Pack Your Own Chute

I have been pretty much a homebody since retirement six years ago. Sue me. I like to sleep in my own bed. That doesn't mean I'm averse to day trips or one-night overnight stays; I'm not ecstatic about them but I can cope.   

I like to drive and if I can't drive, I like to take the train. A hundred years ago, or so, the US rail system was the envy of the world. Nowadays, not so much. As a matter of fact, it sucks. About the only thing I like about trains I can ride now is the one I can take from New Haven that lets me out at Yankee Stadium (our son showed me that and it's way cool). That I have to drive from my house in Norwich to New Haven is not nearly as much fun with my clothes on as I'd like.

I hate flying, or more specifically being a passenger in an aircraft. There's no place to go on a plane. There's no legroom or elbow room. The take-offs and landings frighten me to near hysteria and the rest of the time a flight is like a really boring bus ride at 35,000 feet but with even less to see because we're above the clouds. 

The worst thing of all about flying is the whole getting cleared to board and checking in, and conversely retrieving your baggage. I hate every aspect of the process but cannot afford to fly in my own private jet (curse you, Universe, having me born handsome instead of rich. And delusional instead of sane).

I've never had lost luggage mainly because I never pack anything worth losing (looking at you, Adam) but lots of people have had that unfortunate experience and it turns out there's a cottage industry of purchasers who buy lost luggage. Why would I make this up? 

And complete a happy ending, if not the one you thought of at first.  
-bill kenny

Kyrie Eleison

Today marks the start of my seventy-second revolution around the sun. To be honest, there were times this past year when I didn't think the old geezer would make it, and more than a few moments when I didn't really want to. My birthday makes me morose so if you were looking for a grin, there might be a better day to linger here.

Life is a contact sport and my life coach advised me years ago to learn to like red shirts so I've spent a lot of time on the sidelines and benches watching, sort of like Ray Davies in Waterloo Sunset minus both Terry and Julie. 

I never understand why people congratulate you on your birthday. In my case, my Mom deserves the credit as she did all the work (not forgetting Dad's contribution). As the oldest of six, I was no day at the beach though I recall spending a lot of time at Gramma and Grampy's bungalow in Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey. I guess Salt Life forever, no matter what. 

I may not have as much to show for seventy-two years here on the ant farm as others I suspect, but am grateful for the love of my life, my wife, Sigrid, and our two brilliant children, Patrick and Michelle, and their spouses, Jena and Kyle. 

I like to think I have enough. Be it health, happiness, money, or possessions. I've become rather fond of a quote from Frank Lloyd Wright that I really wish I had thought of first, or last: "The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes."
I think he's on to something.

Kyrie Eleison.
-bill kenny

B-B-Back in M-M-My D-D-Day

On New Year's Day, 1966, London Records (their USA record company) unveiled a billboard for the next Rolling Stones album, December's Children, that showed the cover of the album blown up to massive scale for the billboard and the words, "The Rolling Stones: The Band Your Parents Love to Hate." 

So true. My father hated rock and roll music, especially the Stones. When he expressed a kind word for The Beatles after hearing 'She's Leaving Home' I almost reconsidered my devotion to them. My point? While music is a universal language and, I think, the way feelings sound, there are innumerable dialects and variations among the tribes. He was a Dean Martin, Perry Como, guy, while what I listened to was 'crap.'  

Sunday night those selected for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were announced (as part of "American Idol" without a twinge of self-consciousness at the irony of that choice of venue). I was as thrilled to learn John Mayall had been (finally) selected as I was confused by the inclusion of Foreigner which had (past tense deliberate) one original member, Mick Jones (who was a great interview, as I recall from another lifetime) but he no longer tours with them, leading me to wonder who or what is Foreigner now).

Folks who have been active and successful within the last three or so decades were also inducted though, channeling Dad (somewhat to my chagrin), I have little to no appreciation or understanding of who they are or how what they make could even, as a joke, be called 'music.'  I guess Townsend was r-r-right.
-bill kenny

Charting a Course

Now that we've had three weeks or so to catch our breath (scout for exits perhaps and count our spare change) I heard someone suggest the other day that the best thing about City Manager John Salomone's budget proposal was that it wasn't worse. (No definition of ‘worse’ was forthcoming; I waited.)

I always think of a German expression that translates as 'better a horrible end, than horrors without end.' Point in fact, the City Manager’s proposed budget is not horrible and it's NOT an end, but rather, the necessary starting point to begin a dialogue and discussion (that may get raucous and ill-tempered but that's part of it) which should drive the development and adoption of a(ny) final budget. 

The City Manager was doing his job, and it’s not just the City Council members who must now also do theirs. It’s each of us, and all of us; residents, businesses, taxpayers, luckless pedestrians, whatever you wish to consider yourself.

