Saturday, July 29, 2006
I Thought I Saw A Putty Cat!
Remember Tweety Bird’s famous retort, “I thought I saw a putty cat! I did! I did!”? Well, it seems that there was a reason for that. Sylvester was patterned after a clown—with a red nose and those long clownish feet. Coulrophobia is the fear of clowns. OK. Sylvester was not a full clown, but close enough for children. It seems that lots of people are terrified of clowns. “Bestival”, a festival, staged on the Isle of Wight off England, had planned to stage a fancy dress party with everyone wearing clown outfits. However, so many people called in and complained that they were afraid of clowns that the organizers of the event were forced to adopt a new theme. And just a few days later a group of ruffians dressed as clowns attacked a group of people in Fort Steilacoom Park in Washington State. To the dismay of many a parent, the popularity of Ronald McDonald has shown no significant decline. Many experts attribute the clown phobia to such movies as the Fear of Clowns and Stephen King’s IT.
People do take phobias quite seriously. Bill Richardson, Governor of New Mexico, led a campaign back in July of 2003 to change the name of Highway 666, known far and wide as the Devil’s Highway. That number had been used for 77 years. It was so named because it was the sixth road to branch off from the historic Route 66. Now, if you have been around for any real length of time, you can probably recall the TV series Route 66. Historic T-shirts are still sold in every burg where Route 66 used to meander. I don’t recall every having seen a T-shirt with the infamous 666 emblazoned on it. The fear of number 666 is so pervasive that it has it’s own name, hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. When President Reagan moved out of the White House and to his new home on St. Cloud Road in Bel Air, California, he took one look at the address and cringed. “666!” It was quickly changed to 668. South Korea had planned to send exactly 666 troops to Iraq as part of its peace keeping operation—not being familiar with the evil insinuations linked to that number. Not wishing to be offensive, they added seven soldiers to their contingent. And did you know that every bar code contains the numbers 666. Movies have probably contributed to that fear. The remake of The Omen recently made its debut and gives significant play to the Mark of the Beast. Then there is the 2001 horror flick Route 666. Of course, if you have not been to the movies lately, you probably heard that figure mentioned prominently by your pastor. By the way, fear of sermons is known as homilophobia.
Millions of butterflies are flittering through the skies of South Texas--tens of millions, in fact. Unusual weather conditions have led to an explosion of snout butterflies. Trees have been denuded of all leaves. The ground beneath the trees is littered with frazz, caterpillar droppings. Everyone not on the road with his or her cars is thrilled at the sight. Well, almost everyone. Some folks are mottephobes, people who fear butterflies and moths. Experts have determined that 95 percent of the butterflies who have taken to the road are males. As one expert explained, “The older males get most of the matings as the hatch continues. Then the new guys don’t have a shot because of the old guys, and they just say, The hell with this, and they go.” Meanwhile, the females who have mated linger behind to lay their eggs as the rabble of male butterflies scurry off in a wild frenzy on an all but hopeless quest. Only two things are on their minds: fear of cars and fear of being alone for the rest of their lives. Let’s see. That would be motorphobia and isolophobia. Enough big words? That would be hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia or sesquipedalophobia.
Remember Tweety Bird’s famous retort, “I thought I saw a putty cat! I did! I did!”? Well, it seems that there was a reason for that. Sylvester was patterned after a clown—with a red nose and those long clownish feet. Coulrophobia is the fear of clowns. OK. Sylvester was not a full clown, but close enough for children. It seems that lots of people are terrified of clowns. “Bestival”, a festival, staged on the Isle of Wight off England, had planned to stage a fancy dress party with everyone wearing clown outfits. However, so many people called in and complained that they were afraid of clowns that the organizers of the event were forced to adopt a new theme. And just a few days later a group of ruffians dressed as clowns attacked a group of people in Fort Steilacoom Park in Washington State. To the dismay of many a parent, the popularity of Ronald McDonald has shown no significant decline. Many experts attribute the clown phobia to such movies as the Fear of Clowns and Stephen King’s IT.
