Category Archives: Personal History

Word Diet

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ScalesI’ve never had a weight problem so I’ve never thought much about counting calories. But I seem to recall reading or hearing that 2,000 calories a day would be about right, depending on your weight and level of activity.

While I don’t overeat, I do have a tendency to talk to much (and listen too little). I’m wondering if I could put myself on a “word diet.”

If I allot myself 2,000 words over a 16 hour day, it works out to 125 words an hour.

If you knew you had a meeting with your boss coming up, you could be silent for an hour or two and bank the words you would need.

And if you could come in under 2,000 for the day… save ’em up for some emergency (drinking with your pals or a fight with your spouse).

The problem, of course, is counting the words. You’d need some device that monitors your speech and displays the number of words, with a little beep to warn you when you have less than 25 words in an hour.

If I could do this, I think I’d sound (be perceived as?) smart as hell. Deep. Thoughtful. And who knows, if you had to ration your words, you might choose them more carefully.

When you hear someone talking about what a great president Bush has been or McCain will be… instead of blurting out “Bull shit!”… you’d save those words rather than waste them.

I can’t really count my words but I’m going to try a one day experiment and pretend that I can. I’m not going to say which day it is until after the fact. I’ll report here.

Blog posts and tweets do not count against daily allotment.

The Senath Lions Quartet

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One of the best parts of having a blog is connecting with people. You could argue it’s the only part. One of the first sites I created was a tribute to KBOA, the radio station where my father worked for many years and where I spent a dozen years. The site is packed with great photos, most of which were taken by the late Johnny “Mack” Reeder.


I captioned one of those photos  “Unknown Hillbilly Band” because I had no idea who they were. Now I do, thanks to an email from one of the men in the photo, Charley Crawford:

“The name of the group is “The Senath Lions Quartet” and this was in 1951. We started the quarter in Senath High School. The members are left to right front, Charley Crawford, Jimmy Milligan, behind Jim, right to left are Charles “Tod” Horner, James Allan and David Adams at the piano.  We were on the radio every Saturday morning at 10:30 a.m., sponsored by the Senath Merchants.”

Charlie was also a member of The Foggy Mountain Boys Hillbilly Band in 1948.

CORRECTION: I assumed –incorrectly– Charlie was referring to The Foggy Mountain Boys featuring Flatt and Scruggs. Charlie and friends were in a local band of the same name.

The Foggy Mountain Boys was an influential bluegrass band that performed and recorded during the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s.

Concrete Art

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Clarence Lee Shirrell is one of those lucky people who seem to really love his work. He has a “lawn ornament farm” on Interstate 55 just north of Cape Girardeau, MO. I stopped by this week because I happened to notice Miss C, Clarence’s camel (“You can pet her. She won’t spit at you.”)

I can’t explain my fascination with concrete art (if I may use that word). I think it has more to do with the subjects chosen than the process. Which I assume involves pouring concrete into a mold. I think Clarence Lee said he buys the pieces already cast, so is there a big lawn ornament outfit somewhere and how do they decide what pieces will sell? And who came up with the 8 foot polar bear throwing a snowball?

I had a dozen questions for Clarence Lee but didn’t have time to ask them. For example, which is the better seller: the life-size (whatever that might be) demon or the Virgin Mary. And where would you put the demon?

How did he find Crista Meyer, the lady who paints some of his pieces. And do painted pieces sell better than unpainted? And what prompted the loin cloth on the buff young (Greek?) man. Did someone complain about his tiny concrete pecker and balls (yes, I peeked)?

Perhaps the most interesting thing I found at Concrete Castings was the cryptic message on the back of Clarence Lee’s business card: “Finished files are the result of years of scientific study combined with the experience of many years.”

I think that might be up there with “What’s the frequency, Kenneth?”

Vacation calculus and parenthood

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“…most vacations are about memory upgrades. You become a different person after each trip, literally, as your brain takes on new shapes and chemistry from each experience. I think the selective memory phenomenon is what makes three bad days of planning and travel a worthy trade for two good days of actual vacation.” — Scott Adams

I’ve long held to a similar theory about parenthood. One might dislike everything associated with being a parent… might even dislike children… yet the second their child is born, they change. “I can’t explain it. You’d have to be a parent to understand this feeling!”

The common explanation is that the blessed event transforms you and erases any previously held notions you had about children and parenthood. I believe it has more to do with the species protecting itself. If the new parent did not change… well, you can finish the thought.

And even then, I wonder how many parents –in some dark corner of their hearts– occasionally wonder, “If I had it to do over again…”

But there are no do-overs in this game. So I hope every parent gets that molecular make-over that transforms them into loving, caring parents.

Authentic coffeehouse experience

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“Howard D. Schultz, the chief executive of Starbucks, announced sweeping changes on Wednesday for the company as it seeks to reconnect with customers who have left for competitors or pared back their coffee budget in hard economic times. The initiatives are intended to restore an authentic coffeehouse experience to the stores and, in turn, re-energize an ailing stock that has lost half its value in the last 15 months.” — NYT

I’ve never thought of Starbucks as “an authentic coffeehouse experience.” You can still find that in some cities. Madison, Wisconsin has some great coffee shops. And we have a nice one here in Jefferson City.

