Magnificent Obsession

My next door neighbor, of whom I have written several times before, has a most interesting “hobby”. It seems to be peaking a bit beyond hobby, but I leave it to you to be the judge of that.

I promised to be good to them in this post as I was offered free reign of the garage to take the photos and made sure I would do this with a reporter’s eye, and not that of an erstwhile comedian.

What you see is the garage and the driveway. A Black Jeep is currently missing from the photo and is stored at this moment elsewhere. The Jaguar, the BMW and the Acura are in the driveway and are in regular service, except that two will be stored through the winter. What remains, and the focus of this post, are what is in the garage and what is stored else where and not the four others.

In the garage, on the lift, we have a 1966 Triumph TR4a. (Yes, I said a lift!) Under that we have a 1964 Triumph TR4 with 26,000 miles on the odometer. This one comes with factory overdrive in case you were wondering.

On the right we have a 1975 Triumph TR6, the yellow one, which is running, is tagged and burns a bunch of oil but not unusual for a Triumph. In storage elsewhere are 2, 1969 Triumph TR6’s one with factory overdrive and one with after market overdrive and a 1974 Triumph TR6 with factory overdrive.

There was an old lady who had too many cats, if this sounds familiar. There is a theme here.

The car on the left, not theirs, is a 1965 TR4a, just to show you one all finished.

The Earworm

This morning’s earworm was very strong. The earworm, as described on Wikipedia is:



Earworm, a loan translation of the German Ohrwurm, is a portion of a song or other music that repeats compulsively within one's mind, put colloquially as "music being stuck in one's head." Use of the English translation was popularized by James Kellaris, a marketing researcher at the University of Cincinnati, and McGill University’s Daniel Levitin. Kellaris' studies demonstrated that different people have varying susceptibilities to earworms, but that almost everybody has been afflicted with one at some time or another. According to research by James Kellaris, 98% of individuals experience earworms. Women and men experience the phenomenon equally often, but earworms are more likely to last longer for women and to irritate them more than men.


This morning while walking Max the Wonder dog I found myself singing this out loud, the Frank Sinatra version, the one I remember best of all. But then, I also relate this song strongly to Eddie Cantor, of vaudeville fame and an early television star.




So, while not much of a story, I leave you to look and listen to both of these and make your own decision about which, if any, you prefer. As well, I have no idea where this all came from this morning.

Editors note:


I found out where the earworm came from!

I was taking Max out this morning and I always talk to him as we go out, and when we walk. I was getting ready and looking for my shoes. I said (this morning),” I’ve got a lot of shoes here in the garage” and it hit me, here is the lyric:

Alot of shoes, alot of rice

the groom is nervous. he answers twice

its so Killin that he's so willin'

To make whoopee

The Earworm start has been discovered!

Stairway to Gilligan's Island

Many years ago my oldest son sang a song for me that was the lyrics from the Gilligan’s Island theme song sung to the tune of Stairway to Heaven. I have since, one time, heard a version on the radio.

The other day, with the help of Google and you tube, I discovered the source.

They seem to have reordered the Gilligan's Island lyrics and thrown in 'and it makes me wonder' from the Stairway lyrics for this song:

Just sit right back & you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip


That started from this tropic port aboard this tiny ship.


The mate was a mighty sailing man, The skipper brave & sure.


Five passengers set sail that day for a three hour tour,


A three hour tour- and it makes me wonder


Now the ship's a-ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle


With Gilligan,


The Skipper too,


The millionaire and his wife,


The movie star


O, and the rest. They're here on Gilligan's Island.


The weather started getting rough,


O and the tiny ship was tossed,


If not for the courage of the fearless crew


O, the poor Minnow would be lost,


The ship's a-ground on the shore


Of this uncharted desert isle


And they're here on Gilligan's Island.


Little Roger and the Goosebumps is a pop/rock band from San Francisco active during the 1970s and early 1980s and resurrected in 2006. It has been led throughout its history by Roger Clark and Dick Bright, with various sidemen.

