I, Too, Dislike It

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this ---fiddle. -Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in -it after all, a place for the genuine. (from 'Poetry', 1921)

These are lines from Marianne Moore's poem entitiled, Poetry, that might express your own sentiments about the genre (especially the first line). Moore, however, was specifically expressing her disdain for the poetry of her time that had become overly esoteric. On the other hand, I don't see any evidence of displeasure coming from the cows that are listening to the poetry reading in this old Far Side cartoon. I think that they hear the poet's message loud and clear: "Don't fence me in."

I've added two links that will help you with your own study of poetry. Poetry.com and Poetry Daily are basic on-line primers for the most underappreciated and misunderstood of all literary genres, the poem. Look around these sites. I bet that you'll discover lines as inspiring as "Damn the electric fence!"

"Winter Dreams"

Hard to believe, Harry, but Wednesday, March 1, marks the beginning of the high school spring sports season. Weather wizard Mr. John L predicts the mercury to top off at 29 degrees farenheit that day. What's a person to do? Especially you golfers?

Continue one's "Winter Dreams." What's that, you say? Well, F. Scott Fitzgerald penned a short story of that title as a precursor to his Gatsby. Working class boy meets his rich and lovely "dreamgirl,"and falls head over heels. She plays him like a bad banjo. He's crushed. She retreats. They lose touch for a while. He makes lots of money running a string of laundries. Money, you say? The girl is back in the picture. But alas, when he finally makes his play, she's not all that.

Here are the specifics The young teenage Dexter Green, the best caddy at the Sherry Island C.C. in Minnesota, isn't dismayed by the snow covered golf links one bit. Winter is his time for dreaming. Dreaming of some day becoming an actual member of the club. Dreaming of being a champion golfer. (Here is a link to the story).

His dreams increase by one when he meets Miss Judy Jones, a member of the club and only eleven years old herself. It's springtime, Dexter is caddying, and she is golfing. Dexter goes "ga-ga" and pulls an A&P Sammy. He quits his caddying job on the spot and accepts his new quest, to win Judy Jones. Childish puppy love, you say? Not a bit. These kids are mature beyond their years.

Fitzgerald's description is at his evocative best. Judy at eleven is "ugly as little girls are apt to be who are destined after a few years to be inexpressibly lovely and bring no end of misery to a great number of men."

Her smile, well, it's the smile that Fitzgerald would use again in with Gatsby himself: "He [Dexter] was treated to that absurd smile [of Judy's], that preposterous smile--the memory of which at least a dozen men were to carry into middle age. " Oh, the stuff that dreams are made of.

Judy, nine years later, is doing her Natalie Gulbis (yup, that's Nat on the left) impression on Dexter again:"As she took her stance for a short mashie shot, Dexter looked at her closely. She wore a blue gingham dress, rimmed at throat and shoulders with a white edging that accentuated her tan. The quality of exaggeration, of thinness, which had made her passionate eyes and down-turning mouth absurd at eleven, was gone now. She was arrestingly beautiful."

So was this whole entry a ruse to get you to read a short story? Maybe. To introduce you to Natalie Gulbis? No, but I bet the fellows aren't complaining. But you COULD use these last few weeks of winter to catch up on some RFE (reading for enjoyment), to plan your research papers, or to take one last, long winter's nap. Because with the added hours and warmth of spring come the deadlines and demands of grades and graduation. Reality bites. Enjoy a few more days inside, maybe just dreaming.

Do The Freddy!

Even more so than the bobbin' along of the red, red robin, the reporting of pitchers and catchers to baseball spring training announces the arrival of spring. When I was a big baseball fan (as every little boy my age was growing up), just the thought of baseball Opening Day was enough to get the spring juices flowing. Yes, I would even follow the scores of the not-so-meaningless-to-me Grapefruit League games, trying to prognosticate the success of my fighting Phillies and beloved Yankees.

My first word associations with baseball today conjure modern dilemmas like steroids, free agency, and Barry Bonds. I don't care much anymore about the sport until September, when the pennant races begin to rev up and wind down. But I still get a kick (as these pitchers and catchers do), of the annual dumb publicity photos that show the early birds "working out" before the position players arrive.

The players all seem to be performing a weird dance, like the 1963 Freddie, initiated by the groovy guys from Manchester, England, Freddie and the Dreamers. What do you think?