Any spending document the size of the proposed budget has a lot of moving pieces and a lot of requirements for oversight and coordination. And since you can't tell the players without a scorecard, you can find all of this year's budget documents online. (There are also previous years' budgets for comparison).

If you'd like your very own copy to have and to hold, you can buy one at the City Clerk's office. This is a blinding glimpse of the obvious: A proposed budget tells us what things cost; only we can decide what they are worth. It’s up to us to choose between what we want and what we want right now. No one, including all in city government, elected or appointed, wants to pay more in taxes for goods and services. 

As I will keep saying because we have selective hearing, this is an ongoing discussion we will/should and must have with one another, our city's department heads, and our elected officials as we craft a blueprint, a roadmap (call it what you will) by which we determine the quality and quantity of municipal services, ranging from public education and public safety to trash removal and road resurfacing and everything in between, and what we are willing to pay for those goods and services. The city budget is an agreement we make with one another and for one another.

I have no expertise in finance (and have never stayed at a Holiday Inn), but there’s a disconnect between revenue and expenditure. I doubt anyone is unimpressed by the quality and expertise with which the city and its departments deliver goods and services. Where we need to become concerned is the lack of growth spurt in the Grand List NOT tied to residential reevaluation but to genuine commercial economic development. Simply put, we have nowhere near enough; being busy is NOT being productive in fostering commercial economic development.

Telling the City Council ‘to cut the budget’ may be therapeutic but it is not especially helpful. Cut where? And how? The myth of ‘fat’ in the budget is just that, a fairy story. Budgets in recent decades have been exercises in new recipes for making stone soup as there is no meat or bone left. There’s only so much ‘do more with less’ our city can manage before we accept we can’t do anything anymore as we are.

Economizing alone will not reduce taxes. What we need is more meaningful commercial economic growth that expands the Grand List throughout the city. The quality of our community is built on the quality of the decisions we must now make, starting now
.-bill kenny

All Due Respect for Art's Sake

From my earliest days as a short-pants, no romance little kid, I read National Geographic Magazine. 

I could be transported anywhere and everywhere in the world, and beyond, just by opening its pages. I can even recall a spring vacation trip to Washington DC where we visited the National Geographic building. I'm not even sure if it still exists. 

As much as I love the BBC's "Blue Planet" series, NatGeoTV is and will always be my first love when it comes to what I call reality TV. (Real Housewives of the Antarctic, anyone?). No one can do what they can do. And here's what I'm talking about. 

Breathtakingly brilliant!
-bill kenny    

A Thought that Bears Repeating

Happy Earth Day 2024! I would have gotten you a card but I always worry about where it might end up, recycling bin or landfill, and saw no need to take that risk. Anyway. 

In terms of protecting Spaceship Earth, it seems to me that about all we can do is talk about it because if we're looking to the Fed to set the tone it'll be a little like trying to keep the deck chairs from going over the side of the Titanic (but with the even less actual success, I fear).

This is all the planet there is, as near as I can tell (though I've not made an exhaustive study, admittedly) but I have some history, literally with Earth Day observances. I was almost eighteen when I and a contingent of classmates from the Carteret Academy in West Orange, New Jersey, marched down NYC's Fifth Avenue in the first Earth Day celebration in 1970. 

Okay, we'd gotten lost while in The City for the day (a senior trip of sorts, class not citizens). Not quite sure who it was, but someone figured the parade would be a great chance to meet girls. Who cares why we were there! Still.

I thought then and still think if we work to make the place on the planet upon which we stand and live the very best we can, each of us can rescue all of us. So not just today, but every day, when you see something, environmental or otherwise that causes you to say 'Somebody should do something!' please remember you are that somebody. 

Me, I just bear up my bewildered best and some folks even see the bear in me.

-bill kenny  

Deficit of Thousands of Words

I love and overuse expressions like 'a picture is worth a thousand words,' and 'a photograph can last a lifetime.' I have a dear friend since our days together on the banks of the Olde Raritan (and our evenings in places my memory can no longer recall) as well as a Facebook friend who both are gifted photographers and visual artists. 

I am in awe of their expertise and expressiveness and am somewhat chagrined as I grab happy snaps with my cellphone camera as I wander the hills and dales of The Rose of New England. But I do appreciate gorgeous visuals and have been gorging myself on a news release showcasing the winners of the Sony World Photography Awards 2024.    

To see an image before you and then use your time and talent (and whatever equipment you have on hand) to capture it for the world to see, is, if I may say so, a superpower. And deserving of far more and far better words than I could ever create.
-bill kenny

A Quarter of a Century On...