The band is best known for its single "Gilligan's Island (Stairway)" a song combining the lyrics to the theme song of the television show Gilligan's Island with the music of "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. The band wrote the song in 1977 as "material to pad the last set of the grueling 5 nights a week/4 sets a night routine," recorded it in March 1978, and released it as a single in May 1978 on their own Splash Records label. Within five weeks, Led Zeppelin's lawyers threatened to sue them and demanded that any remaining copies of the recording be destroyed

During a 2005 interview on National Public Radio, Robert Plant referred to the tune as his favorite cover of "Stairway to Heaven."

They recorded their next single, "Kennedy Girl" (based on Neil Young's "Cinnamon Girl"), in 1980, then waited over a quarter-century before producing their debut album They Hate Us Cuz We're Beautiful, featuring new recordings of 14 songs drawn from three decades of original material

Their single "Fudd on the Hill," essentially a performance of "Fool on the Hill" as performed by Elmer Fudd, was included on the novelty compilation album The Rhino Brothers Present the World's Worst Records, Volume 2.

The New CD's

Tonight my daughter (who I never am allowed to talk about in these posts) asked me if I’d go to Best Buy and pick up the new Taylor Swift CD, “Speak Now”. I asked if she would pay for it and she was delighted, so after dinner I went. My wife (who I never am allowed to talk about in these posts) had earlier last week asked me to get the new Elton John, Leon Russell CD, “The Union”. I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone but two different debit cards and get them both.



For my non-Canadian readers, yes, there is a Best Buy in Canada.

At the check out the guy asked me, “A Taylor Swift fan?” I laughed and said no, it was for my daughter. He laughed and said, “Is she 16?”

I was amazed! He was right on the mark.


I told him he was great and knew his business and he asked if he wanted me to tell me my age from my choice. I declined. I said it was for my wife anyway, so we could forget it. Besides, I was standing there so it was no great leap of knowledge. As well, Leon Russell fans are a very limited group in age I imagine.

We both discussed the dwindling numbers of CD buyers, and both of us were into downloads.

We had a bond, this 20 something young man and this aging senior citizen, and besides, he guessed my daughter’s age by her musical taste! Those skills, while limited, are remarkable!

Give me an H, give me an A.......

(She's on the right in the top row)

My youngest daughter does not like me to discuss her in these pages, but this one was just too good to miss!


She is part of the Junior Ti-Cat Cheerleaders. This is a group of girls who work on the field at Hamilton Ti-Cat games along side of the “real” Hamilton Ti-Cat Cheerleaders. They are all dancers, and participate. The junior ones consist of some older girls like my daughter and her friends, and a large group of kids starting from the very little ones. They are part of a dance class devoted to being a cheerleader.

For my non-Canadian readers, the Hamilton Ti-Cats are a professional CFL football team. My daughter, who is shy by nature, dances in front of 23,000+ people per game and is in the group that appears on national TV, etc,. It’s the real deal!

Last Friday night, in an important game against Montreal, the cheerleaders had a Halloween night. Their cheerleading uniforms had already been turned in for the season, but the group had to dress like witches. They were required to wear black and gold costumes. There were several hundred kids there that night as every dance studio in the area participated on the field at half time. The Ti-Cat juniors were different in their witch’s costumes, as were the other groups uniquely dressed.

After the game which was a hoot and we won 40-3, the girls had to meet us. We texted each other and we chose a corner to meet. People poured out of the stadium, in the old neighborhood, a nice but sort of fringe area of Hamilton, and it took us a while to catch up with them, with tons of patrons out on the streets.

My daughter and her girl friend were waiting, dressed in black witches short skirts, with black tops, stage makeup and leather jackets.

My daughter said to me that she wished they still had their cheer costumes, because dressed like they were, standing on this questionable corner, with tons of inebriated guys pouring out, they were perceived as prostitutes!

She than looked at me and told me, as she is happy to do, that I looked like a Hobo! (She never likes my style!).

I told her it beat looking like a Ho!

The Girl in the White Terry Cloth Robe

This story is a bit over the top and my son, the editor, will ask me to remove it, but I will stay the course, because it’s good.


Let’s start with the basics.