People do take phobias quite seriously. Bill Richardson, Governor of New Mexico, led a campaign back in July of 2003 to change the name of Highway 666, known far and wide as the Devil’s Highway. That number had been used for 77 years. It was so named because it was the sixth road to branch off from the historic Route 66. Now, if you have been around for any real length of time, you can probably recall the TV series Route 66. Historic T-shirts are still sold in every burg where Route 66 used to meander. I don’t recall every having seen a T-shirt with the infamous 666 emblazoned on it. The fear of number 666 is so pervasive that it has it’s own name, hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. When President Reagan moved out of the White House and to his new home on St. Cloud Road in Bel Air, California, he took one look at the address and cringed. “666!” It was quickly changed to 668. South Korea had planned to send exactly 666 troops to Iraq as part of its peace keeping operation—not being familiar with the evil insinuations linked to that number. Not wishing to be offensive, they added seven soldiers to their contingent. And did you know that every bar code contains the numbers 666. Movies have probably contributed to that fear. The remake of The Omen recently made its debut and gives significant play to the Mark of the Beast. Then there is the 2001 horror flick Route 666. Of course, if you have not been to the movies lately, you probably heard that figure mentioned prominently by your pastor. By the way, fear of sermons is known as homilophobia.
Millions of butterflies are flittering through the skies of South Texas--tens of millions, in fact. Unusual weather conditions have led to an explosion of snout butterflies. Trees have been denuded of all leaves. The ground beneath the trees is littered with frazz, caterpillar droppings. Everyone not on the road with his or her cars is thrilled at the sight. Well, almost everyone. Some folks are mottephobes, people who fear butterflies and moths. Experts have determined that 95 percent of the butterflies who have taken to the road are males. As one expert explained, “The older males get most of the matings as the hatch continues. Then the new guys don’t have a shot because of the old guys, and they just say, The hell with this, and they go.” Meanwhile, the females who have mated linger behind to lay their eggs as the rabble of male butterflies scurry off in a wild frenzy on an all but hopeless quest. Only two things are on their minds: fear of cars and fear of being alone for the rest of their lives. Let’s see. That would be motorphobia and isolophobia. Enough big words? That would be hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia or sesquipedalophobia.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
It's payday, boys, come and get it!
Back in April I wrote about the remarkable ability of grandmothers to succeed against overwhelming odds. Well, now it is time to do justice to all the grandfathers out there.
One of the most remarkable is Dr. Tom Amberry who made his way into the Guinness Book of World Records. As a 72-year-old, he made 2750 consecutive free throws in a row by shooting “granny style.” Whoops. Just kidding about that. The “granny style,” not the number of free throws. The feat took him 12 hours and it might still be going on had he not been kicked out of the gym as he joked on the David Letterman show. That reminds me of my late teen years. I was a consistent 96 to 97 percent free throw shooter—in the back yard of course. I might have been able to make a 1000 or more except for one thing—boredom. My goal was always to make a hundred in a row. The first 90 or so were always a piece of cake. The problem was counting. The closer I got to a hundred the more that I had to concentrate on the number that I had already made and how many remained instead of focusing on my shooting. Invariably, when I was within three or four of my goal, I would suddenly miss. Drats! And then girls began to infringe on my practice time. I am sure that was one thing that Dr. Tom did not necessary have to worry about. Although I can’t be certain of that. But, isn’t your memory and concentration supposed to start slipping significantly when one hits 70?
Sophocles, one of the greatest playwrights of all time, lived into his 90’s. In fact, he reputedly fathered a child when he was 90. OK! Maybe Dr. Tom did have something to worry about after all. Sophocles was sued by two of his sons who attempted to have him declared incompetent in order to gain control of his considerable wealth. For his defense he wrote a play. The judge read the play and announced that no incompetent person could possibly have written such a work of art. Case dismissed.
Sophocles lived somewhat over 2000 years ago. So how are the grandpas doing today? A few days ago a mugger spotted what he thought was an easy target in his front yard. He pulled his car up next to the curb and asked 82-year-old Robert Flynn for a cigarette. When Flynn replied that he did not have one, the would-be mugger got out of his car and when Flynn looked up he was staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The assailant demanded money. What he got instead was a good whack with Flynn’s cane. And then Flynn attempted to run away. The other guy went in hot pursuit. This time Flynn gave him an extra hard whack across the head. The second blow seemed to have knocked some sense back into our nicotine-deprived villain and he left quietly, although a bit frazzled.