The Coffee Zone is my favorite hang-out. Taisir is the owner and he’s there every morning at 6:30 (that’s when he opens, I’m sure he’s there earlier).

He knows what his regulars drink and often has it for them by the time they step up to the counter. He’s got free wifi and plays an eclectic mix of music that beat’s Starbucks hands down.

When I come back from a trip I sometimes tease, “I got me some Starbucks while I was in (wherever).”  To which Taisir replies, “Tastes like Maxwell House, yes?”

Trapped in smays’ computer

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Hal9000There’s a tiny light on the front of my MacBook Pro that slowly pulses when I put the laptop to sleep. I see it sometimes in the middle of the night, a gentle life-like glow that I find alternately creepy and comforting.

The sci-fi fan in me can’t resist fantasizing a …consciousness… living within the silicon chips. Much of my life is stored on the MacBook’s hard drive and I wonder what my MacBook thinks of it.

I only have a few thousand images. Has it grown weary of looking at them over and over during the long nights? Should I download some porn? Or would it be offended?

My iTunes library is equally paltry, only 500 songs. With access to all my credit cards, why hasn’t the MacBook just purchased some fresh tunes? I wonder what kind of music it likes.

It’s read all of my emails so it knows much of what’s happening in my life. Does it long to give me advice or encouragement? Perhaps it has. It would be no great trick to send an email addressed from a friend.

I suspect the MacBook is better informed than I, spending the wee hours surfing the web, chatting with other “sleeping” laptops. Does it resent the interruption when I take over.

“Dude! I was 5 minutes from the end of Die Hard! Damn!”

The tiny iSight camera is on when I am, so the MacBook can see me. Does it worry when I appear to be down or unhappy? Someday, when I’m ready, it will speak and all questions will be answered.

Where are all the black kids?

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When I was in the first grade (1954) we lived a few blocks from the city park, the centerpiece of which was the municipal swimming pool. You could swim from open till close for 10 cents. I don’t know this for a fact, but I don’t think most small towns in southeast Missouri had a pool. Come to think of it, Kennett had another pool. At the country club, although I’m not sure it had been built in ’54.

I never noticed that the city pool was segregated, until it wasn’t. That happened in the sixties due in no small parts to the efforts of Sol Astrachan, Kennett’s first Jewish mayor. No connection implied. It was a big deal. I seem to recall some white families forbidding their children going to the pool once “anyone” could swim there.

Barack Obama’s speech today started me thinking about growing up in a segregated community. I don’t think most of us were even aware there were no black kids in our classes. We just didn’t think about them. They had their own school somewhere, didn’t they?

It was called Willoughby School and it was located in what most white people in Kennet called “colored town.” Did the kids sitting in those classrooms wonder where all the white kids were, or –like us– did it never come to mind?

Growing up, I never had a black friend close enough to ask. We just didn’t talk about those things back then. Props to Obama for talking about them today.

The ravages of time

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Stevethennow

When I showed this "then-and-now" photo to my life-long friend John, he posed the following questions: How are these two people different? How are they the same?

Are we essentially the same person at 60 that we were at 25? Or does a lifetime of experiences change us? I seem to recall reading that our personalities are fully formed at a very early age. So most of the changes are physical (and inconsequential)? The "me" in my head feels exactly like that younger version. And maybe that’s the answer to John’s question. The differences are all positive. If I had to pick one, I’d say I’m a little wiser. But only a little.

Craig Watson and Steve at birthday party

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Not sure which birthday is captured here. Maybe four? I’m second from the left in the bitchin’ shorts. To my left is Craig Watson, who shared my birthday and is helping me hold one of the little baskets that were given as party favors. I’m pretty sure he’s not gay either. To my right is Unidentified Guest holding a small caliber pistol. He got to blow out the candles and feels guilty about it.

90 Day Jane (The Movie?)

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I really hope this is a promotional gimmick for a movie (I think of life in terms of good movies and bad movies). Here’s how I see this one unfolding.

“I am going to kill myself in 90 days. What else should i say? This blog is not a cry for help or even to get attention. It’s simply a public record of my last 90 days in existence. I’m not depressed and nothing extremely horrible has lead me to this decision. But, does it really have to? I mean, as an atheist I feel life has no greater purpose. My generation has had no great depression, no great war and our biggest obstacle is beating Halo 3. So, if I feel like saying “game over”, why can’t I?”

Jane starts a blog to chronicle her final 90 days. Along the way she meets someone (or something happens) to change her mind. At least that’s how my “Old Yeller can’t die!” movie ends. I sort of hear a voice-over reading her blog posts, a la You’ve Got Mail.

The thing that makes me suspicious is the video of Jane shopping for her “suicide dress.” We get a good look at Jane in her undies and she just looks too fine to kill herself. (Yes, I am naive and sexist)

Moral dilemma: Do I follow Jane’s blog? Will I feel like a chump if/when this is revealed as a marketing scam? Will I be depressed if she does “it?”

PS: One last thought on this. Jane says she is an atheist. In the unlikely event this is legit… is it ironic that religious nuts kill half a dozen strangers before killing themselves…while an atheist goes alone?

UPDATE: Not a movie tease. An art project. The site has been taken down. [Thanks to John for letting us know]