I was not married at the time of this story, and I was not cheating on anyone. I was a free agent so it’s OK to tell without getting into trouble.

My wife does not read this blog so I am free of worry except for those of you who read it and know her, and it could become a bit of a problem, depending upon your big mouth!

It in no way is bad, it’s just an old man’s memory and a good tale to tell.

My neighbor was a fine young woman who I have written about before in these pages. We did go out together for a while, and this part of our story may have been from those times or perhaps immediately after it had ended, but clearly before she moved away or was married.

The young lady in question would call me from time to time, early in the morning, and invite me to breakfast, or at least to come over and have coffee with her in the mornings. We lived very close so I could just walk.Sometimes she would have a Danish or a bagel, but always a cup of coffee. Both of us had to go to work, so it was an effort to do these things and have enough time to get dressed. This, in fact, was the biggest part of the story, as I was dressed when I arrived, at least my tie was on if not pulled up, and I was ready to leave for work after getting a few items. She, on the other hand, was always about to get dressed when I arrived. She was, in fact, always the girl in the white terry cloth robe. This was not a big deal, except the robe was never closed, and she was never dressed! The belt was untied and hung to the ground as she went about gettting coffe, underware etc.

You can see the problem already I’m sure. I had a few minutes to spare before I left, she was all about coffee and getting dressed, and she pretended not to have planned all this. I was so nonchalant about the whole thing, as you can already tell, but I’ve never forgotten it! She was cool about it because she knew I’d not react! And so we had a standoff! An all but naked young lady and an aging gentleman, all dressed for work! And so we had coffee as she proceeded to get dressed.

I never broke my composure, she never expected me to. We had a beautiful relationship! It was a perfect liaison if I were a gay man! However, it was a huge turn on and turn off simultaneously! I never had enough time to "react" because I was needed at the office.

She moved, I moved, she got married and eventually, so did I. I heard from her after her divorce once, and I heard from her late in 1989, I think, as I left for Boston and she was about to marry her second husband. I never asked if she still “wore” the robe!

Soy Vay

My son from Chicago had brought us, some years ago, a wonderful product called Soy Vay

A basic Chinese marinade now available in local markets, Soy Vay is becoming a word-of-mouth hit. Appropriately, that's how the whole story began at an office potluck on the Humboldt State University campus.

Heidi Chien, 31, the business service manager and accountant for University Center, had brought a dish prepared with a sauce of her native Hong Kong. It was a hit with all, including Eddie Scher, 25, the coordinator for productions and concessions for Center Arts.

"Everybody liked it so much," Eddie recalls.

They started out on a small scale - a popular food booth at the North Country Fair in September of 1980. This small success was repeated at several other fairs.

After consulting the regional Department of Health and Services in the Bay Area for the correct procedures, Eddie and Heidi set about selecting a bottle, design and name to put on it. Until then they simply called the sauce a Chinese marinade. They came up with the name Soy Vay and printed it - both in Chinese figures and in Hebrew-like letters - on the bottle.

Bottled Soy Vay made its first appearance in the Arcata Co-op, then Larry's Market in Arcata, the Gourmet Gallery in Eureka and several stores in southern Humboldt County and the price was $2.98 a bottle.

"It's not a soy sauce," Heidi explains. "It's a very general Chinese recipe in Hong Kong but people aren't exposed to that kind of flavor here."

The basic ingredients in Soy Vay are an imported Hoi Sin sauce plus other spices; a combination of soya bean, garlic, sugar, vinegar, sesame seed and chili. It's good on beef, poultry, fish, eggs and vegetables. One customer, Eddie says, even likes it on hot dogs.

We wanted some and knew we couldn’t find such a wondrous product in Southern Ontario, so I contacted the factory and had some sent. They have several flavors now so we chose some and had six bottles sent. The price at that time was $5.00 a bottle, but due to the current exchange rate, shipping from California etc. the six bottles cost about $80 to deliver. We bit the bullet, it’s great stuff!

A week or two later, my wife arrives at my office (for lunch) with the news that she has just returned from the little gourmet market down the street where they have Soy Vey products on sale.