Birding News

Our fine feathered friends really got some pub today in the News Journal.

Of course, there's the developing story of the avian flu spreading to Great Britain. Get ready to wash your hands to your favorite tune or jingle of 20 seconds to protect yourself from picking up the bird bug.

On the more local front, there's the shocking story of the 184 dead bird carcasses found dumped on a road down by the C & D canal. Authorities have surmised that someone shot the birds for sport (if that's what you would call it) over a baited field or waterway, and then hauled the birds away to another spot so that their illegal and wasteful act wouldn't be discovered. I can only hope that somewhere the hunting gods are planning their revenge.

Last, there's the happier column on the annual Great Backyard Bird Count, an activity in which local birders report the different bird species at their feeders to the Cornell University Ornithology Center. According to today's article, this year's count is on track to break last year's record of the number of recorded species.

I'm not involved in any formal count, but last week's snow brought a host of visitors to my feeders, not all of them welcome. Blackbirds, cowbirds, starlings, and grackles have all the eating habits of Bluto Blutarski (John Belushi's character in Animal House), mobbing feeders and crowding out smaller birds, and then gorging themselves with any kind of food they can get their beaks on. Their belches can be heard from up to fifty yards away! (only kidding, got you there).

Other than the aforementioned "nuisance birds," here's what I've spotted in recent days: chickadee, titmouse, nuthatch, house finch, English sparrow, cardinal, junco, downy woodpecker, red bellied woodpecker, flicker, blue jay (nasty birds, not bluebirds, folks), mourning dove, white throated sparrow, and the robin. A turkey vulture flew in real low yesterday; I guess it spotted some carrion in the area. Practicing some bird mimicry, I made a sound like a red-tailed hawk and it high-tailed away. I've seen hawks out back, too, of course, but I'm not sure if they were red tails or some other species. I know, I've got a lot to learn.

How about sharing your sightings with your classmates and me? If you're without a backyard and you're interested in observing avian activity, here's the link for the Cornell Lab live bird feeder camp. Happy birding.

The Firm

Even with their game faces on, this trio of seniors wouldn't intimidate anyone. Stick a tall weed in their mouth and either one could pass as Huck Finn. Yet the steely focus and determination that the three brought to the Sallies gym on Friday night belied their looks.

Lafferty, Hamm, and Van Heest (l to r in photo). Sounds like a proper name for a law firm. As their careers draw to a close, each one of their on-court identities has crystallized. The reliable replacement, the senior leader, and the gun for hire. Neither is blessed with LeBron or Juwon or Delle Donne skills enough to be known as anything more. But that's OK with me, and hopefully, for the rest of you Spartan boys basketball fans. They are the core of a fine TEAM.

The three and their teammates treated us to a great victory over Salesianum last night. The team played nearly flawless basketball for the first half of the game, leading 22-11. They then handled the Sallies' pressure and fought off the comeback for one of the biggest victories of their basketball careers. In the last quarter, it was the three seniors that sealed the victory: Hamm with a key jumper, Van Heest and Lafferty with clutch free throws.

Get out to cheer on these guys this week on Tuesday at Newark and Thursday at Glasgow. They probably need to win at least one of these games to qualify for the state tournament, where they just might create some more special memories for themselves, and their fans.

Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair

I've been keeping a running dialogue with someone who purports to be Mike Love Jr., son of Mike Love, former lead singer for the Beach Boys. First of all, I don't even know if there IS a Mike Love Jr., so I might be the victim of a blogging prank. Anyway, if such a person exists, I think I may have found him, photographed on a Beach Boys album cover called Sunflower. Could that be Junior on Mike's left lap (right as we look at it)? Mike is the folically-challenged dude seated on the far left.

Peace out, Mikey. Guess Dad passed along his love of music to you, but I hope the bald gene skipped a generation.

Little Deuce Coupe

Sure glad some of your listened to the Beach Boys during the snowstorm. Now let me add some musical knowledge to your day so you understand the words to Little Deuce Coupe. Maybe you can return the favor if I ever want (unlikely) or need to understand the lyrics to some rap song.