Maybe it's a phenomenon of age and the aging process but I'm always surprised to discover something I think of as 'not that long ago' was, in terms of the time-space continuum, very much long ago.

I've lost track of the number of shootings and ensuing carnage and trauma from mass shootings/gun violence here in the Star-Spangled Land of the Round Doorknobs just for this calendar year and we're only one hundred and ten days into it. How fortunate (sarcasm sold separately) that someone else does keep track, eh? Talk about over-achievers, eh?  

There are so many shootings, and they are so frequent we are perilously close to experiencing a national shortage of thoughts and prayers. Oh dear.

Meanwhile, lost in the churn, on this date in 1999, what we didn't know at the time, was the catalyst to the uncontrollable senseless epidemic of school shootings and violence we are just barely living through to this day, Columbine.

Cassie Bernall, 17; Steven Curnow, 14; Corey DePooter, 17; Kelly Fleming, 16; Matthew Kechter, 16; Daniel Mauser, 15; Daniel Rohrbough, 15; William "Dave" Sanders, 47; Rachel Scott, 17; Isaiah Shoels, 18; John Tomlin, 16; Lauren Townsend, 18, and Kyle Velasquez, 16.

I imagine by now more than one of them might have had kids of their own and would have worried about them the same way their parents worried. To no avail. April 20, 1999.

Don't tell me we 'can't do anything to stop' this when what you mean is 'we won't do anything.' -bill kenny

Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella

At seven-plus decades here on the Big Blue Marble, I am perhaps inordinately proud of having very nearly all my own teeth and hardly any cavities. If you know me even in passing you will realize I have very little else to which I can point with pride, so thank you for letting me have my teeth.  

I have a daily routine to which I adhere, no matter what, no matter where. I floss, then I brush (with my electric toothbrush) my teeth for two minutes with Sensodyne Mint toothpaste (the others taste awful) followed by two minutes with Crest Pro Health Advanced Gum toothpaste (my dentist has advised me I have receding gums that could be in a race with my hairline but I know better than to ask) and then after waiting ten minutes or so, a quick mouthwash dental rinse. 

Actually, I chose the wrong word in the preceding paragraph, I meant ritual rather than routine. Perhaps it's that level of devotion that caused me to recoil when I came across an article reporting on the growing apostasy (at least to me) that toothpaste is unnecessary.

Pshaw! I say and fiddlesticks! Besides, what I'm trying to understand is why it's not called teethpaste.
-bill kenny

Not Unlike Teen Spirit

When I lived in Germany, most motorists had nationality stickers on their vehicles. West Germans co-opted their socialist brethren claiming the "D" for Deutschland, leaving the East Germans to use "DDR", Deutsche Demokratische Republik. 

Poland was "PL", France was "F", and Great Britain (pre-Brexit) was "GB". Switzerland was "SUI" and Austria was "OS" as I recall. My favorite sticker was "NL", often appearing like a murmuration of swallows on the autobahn during the summer holiday periods for The Netherlands, or Holland as so many Americans called it, 

The Germans took the "NL" to mean Nur Limonade, as Dutch drivers were notorious for driving nonstop through Germany, using the high-speed highways to get them to destinations bordering Germany, rarely stopping to eat or to stay overnight, pausing only to purchase a soda, the limonade the "L" referred to before resuming their drive.

The Netherlands is quite lovely. We tend to think of it in the spring as the Tulip Kingdom and Tulip Tourism is certainly a part of the appeal of a stay there but now the fine folks of McDonald's have come up with perhaps another reason to come to call and I can only hope their latest creation doesn't overwhelm the delicate fragrance of the tulips. But I think the tulips may find themselves at a disadvantage. 

Take a deep breath and hold it. Exhale slowly. Repeat as needed.
-bill kenny

Rite of Spring

The Friends of Otis Library Book Sale starts this Friday and I’d like to offer some words about it that I feel bear repeating.

According to a survey I just created children who are raised with books in their homes have 75% fewer misspellings on their visible tattoos. If you had difficulty finding the humor in that sentence, maybe the problem isn't related to tattoos. But if you did smile even wanly, thank a teacher and a librarian.

I and my siblings were fortunate growing up to have a houseful of books, and my wife and I did very much the same in the household in which we raised our two children. Literacy is not a lost art, but in the not-too-distant future when Carmen San Diego finds Waldo, he'll probably be reading a book, about striped shirts but holding it upside down (oh! the humanity!).

In the world today it's not just television, video games, computers, or smartphones that are changing our relationship with the written word, it's the tendency to regard books as a rationed resource or a luxury we feel we can't afford.

That is NOT the case, especially this weekend in Norwich. Starting this Friday, at 9 in the morning with an Early Bird preview hour (ten dollars gets you first crack at some delectables and collectibles), the Friends of Otis Library unlock the basement doors for their Annual Spring Sale.