I never asked anyone at Soy Vay if their products were available in Canada, I just assumed they weren’t. They were $6.99 Cdn. a bottle.

I was not a happy camper!

Thank you for my parking lot

In 1985, the Afro-American Museum and the City of Detroit formed a partnership to build a new facility in the city's University Cultural Center, securing the funding to complete the $3.5 million facility.

The name of the International Afro-American Museum was changed to the Museum of African American History and ground was broken for a new facility on May 21, 1985. Two years later, the doors of the Museum of African American History were reopened to the public at 301 Frederick Douglass.

Once again the museum outgrew its facility and grander ideas for a new museum took shape. In 1992, Detroit voters authorized the City of Detroit to sell construction bonds to finance a larger building and ground was broken for the third generation of the Museum in August of 1993. In April of 1997, a 120,000 square-foot, state-of-the-art facility opened, making it the largest African American historical museum in the world.

One year later, the Museum was renamed the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History in honor of its founder.

That original building, the new facility opened in the University Cultural Center has since become part of the College for Creative Studies. This story focuses on that building, the 1985 facility, and its beginnings.

The land was prepared and the signage went up, the new International Afro-American Museum was coming. There was lots of building activity, and we watched as it all happened. We could see this grow from our office windows and from our parking lot. It was a good thing to have another museum next door.

Our president watched and was worried. There was something wrong and it was bothering him. It wasn’t clear but I sensed a problem.

He would stand and look at the men working and puzzle.

He had been told stories when he came to Detroit in 1976 and they focused around the new building and how it grew and how it was to be in the future; where we were and where we were going. But yet, something didn’t fit. The City of Detroit must know their land areas. They couldn’t be that off, but weren’t they building that parking lot on our property?

Our lawyers finally contacted the City to thank them for the lot, and discuss when we could begin to use it.

A deal was struck and rights of ways were granted and yes, maybe the city hadn’t really searched the land titles very well……

It no longer matters as the College owns the buildings and grounds today, but at the time all we could do was say, “Thank you for my parking lot.”

Thank you for my 7-11

Again, dear reader, I may have woven this tale before but I can’t find it and in almost 460 stories one gets a bit lost. However, here is the tale entitled


“Thank you for my 7-11”

In the mid 70’s, my neighbor, an American industrialist, sort of, had a nearby factory. Somewhere not far away there was a little, unnoticed industrial park, left over from another time. The city knew they were there and had subdivided it over the years to make way for new roads and residential, suburban living. I mean, my house was from the late 1800’s, as were many of my neighbors. However, suburban expansion developed in a post war economy and my semi rural area gentrified a bit. The factories, nestled in the woods, remained. So my neighbor had a short trip to work in the morning.

Looking out of his office window each morning, he watched as workers cleared land across the street, built a foundation, and began to build a building. The curious people like myself watched each morning as we drove to work and wondered, beyond our imagination, what was that going to be? It was on a busy sort of corner which eliminated houses, so what was it?

You have guessed by now, it was a 7-11, waiting for its new owner. When completed and the signage was installed my neighbor called 7-11 headquarters and thanked them for his new 7-11. It seems the new road subdivided his property and whoever searched the title failed to recognize that the land on which they were building, and had purchased from someone or another, was not for sale. It belonged, it seems, to the factory across the street!

Halloween from Hell

I wrote this in October, 2002 as an email to some folks:


Last night we were much decorated for Halloween. We have gravestones, ghosts in the trees, hands coming from the ground, legs and shoes falling into the ground a witch slammed into our front window etc. It was fun. The girls and friends were out trick or treating and I did the candy.

Afterwards we went to a party with the kids hosted by our neighbor. The neighbors are from the US, and are part of an extreme right-wing Christian group, who do celebrate Halloween and drink beer, so they seemed OK. The group, many of who are my friends, is a bit spooky, not in a Halloween kind of way.

There is one guy with who I have never really had a conversation, who was always telling someone about his misspent youth as an atheist, and now he has found Jesus and his life has turned around.