The Beach Boys 1963 song, Little Deuce Coupe, was released in July of 1963, a few months after Cuckoo's Nest was published and four months before Kennedy's assassination. In other words, the Ike Era had given way to the even more idyllic Camelot Era. Teenagers were still wearing crew cuts, canvas sneakers, and getting ready for the British invasion, you know, the downfall of Western civilization.

The song pays tribute to the 1932 Ford Model B roadster that became a popular "hot rod" in the 40s and 50s. American Graffiti, a 1973 film by Star Wars creator George Lucas, featured a yellow deuce coupe in some key drag racing scenes. Graffiti was a huge hit that successfully re-introduced the days of old-time rock and roll and hot rods to those youths who didn't buy into the whacked-out music and lifestyles of the early 70s. The film's credits rolled to another Beach Boys endless summer anthem, All Summer Long. A TV show inspired by Graffiti in 1974 proved that Happy Days were here again.

It's amazing what you can find on the web. I actually found a message board that explains the technical lyrics to the song (much of what follows is copied verbatim).You can first check out the song's lyrics at this web site to see the words you've probably only been humming.

First some easy lingo. "Get[ting] rubber in all four gears" is spinning your wheels by hitting the accelerator in neutral and then shifting quickly in 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th gears in an manual transmission (fortunately, with today's sophisticated transmissions, this isn't possible anymore on street legal cars). This might cause your tires, as they spin, to literally "burn" rubber. A "competition clutch" is a clutch designed "engage aggressively" for racing competitions.

A "flat head" is a Ford-made V-8 engine, one in which the valves are not on top, but on the side, hence the flat top. "Milled" means that the valves and moving parts have been worked to a very fine tolerance to increase power and efficiency.

These are all ways of machining an engine to increase its power. "Ported and relieved" is a way of letting extra air into an exhaust port to reduce back pressure on a piston chamber. "Stroked and bored" means that the piston chambers have been bored out to increase the size of the engine displacement, making it bigger than originally manufactured.

"Lake pipes" are a type of exhaust pipe that goes outside of the body of the car, instead of underneath the chassis. Lake was originally the name of the manufacturer.

As the song goes, "There's one thing / I got the pink slip, daddy." This was the vehicle's title certificate, and its color was pink, at least in California during the 60s.

Phew. Who ever thought the Beach Boys were so complex?

Here Comes the Story of the Hurricane

Glen "Hurricane" Schwartz, he of the collegiate-style sportcoat, glasses, and bow-tie, is the class of all the weather forecasters in Philly. He's certainly the big horse in NBC's weather stable, which includes the reliable Bill Henley, the up & coming Doug Kammerer, and the venerable mare, Amy Freeze. I'll even argue that Hurricane has clearly separated himself as the star of the City Line weather teams, especially since WPVI's Dave Roberts is just doing the early evening gig these days.

Except that his job calls for weather predictions, you have to wonder how the diminutive Schwartz ever earned the powerful nickname. Well, those kooky weather people. Seems Glen was videoed "blowing in the wind" while covering a killer storm for a Florida station. A cohort at his next job in New York saw this old footage and came up with the "hurricane" moniker, as a goof, of course. Ron Burgundy would have even chuckled.

Nowadays, having paid his weather dues, Hurricane doesn't do much on-location work. He's an award-winning meteorologist whose prognostications have gained Walter Cronkite-like trust (see Cronkite link if you don't get the reference). Staying inside means Hurricane can really study his trusty computer weather models, the ones that often disagree in projected storm paths and accumulation totals. It's up to him to figure out the disputed information and translate it for us, the weatherly-challenged. Which, he does, quite nicely, even if he does get a trifle dramatic at times (part of his schtict).

If you're still a little mad that you had school today, then click this link. Here is a game where you can throw cybersnowballs at the Hurricane. Maybe that will make up for the hours of fun in the snow that you missed out on while spending today in school.

STORMBLOG PHOTOS

Cardinal and downy woodpecker (feeding upside down)












My backyard as seen from second story window.








My neighbor's back yard.







Cardinal, finches, and sparrows. This one I submitted to NBC10.