Another would-be robber did not get off quite so lucky. About a week and a half-ago Thomas Reyes walked into the Gomez Grocery in Philadelphia with evil intent on his mind. He jumped on a freezer and demanded the cash in the till. In the movies this stunt always works. But this is real life. Sixty-six year old Thomas Santana took exception to this rude and untimely behavior on the part of Reyes. Our crook had apparently overlooked the short little old guy who was trying to pay for a can of Mott’s applesauce. Big mistake! Faster than you can say “Wham!”, Santana delivered four lightning blows to Reyes’s head with his can of applesauce. In his momentary panic, Reyes shot himself in the hand. Reyes now faces charges of attempted murder, and attempted robbery. The morale to the story is never, but never, underestimate the power of an old codger—especially one with a can of applesauce. As John Wayne says in Rooster Cogburn, “It's payday, boys, come and get it!”
Back in April I wrote about the remarkable ability of grandmothers to succeed against overwhelming odds. Well, now it is time to do justice to all the grandfathers out there.
One of the most remarkable is Dr. Tom Amberry who made his way into the Guinness Book of World Records. As a 72-year-old, he made 2750 consecutive free throws in a row by shooting “granny style.” Whoops. Just kidding about that. The “granny style,” not the number of free throws. The feat took him 12 hours and it might still be going on had he not been kicked out of the gym as he joked on the David Letterman show. That reminds me of my late teen years. I was a consistent 96 to 97 percent free throw shooter—in the back yard of course. I might have been able to make a 1000 or more except for one thing—boredom. My goal was always to make a hundred in a row. The first 90 or so were always a piece of cake. The problem was counting. The closer I got to a hundred the more that I had to concentrate on the number that I had already made and how many remained instead of focusing on my shooting. Invariably, when I was within three or four of my goal, I would suddenly miss. Drats! And then girls began to infringe on my practice time. I am sure that was one thing that Dr. Tom did not necessary have to worry about. Although I can’t be certain of that. But, isn’t your memory and concentration supposed to start slipping significantly when one hits 70?
Sophocles, one of the greatest playwrights of all time, lived into his 90’s. In fact, he reputedly fathered a child when he was 90. OK! Maybe Dr. Tom did have something to worry about after all. Sophocles was sued by two of his sons who attempted to have him declared incompetent in order to gain control of his considerable wealth. For his defense he wrote a play. The judge read the play and announced that no incompetent person could possibly have written such a work of art. Case dismissed.
Sophocles lived somewhat over 2000 years ago. So how are the grandpas doing today? A few days ago a mugger spotted what he thought was an easy target in his front yard. He pulled his car up next to the curb and asked 82-year-old Robert Flynn for a cigarette. When Flynn replied that he did not have one, the would-be mugger got out of his car and when Flynn looked up he was staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The assailant demanded money. What he got instead was a good whack with Flynn’s cane. And then Flynn attempted to run away. The other guy went in hot pursuit. This time Flynn gave him an extra hard whack across the head. The second blow seemed to have knocked some sense back into our nicotine-deprived villain and he left quietly, although a bit frazzled.
Another would-be robber did not get off quite so lucky. About a week and a half-ago Thomas Reyes walked into the Gomez Grocery in Philadelphia with evil intent on his mind. He jumped on a freezer and demanded the cash in the till. In the movies this stunt always works. But this is real life. Sixty-six year old Thomas Santana took exception to this rude and untimely behavior on the part of Reyes. Our crook had apparently overlooked the short little old guy who was trying to pay for a can of Mott’s applesauce. Big mistake! Faster than you can say “Wham!”, Santana delivered four lightning blows to Reyes’s head with his can of applesauce. In his momentary panic, Reyes shot himself in the hand. Reyes now faces charges of attempted murder, and attempted robbery. The morale to the story is never, but never, underestimate the power of an old codger—especially one with a can of applesauce. As John Wayne says in Rooster Cogburn, “It's payday, boys, come and get it!”