Aside from that Early Bird business, the entire three days are free and whatever your heart, mind, and eyes desire can be found. All winter long, the Friends have been sorting and organizing for this Bookanalia. Sports, history, biography, gardening (since Spring seems to finally be here), mystery, classics of traditional and modern literature, and categories invented since I started writing this sentence are all sorted, stacked, and shelved throughout the subterranean recesses at bargain basement prices.

Maggy Rudy's Mouse Houses

And it's not just books. There are CDs, DVDs BVDs (I could be making this up, tread lightly) and prices are so low you'll buy twice as much as you planned at a fraction of the cost. On any of the days you stop by the library, and free admission is from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. on both Friday and Saturday and from noon to 3 on Sunday, you'll learn there are all kinds of free parking downtown, despite what so many people people who never go downtown keep saying.

After your book-buying binge, follow your nose and sate your ravenous hunger and check out one of the restaurants as close to Otis Library as Dewey is to Decimal. You can work up quite an appetite book shopping, a lot of people don't know that; don't be one of them. Because you haven't been downtown in a while you may not have noticed, but we have terrific places for a quick bite or to savor a full meal.

And isn't it strange how many people you'll see on the sidewalks and crosswalks downtown that those no-parking experts insist aren't even there? And if the weather is even close to the spring we feel we are entitled to, it'll be a perfect time to break out one of those purchases and enjoy a sidewalk scene and a coffee. 

Perhaps you'll be inspired to write the next Great American Novel. I believe I know a library where people will enjoy it.
-bill kenny

Art for Art's Sake

The purpose of art is to conceal art. 

This is called "The Invisibility of Poverty" created by Kevin Lee.
-bill kenny

Eleven Years On

I'm reprising something I wrote years ago on this date because there was nothing else to write but the words of the next paragraphs. And here we are another year on, and no sense still makes no sense and good and decent people still have holes in their hearts where their loved ones used to be.

Today is Patriots' Day in Massachusetts and also the traditional running of the Boston Marathon. That order of precedence, if you will, was altered and changed forever because of circumstances officially recalled in this news account on the first anniversary of a day that we all now recall.

In 2013 at the Boston Marathon, Dzokhar and Tamerlan Tsarnaev two evil, ungrateful bastards whom we took in and who repaid that kindness by killing innocents, broke hearts, destroyed lives, and shattered our national illusion of insularity and insulation from the other horrors of the rest of the world and altered forever anyone's memories and imaginings of the Boston Marathon.

Both brothers will long fade from memory before what they did is forgotten, but better remembered, and hopefully always remembered, is what they failed to do. Just ask Jeff Baumann, who gets stronger every day and whom I fervently hope gets angry and powerful enough someday to kick Dzorkhar's ass all the way to Boston Harbor and then hold him under until the bubbles stop.

I understand being an angry old man will get me nothing but an even more premature grave and I should take my cue from those who not only survived but triumphed over the tragedy of that day. Perhaps I shall, but it will not be today.

I have a Facebook friend, a Fenway habitue and Grammy-nominee, who spent years on the Jersey Shore and has now followed the advice of Horace Greeley and gone west, Linda Chorney, who repurposed and molded her sorrow to create a beautiful celebration of a life taken terribly, suddenly and far too soon into a song perfectly suited for today and all those who are enjoying it.

-bill kenny

 

Slowly Circling the Drain

Prepping for a bigly Monday in Manhattan.

And someday, like a miracle, he'll just disappear.
-bill kenny

Greetings from the Vegetable Kingdom

Hope you survived the wind and rain. 

Where we are, it was nearly biblical in scale and scope. 

Anyway. Apropos of nothing. My wife showed me a Facebook online ad and I confess to NOT remembering what it was about but I do recall the name of the spokesperson, 'Celerie.' 

I'm sorry but what the f(iretr)uck is the matter with this woman's parents that they sort of named her after a vegetable some nutritionists see as structured water locked into a vegetable matrix (to my mind, this easily explains Keanu Reeves) that many of us will only eat when covered with ranch dressing or peanut butter. 

I was so inspired, that I suggested we consider having another child and, were he a male, calling him Russell Sprouts. Her counterproposal involved my being hoisted by something other than my petard, rendering further discussion about procreation moot.
-bill kenny

A Long Way from Sunny Goodge Street

The caterpillar sheds his skin to find the butterfly within.

First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
-bill kenny

Thank You, Holly

What follows was shared by someone I'll never meet on a social network. It stung and still does.