SPECIAL STORMBLOG UPDATE

AS OF 7:25 P.M., 1/4" OF SNOW HAS ACCUMULATED ON THE ROAD SURFACES IN THE WEST WILMINGTON AREA, THE ONLY MEASUREMENT THAT MATTERS AS FAR AS SCHOOL CANCELLATION GOES. HOWEVER, THAT DOESN'T MEAN THAT MOM AND DAD SHOULD HAND OVER THE KEYS TONIGHT BECAUSE TEMPERATURES ARE SUPPOSED TO FALL AND HURRICANE AND THE WEATHER GUYS (AND GALS) ARE STILL CALLING FOR 8-12 INCHES OF SNOW.

SO IF YOU'RE IN FOR THE NIGHT (AND WEEKEND), HERE ARE SOME FUN THINGS TO DO:
1. GO OUTSIDE AND TAKE A SNOW PHOTO AND SEND IT OFF TO NBC.10. IT JUST MIGHT APPEAR ON TELEVISION. HERE'S THE LINK http://www.nbc10.com/weather/6913731/detail.html
2. REARRANGE AND CLEAN OUT YOUR SOCK DRAWER. MAKE A NOTE TO BUY NEW ONES. FOR GUYS, THE NEW CHAMPION SOCKS BEING SOLD IN TEN PACKS AT COSTCO ARE AWESOME. THIS COULD BE YOUR FIRST TRIP OUT ON THE ROADS IF WE'RE OFF ON MONDAY.
3. E-MAIL AN OLD FRIEND IN YOUR ADDRESS BOOK. AN "OLD" FRIEND. BETTER YET, CALL HIM OR HER. THEY'RE PROBABLY SNOWBOUND, TOO.
4. HAVE A SUMMER BEACH BASH. MAKE YOURSELF A VANILLA MILK SHAKE. PLAY SOME BEACH BOYS MUSIC. SUGGESTED PLAYLIST: SURFIN USA, CATCH A WAVE, I GET AROUND, THE GIRLS ON THE BEACH, THE WARMTH OF THE SUN, AND CALIFORNIA GIRLS. GO TO THE COMPUTER AND GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH "CANCUN BEACHES." BE SURE THE MODERATE SAFE SEARCH IS ON AND CHOOSE YOUR FAVORITE IMAGES. PUT ON A HAWAIIAN SHIRT AND SUNGLASSES. GET SOMEONE TO TAKE YOUR PICTURE (MAYBE SEND THIS TO HURRICANE AT NBC10).
5. CONCOCT YOUR OWN BRINE SOLUTION AND GET IT DOWN ON THE DRIVEWAY ASAP. UNLESS, OF COURSE, DAD AND/OR THE SNOWBLOWER ARE IN CHARGE OF THE SHOVELING.
6. TOP OFF THE BIRD SEED FEEDER BEFORE THE SNOW GETS TOO DEEP; MAKE SURE THERE'S SUET FOR THE WOODPECKERS, TOO.
7. RESPOND TO THIS ENTRY WITH IDEAS OF YOUR OWN FOR YOUR CLASSMATES.

SEE YOU TUESDAY!

Where's the Love Train, Man?

"Where's the Love Train, Man?" As another student agreed, the word "man" MUST be included if you choose to quote this gem.

This ranks as one of my favorite student remarks of the year, the decade, no . . . of my teaching career. In an informal discussion of Cuckoo's Nest, it was delivered today in as honest and clear a voice by a young woman who says what she means and means what she says. In much of Cuckoo's Nest, Love is replaced by imposters like fear, control, and lust. It's not until later (oops . . . can't spoil the ending) that Love makes a sad but triumphant return.

As the movie Wedding Crashers pointed out, weddings are often predictable xeroxed copies of someone else's idea of "the perfect ceremony." Some Bible readings, same sappy toasts, same bad gifts, same songs, like Love Train. But as Wedding Crashers also proved, real love lives, thrives, and conquers all even at the most contrived of ceremonies. Love is in the air.

Love Train was a huge disco dance record performed by the O'Jays in the mid-70s. The infectious tune orders everyone to "join hands" and "form a love train." Not so surprisingly, everyone at a wedding reception (at least in my party universe) will board the love train as it weaves it way for the five minute duration of the song. The train doesn't have a destination, but that's not its purpose, either. Just ride the love train, man. That's all. Feel the Love.

For a more recent paeon to Love, listen to the song One by U2. I missed the Grammys, but I heard that Bono and Mary J. Blige performed a Gospel-infused version of the song that had even the stoniest cynics in the music industry who were in attendance holding hands and swaying to the music.

