total agreement with J. Vernon McGee who bases his philosophy on how God healed King Hezekiah, that is medicinally. He adds, "When you get sick, pray and call for the doctor. God expects us to be sensible."

But so far, the bee pollen is working great for me. And if the picture is of a furnace filter, well it's a good reminder than I need to change one of ours.

GUESSING GAMES

When I was youthful, I always liked that little Guess Who game. At least when it was some girls' hands covering my eyes. I'd just as soon smudgy guys' hands stay off my person.

But this is another entry about baseball. Think I'm ready? Well, here's why: my St. Louis Rams didn't make the playoffs; my Phoenix Suns are a mess; my University of Illinois basketball team has infuriated me so much that I may tune in for awhile, but I'm not looking forward to when they play on the Big Ten channel; my Arizona State basketball team is lousy having dropped their 8th consecutive Pac 10 game last night; my SIU Salukis are non-entities. Who else is there for me to root for, except the MTV Rams who are having a very good season, but they're not on tv. Professional golf doesn't interest me too much anymore either, but I may watch a few holes of the Phoenix Open played about 2 miles from my house.

So seamball--bring it on. With a disclaimer and a prediction. I'm really tired of all the Albert Pujol's contract extension estimated to be $300 million over 10 years. Pujols is simply one of my all-time favorite players. But his demands, while economically sound considering his production, are not economically sound considering his age and the money ownership doles out for the Cardinals.

Number 5 is trying to re-coup some of the money he didn't get paid in the past for a deserving player. You can't get it back. I found that out by being on our teachers bargaining unit. Get what you can, but when Jimmy Carter 19% inflation hits and you got 7%, well baby that's history. You won't get it later.

If I were ownership of the Birds, I'd overpay for Albert. But I'd also go after a lot of other quality players by throwing more money at them. The team they purchased only 15 years ago or so has made them a bundle, and they won't lose out by spending more. But I've always been good at spending others' money.

And now my prediction(s). The Cardinals will NOT sign Pujols to an extension before the imposed or supposed February 15 deadline. They'll cite the current economy and attempt to sign him as a free agent at season's end--at least that will be their position. They may even be bold enough to point out that they would rather sign 3 players for $100 million each to strengthen their team and note they got the best years out of Pujols who will turn 32 before his new contract kicks in.

It will be a PR nightmare. But they know the Cardinal fans will be back at the turnstiles, and they know Pujols will enter the Hall of Fame as a Cardinal.

I hope it doesn't play out that way. But if they would invest $300 million in 3 players instead, it just might pay more dividends.