"I asked a friend who has crossed 70 & is heading towards 80 what sort of changes he is feeling in himself? He sent me the following:

1 After loving my parents, my siblings, my spouse, my children, and my friends, I have now started loving myself.

2 I have realized that I am not “Atlas”. The world does not rest on my shoulders.

3 I have stopped bargaining with vegetable & fruit vendors. A few pennies more is not going to break me, but it might help the poor fellow save for his daughter’s school fees.

4 I leave my waitress a big tip. The extra money might bring a smile to her face. She is toiling much harder for a living than I am.

5 I stopped telling the elderly that they've already narrated that story many times. The story makes them walk down memory lane & relive their past.

6 I have learned not to correct people even when I know they are wrong. The onus of making everyone perfect is not on me. Peace is more precious than perfection.

7 I give compliments freely & generously. Compliments are a mood enhancer not only for the recipient but also for me. And a small tip for the recipient of a compliment, never, NEVER turn it down, just say "Thank You.”

8 I have learned not to bother about a crease or a spot on my shirt. Personality speaks louder than appearances.

9 I walk away from people who don't value me. They might not know my worth, but I do.

10 I remain cool when someone plays dirty to outrun me in the rat race. I am not a rat & neither am I in any race.

11 I am learning not to be embarrassed by my emotions. It’s my emotions that make me human.

12 I have learned that it's better to drop the ego than to break a relationship. My ego will keep me aloof, whereas, with relationships, I will never be alone.

13 I have learned to live each day as if it's the last. After all, it might be the last.

14 I am doing what makes me happy. I am responsible for my happiness, and I owe it to myself. Happiness is a choice. You can be happy at any time, just choose to be!" Hello in there.

-bill kenny

Unringing the Division Bell

With apologies to whoever’s online post I stole this from, there are 10 kinds of people in the world. Those who understand the binary system and those who don't. And people wonder why Math Stand-up Comedy has been so slow to catch on (Not that I’m helping).

I referenced that online theft to make a terrible joke because I spend a lot of time there, online; and by a lot, I mean all capital letters on LOT. I find it’s often easier (and certainly easier on those family and neighbors with whom I do interact) than real life. (I’m also taller online than in real life, mainly because I type while standing on the keyboard).

I’m old enough to remember life before we could Google things (I can remember thinking “‘Google’ is a pretty stupid name for something,” and now it’s a verb I use all the time) and I’m more than willing to listen to you argue that the convergence of interconnective technologies and the pervasiveness of the world wide web are both the greatest and simultaneously most horrible things to have happened in my lifetime, mostly because they are.

Those were exciting early days weren’t they, that whole kabuki theatre thing of signing on with some of those ‘free hours’ that came on a floppy disc (do they still make those things anymore?) and praying that no one tried to call your house while you were going online? I think at one time the modem noise was part of the soundtrack to all our lives and look at us now: we trade grumpy cat pictures and post every imaginable kind of information (mis and/or otherwise) with the click of a mouse and without a second thought. Strange days indeed.

I interact with people online all day long about whom I know nothing (nor do they about me) and can get drawn into conversations and even protracted arguments (typing in ALL CAPs is arguing online-how amazing is that?) and never know if the other person is next door or on another continent (assuming they exist at all. If ‘Google’ was a stupid word, what should we make of ‘bot?’).

There’s so much chaff among the wheat, metaphorically speaking and in terms of abstracts like ‘truth,’ or ‘facts,’ it’s every person for themselves. In the time before the internet, Samuel Clemons, Mark Twain to most of us, is supposed to have offered, “A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.” At least that’s what’s posted online all over the place, so how ironic is it that in all probability someone other than Twain said it? And what does that tell us about research and scholarship here in the Information Age?   

Our new normal started online where everything can be surreal, unreal, and real all at the time (like Schrodinger's Cat but as a meme) but is now also everywhere in real life to be confronted (and often confounded at least I am) by those whose attitude suggests ‘my ignorance is as good as your knowledge. And maybe even better.').  

I was raised to ‘check your sources,’ and I still do and encourage everyone to do the same, but too many live in a world where whoever shouts the loudest is considered right, even if they’re wrong, or worse. 

You’ve been patient but now you’re restive: get to the point! 

In the weeks ahead, locally with our city budget and months ahead as November nears, gather as much information as you can before making decisions. In real life, bells cannot be unrung. 
-bill kenny

I Can See by What You Carry

I try to maintain an open mind, but not so open that my brains fall out, and treat each person I meet with the civility I hope they will extend to me. I do have a couple of pre-screen visual cues that I deploy to save me both time and aggravation. 

Folks with Trump hats, shirts, or (God forbid) Gold Sneakers get a quick walk-by, as does anyone with CCDL apparel of any kind. Don't think of me as just a hypocrite who's a bigot, which is certainly true, but a time-saving hypocrite, for both of us.  