Now if only the O'Jays or Bono had only been in the Cuckoo's Nest in 1962, instead of Lawrence Welk's Tea for Two. Nah . . . Big Nurse was one tough mama. She wasn't holding hands with anyone.

SPECIAL STORMBLOG MODE!!!

SCHOOLSVILLE REPORTERS WILL PROVIDE STORM UPDATES AND STORM ACTIVITIES (THAT'S RIGHT, FUN THINGS TO DO DURING A STORM) BEGINNING TOMORROW NIGHT IF THE PREDICTED NOR'EASTER HITS THE REGION.

AS FOR NOW, GET TO YOUR GROCERY STORE ASAP FOR MILK, BREAD, EGGS, TOILET PAPER, AND ROCK SALT, NOT NECESSARILY LISTED IN ORDER OF IMPORTANCE.

"Man Bites Dog" is Real News

The teaser headline in the upper right hand corner of the News Journal did its job. "Delaware Basketball Shocked," it read. Now this HAD to be real news. I tore open the paper to get to the sports page.

"We Won't Get Fooled Again." Last night, the Delaware men's basketball team lost to the bottom-dwelling James Madison squad that got a chance to do some bottom-feeding on the sinking Hens. This hardly qualifies as a "shock." Shock would be when they WIN a big game.

Delaware President David Roselle and athletic director Edgar Johnson have to suck it up, admit to their mistake, and fire David Henderson as the school's mens basketball coach. The former Dukee assistant and player hasn't delivered the goods in his six seasons as coach. Blame the refs, blame the tough competition, blame the lack of fan support, blame it on the Bossa Nova. The program needs a transfusion before the loyal 1500 or so remaining fans turn in their season tickets next year to pay for their rising electric bills. And Roselle and Johnson should avoid whisking away an assistant from an elite program like Duke for Henderson's successor. The Duke program recruits itself, as do many programs like Roselle's beloved Kentucky. Delaware needs a hungry young coach not associated with a name program who'll be willing to put in the time to recruit, teach, and sell the program. If they opt for another Henderson-type, we'll be likely singing, "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."

Don't Forget the Motor City!

How could someone my age ever complain about a chance to hear the Rolling Stones? Three of the boys have reached the 60s and drummer Charlie Watts is 58, but they can still crank it up, albeit not to the same intensity as they did in their prime. Who can? (Is Keith Richards looking younger, by the way?) No problem ever hearing Satisfaction. Here's one minor beef. If the NFL Powers-That-Be had to have the Stones perform over some Detroit Motown group, why couldn't the Stones have shown some deference to the Motor City by leading off their three-song mini set with the classic, Dancing in the Streets, which they actually recorded twenty some years ago with David Bowie. Their start-up choice, the tired Start Me Up, sounded like it got stuck in second gear after a minute or so of warming up in the driveway. I dunno. Maybe the Stones really needed that warm-up before cranking out Rough Justice and Satisfaction? For those of you who don't know the Motown tune I've alluded to, here's a snippet of the fun that hit the airwaves in 1964 , "It doesn't matter what you wear/ Just as long as you are there/ So come one, every guy, grab a girl/ Everywhere around the world/ They'll be dancing in the streets." Fun.

Shake It Up!

If Jimmy Dugan, the baseball manager in the movie, A League of Their Own, was flabbergasted with the crying of his female players, he would have been equally surprised by the St. Mark's Drama Department production of Great Shakes this weekend. Coffee houses in The Merchant of Venice? Light saber battles in MacBeth? Leather jackets and poodle skirts in A Midsummer's Night Dream? Yup. Once the audience got past the initial shock of the novel productions (though some cackling students in the front rows never did), they were treated to energetic and enthusiastic performances. "Great job" to all the actors, directors, narrators, writers, and techies. With the amount of talent on this year's team, I'm already looking forward to the Drama Dept.'s Super Bowl, the spring musical. Now if I can only convince Mr. Patch to have his group perform Damn Yankees. That ain't happening. Even if he did break some time-honored traditions in producing Great Shakes, I know that the staunch Red Sox fan will NEVER put a girl in pinstripes, Yankee or otherwise. Draw your light saber, Mr. P. Winner gets to choose this year's musical.