Other red flags (a pun on the color intended), are those who proclaim themselves to be an InfoWarrior; I consider you to be a QAnon Vanilla ISIS Yee Hawdist with your own teeth (for the most part) but my favorite RMNJ are readers of Epoch Times (an intellectual oxymoron, or should be). 

Underscoring the importance, as Bob Barker used to say, of spaying, and the consequences for failing to do so, I came across this news item and can only hope that those most tempted to answer their call are too stupid to read. I've encountered enough of them to know they're too stupid to think.

Small comfort, I fear.
-bill kenny  

Braced and Ready

This is the big day of the eclipse, right? Seems like everyone wants to be involved and engaged and I do mean everyone.

Remember, don't look up or at least don't look up without being prepared.  

Elect an asshole, expect a shit-show

Here are some tips from folks who should know.

Enjoy.
-bill kenny

Baby Steps

Sometimes we worry so much about the big things we fail to see the importance of the little things.

After all, no single drop of rain holds itself responsible for the ensuing flood.
-bill kenny

Hoping for a Quiet Weekend

We had a bit of a stir not just in my house yesterday morning as a mild tremor shook large parts of the Northeast. 

Shake without Bake

I'd never experienced anything like that before. I may need to revisit my Elvis impersonation. Or not.
-bill kenny

National Knickers in a Twist Day?

Sunday as you probably know was Easter. Easter as you may not know is a moveable feast; that is, its date of celebration changes from year to year. A lot of math is involved; I'm not sure the Pope would approve. 

You may heard/been involved in some of the brouhaha that went on when The White House, as it has done every year since 2009, marked Sunday as the International Transgender Day of  Visibility. MAGA nation was outraged-though I don't remember hearing any howls when it was celebrated when Pantload45 was in the Oval Office.   

However, for trivial pursuit fans everywhere, it wasn't just Easter and International Transgender Day of Visibility, au contraire! It was quite a day of observances: 

Anesthesia Tech Day, Cesar Chavez Day, Dance Marathon Day, Easter Sunday, Eiffel Tower Day, International Hug a Medievalist Day, International Transgender Day of Visibility, National Baked Ham with Pineapple Day, National Bunsen Burner Day, National Clams on the Half Shell Day, National Crayon Day, National Farm Workers Day, National Prom Day, National She’s Funny That Way Day, Tater Day, Transfer Day (U.S. Virgin Islands only), and World Backup Day. PHEW!

“It’s a good thing Jesus believes what I want to believe.” Amen.
-bill kenny

The Days of the Old Schoolyard

In another life, I attended a prep school in mid-Manhattan (I'm not listing the name, my brothers and sisters know it and that's enough) as something akin to a duck-billed platypus. 

My father was headmaster of the lower school so I was a 'scholarship child' in the upper school though I don't think I fully appreciated that at the time. I even attended 'tea-dances' as they were called; heavily chaperoned mixers with all girl-schools complete with live music from five and six-piece ensembles. Seriously. 

My recollection is that for both tenth and eleventh grades, I shared a homeroom with the heir to the New York Times publishing dynasty, who was a good person with a great sense of humor. I was thinking about that sense of humor when I fell across an article from McSweeney's.

I only know about McSweeney's because of a very dear Facebook friend, C.R. Foster, who is also a superlative writer (you should check out their latest, The Rain Artist), has on occasion had short pieces in the magazine.   

Not like the one I found. Anyway, I hope both of them can find it as funny as I did. Enjoy.
-bill kenny

Blame Is Better to Give than Receive

One of my favorite expressions is "He who abandons a sinking ship that doesn't sink, needs to be a very good swimmer." Or at least look presentable in his Speed-O's and bathing cap. This is the time of year to try to get some laps in at the old swimming pool unless you can walk on water.

I've written before about the six phases of a project: Enthusiasm, Disillusionment, Panic, Search for the Guilty, Punishment of the Innocent, and Awards and Honors for the Non-Participants.

Whatever we do for a living and whoever we are, that same pattern holds even if we pretend otherwise. As an example, we all cheered that brave soul who volunteered to lead the team that would turn peanut oil into jet fuel, until it was demonstrated that it absolutely, positively couldn't be done, and then all we could do was shake our heads and roll our eyes the next time their name as mentioned ('I could have told you...'). Sound familiar?

Look to our nation's capital if you want to see a collection of people dedicated to the proposition that the government of the people, by the people, and for the people should go chase itself, Lincoln be damned.

But, if you watch only one minute of C-Span, all of them are so relentlessly polite and respectful to one another while being disagreeable in the most agreeable way imaginable. Thank goodness for The Loyal Opposition and My Distinguished Opponent. Whom else would we, currently in charge, blame for all manners of awfulness and illness if we didn't have The Other Guys and Gals?

Practically all of the 'issues' and 'hot buttons' that have driven our national discourse over the last eight to ten (and more) years are still with us like Banquo's Ghost. They've gained a few pounds and some fellow travelers. But they’re still here. We have more conflicts, less money, more anger, and fewer reasons to be hopeful than at any point in my almost seventy-two years here on earth.

I'm sad not so much that we seem to have lost our way (an unoriginal thought we've often had in our two-hundred-and-forty-eight-year history as a nation), but that we don’t want to find our way back to who we are. We’ve decided to settle instead of continuing to strive to succeed. We decided success and happiness were like pie, there’s only just so much. If you and yours have too much success there must be less for me. Absolute insanity.

We don't even hear the cognitive dissonance as the gap between what we say and what we do grows wider and wilder. Vox Populi has been replaced by ST*U and e pluribus Unum is now rendered as nolo contendere and is usually part of a plea bargain for time served accompanied by a weepy-eyed televised apology where someone takes 'full responsibility' whatever that means.

If our children ever figure out what we allowed to happen to their dreams, they'll murder us in our sleep and they'll be right but everything will still be wrong. You can break things only so often and only so badly before they cannot be made whole again. We may be nearing that moment, Armageddon, End Times, oops! whatever it's to be called.

We will not have to worry about what the day after that happens is called because we will not be here to experience it. But don't worry, we'll blame someone (just not ourselves) because that's how we're wired.
-bill kenny

Music Is What Feelings Sound Like

I do not play a musical instrument and cannot carry a tune in a bucket. 

Sadly, just because I cannot sing don't ever assume I will not sing because you will be bitterly disappointed. 

I found this and hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
-bill kenny 

First of April

Today, April Fool's is a sort of holiday around the world and has been with us for the better part of a millennium (Falcon by Ford; to say nothing of Harrison). The origins of this day seem to stretch back to the time of Geoffrey Chaucer, and Canterbury Tales. 

I wonder, had Geoffrey ('Jeff' to his friends, perhaps) seen Ashton Kutcher's interpretation, if his face, at first just ghostly, would turn a whiter shade of pale.

Here in lower New England, the calendar says spring but the weather not so much-at least we haven't had the snows blanketing the nation's middle. Perhaps the meteorologists are just getting into the spirit of the day. 

Today, you can stand the world on its head. By tomorrow, no one will remember because nothing you may have done today will seem out of place in a vulgar and venal vale of perdition. A screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. Except now.

-bill kenny

Some Settling of Contents Can Occur

These started out as some of my thoughts (or what passes for such) I've offered in years past and am so doing again. Some things like wine improve with age; others, like sweat socks, not so much. I'll leave it for you to decide because you always do.

I used to be a Roman Catholic--actually, that's far less than accurate or truthful. It's like saying I used to be an alcoholic. Those two statements have no past tense or pretense (my attempt at a literary joke); they just are and in this case, I am both.

The jaded, faded imitation of a person I am looks at his faith as a child and finds it easy to mock the boy on his way to manhood, but also envies him and the beliefs he had. When I threw the faith of my fathers into the ocean of doubt, I had nothing to hold onto in its place as I never had the courage of my own convictions and could not develop any trust in those of any other.

Today is Easter Sunday the most important feast in the Christian liturgical calendar and (pardon my pseudo-theological seminary sermon) precipitant of the article of faith that makes us Christian if that's indeed what we are. Christmas gets the lion's share of press, carols, cards, shouted best wishes at one another, and window dressing. Christmas gets marketing help from every wholesaler and retailer imaginable and why not? Christmas is a lovely story, wonderfully symbolic and simply beautiful if you don't want to think too much about it.

Take a look at today in the New Testament of your choice and foreboding's afoot in every verse of every version of the events leading to Easter (those, by the way, are the versions and verses of my choice). And in one of the most ironic choices of terms associated with any aspect of Jesus Christ, is Good Friday, which marks His Crucifixion and Death (I went back and made the "h" a capital, not because there's hope for me but out of fear that there is no hope). And as you read the accounts, let's face it, the events of that day are absolutely horrible.

The crowd, the occupying forces, everyone, it seems has abandoned the Son of God who is sentenced to die (I'd say 'murdered' but some might argue the state does not murder) in an extraordinarily horrible manner. And yet.

It is both that death by Crucifixion but more importantly the belief in the Resurrection which followed that so many commemorate today that's the defining event for every Christian, even the ones who seem more like Simon Peter than even they should ever admit in this life.  I want you to remember this. Come on, try to remember.
-bill kenny 

Untangling the Riddle

I've used an expression for many years without fully appreciating the depth of it. And maybe you have as well, 'like a canary in a coal mine.' 

Hold the presses! There was a resuscitator. 

"First to fall over when the atmosphere is less than perfect.
Your sensibilities are shaken by the slightest defect.
You live your life like a canary in a coal mine.
You get so dizzy even walking in a straight line."
-bill kenny

A Childhood Memory

As a child at Saint Peter's (sic) School in New Brunswick, New Jersey, it was forcibly impressed upon us by the Sisters of Charity whose charges we were (and for whom many of us became crosses, and yeah, Kelly, I'm talking about you) that there was nothing good about Good Friday. 

When we were old enough to mentally and emotionally comprehend the New Testament accounts of the Passion of Christ I couldn't imagine a more horrible way to die. As I grew older if not up and learned more about our species' history and track record in dealing with one another, I realized we could, and often did, behave like a life form beyond any Redemption.

Christmas gets all the ink and Easter all the lilies and chocolate, but Holy Thursday through the sunrise services of Easter Sunday morning are 'go' time for Christian believers. The events and circumstances of Good Friday, the sundering of the curtain in the Temple in Jerusalem (what a great word 'sundering ' is when you're in fourth grade; actually, it's still pretty cool), the forgiveness of The Good Thief, the testimony of the Centurion Longinus at the foot of the cross and a hundred and more sidebars, nuances, and obscured by time and telling points on the biblical accounts always seemed to make Good Friday the most important of the days leading to Easter. 

Around the world today, processions and reenactments of the Stations of the Cross at or near three o'clock in the afternoon will cap observances for the faithful and faithless alike leaving them Saturday to recoup and regroup before the Promise is redeemed for saints and sinners all with the light of Sunday morning.
-bill kenny

Now and Zen

Our local supermarket, feeling the competitive pressure no doubt of an Arkansas retail chain in a business where profit margins often disappear, has gone to a form of robot shopping that I find fascinating. 

You've probably had it for a while but out here in the woods of Southeastern Connecticut where men are men and sheep are nervous (I offered that as a slogan for a municipal anniversary and was turned down cold. Humor-it's in the ear of the beholder, I guess), we have a bar-coded rewards card we sweep across a reader/scanner that releases for our use a handheld device that's tied to our card. That I should live to see such a day...

You wander the aisles, grab stuff you want, scan it, and put it in your own recyclable bags. When you're done shopping, you head to a checkout and scan one final bar code that tells your handheld sidekick you're past tense, and it transfers your order to the register with the total amount in the display. You pay for your order and out the door you go. If you've noticed a heavy reliance on the Honor System in all of this you can already guess where the weak line is. Thanks for playing.

I feel so brave new worldish every time I do it, assuming I can get it to work at all. I don't have performance anxiety, but my rewards card does. I can be a little slow in getting the master scanner to release into my care one of the handheld devices and as other shoppers start to pile up behind me, I have to do my best Coolhand Luke impersonation to compensate for the failure to communicate.

This whole process is a bit like Tom Sawyer getting people to paint his fence for him. It's not that the groceries cost less if we do all the heavy lifting, they don't. But this system isn't designed to make our lives easier. Once upon a time in grocery stores of a bygone era, there were actual employees who took the items a colleague was ringing up, placed them in bags (eggs and loaves of bread on the bottom, canned goods and automotive supplies like engine blocs on top of them) and placed those bags in your shopping cart and, if asked, would help you get that cart to your mode of transportation and then back to your abode where the unloading and putting away were your job.

Here in the new now, we've still got cashiers, baggers, courtesy desk employees, the whole kit, and caboodle, who stand around as we wander the store with what look like Star Trek weapons at the ready. All we need are the communicators over our left breast pockets. And pointy ears, I suppose (check aisle four behind the breath fresheners).

The only part we're missing, but it's probably coming soon, are announcements over the store PA system that the Metamucil truck has arrived at loading dock two and twenty-of-those-of-us-formerly-known-as-customers-but-now-called-morons, are needed to unload it, and to stock the shelves in aisle eleven. Don't laugh-that day is dawning. We'll end up playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who's unloading the home pregnancy tests (they go at the header in aisle twelve beside the KY jelly display).

Recently, underscoring the perfect beast isn't quite yet where the Grocer in Charge would like it, I grabbed and scanned (in one motion; I've gotten quite proficient at this) a jar of lightly salted (with sea salt, no less) dry-roasted peanuts but, instead of little peeps and a small green light, I got an electronic squonk and a near Zen message in the device display: "The item you have scanned does not exist within your order." Oh? Hell is, indeed, other people, JP. Will that be paper or plastic?

-bill kenny