I was talking to a minister, as so many of them are, about public speaking, and it was a normal conversation, on a sort of ministerial level. I was once a best man in a church wedding in Detroit, and standing with the groom on the alter I told the minister that my mother had warned me about going up on church alters and how I may get sucked into some vortex and never return. It didn’t happen.

The host and I discussed the death of the Colt’s Johnny Unitas and it’s implications for our generation. He was from Baltimore so we have some stuff in common. It’s just always a little bit weird. I keep thinking they really want me to come to God and I want to stay home.

I never returned to the fold after that night.

A Visit to Calgary

I visited Calgary in 1973 with my family in tow as part of a month long camping trip. We sort of drove through and I’m not sure if it made an impression on the kids or not. However, when my son Brian decided to marry, he and his new bride chose a trip to Calgary and the Calgary Stampede, as well as a visit to Banff, as their honeymoon trip. This was a great source of pleasure for me as it brought a sense of accomplishment, as it seemed to indicate the big trip had some hidden benefit.


After the honeymoon, my son and his wife returned to Chicago and he called. He told me how he met a man and two of his adult kids on a parking lot in Banff. The man was locked out of his car and my son and his wife stayed with them until the repair guy came to unlock the vehicle. The man invited my kids to his house and gave them a tour of Calgary. He showed them the place where he worked, the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology (SAIT). He showed them the next door neighbor to SAIT, the then Alberta College of Art. My son, who loved Calgary, said I should become the President of ACA. I asked if they had an open job, but of course, he didn’t know.

Several months later I received a call from a faculty member at the Alberta College of Art asking me if I would be interested in becoming the new President, as he was now on the search committee and was charged with finding new candidates. I held the phone back from my ear and stared at it, wondering if this was some sort of a joke that my son had invented. Knowing better, I continued the conversation, and eventually became the new president of the Alberta College of Art.

This story with all the significant details added was published in the Calgary Herald in 1994.

The Interview #5 (Dress for Limited Success)

this is much better than I really had

I went off for the big interview with lots of confidence, much vigor and a sword hanging over my head. My house had been sold and I was living in a very nice house, rented from November to a maximum of May, on a month to month basis. If I didn’t find work soon, I’d be forced to move again! My wife was pregnant, and the doctor said that after 32 weeks she was not going anywhere. My position was critical so I planned to do the best thing I could think of and went on vacation!
What the hell, you only live once!

If we had to stay we would figure something out. Much of our belongings were stored at a friend’s house and we had enough to live on in our temporary location. The temporary location was fantastic in Gloucester, MA with a nice view on the ocean. We didn’t want to leave, but had no choice.

As the time approached, I had a call asking me to come and visit. This was a great opportunity and it seemed to be destined. I’ll go into that later, in another story. However, I’ll stick to the interview.

We decided that my wife and daughter would fly to Miami, I would meet them there and we’d drive to the various places we were planning to visit; Fort Lauderdale and Naples. I would go first and we’d hook up later.

As I packed for this all important interview, I was very careful to plan my wardrobe. I needed interview clothes as well as clothes for Florida, not exactly a match.

I had gone shopping and purchased a new, white button-down interview shirt (does not show sweat as much) and a new, blue button-down for other social activities or another interview breakfast, etc. I carefully laid these two new shirts on the bed as I was packing making sure there would be room. I had a suit, a sport coat, some dress pants as well as my usual khakis and jeans as well as bathing suits etc. Dress shoes, boat shoes and sneakers were also included. I took two or three ties with me just in case I decided to need more than one or spill something on it. I was very well packed!

When I reached my final destination, Calgary, AB, I was able to unpack and relax. It was not until I needed to get dressed for my first meeting that I realized my beautiful new shirts were still sitting on my bed at home and I had no way in this downtown hotel of finding new shirts at this late date. I called home to double check and my wife had wondered why I didn’t take them with me.

I looked through my assembled collection and I had two button-down dress shirts with me. One was a black and white striped one, (a riverboat gambler type striped one) and one was ecru, and unknown color that is best described as off white or tan. It is the not quite yellow one. I had to make a decision. I asked my wife to pack the other two and bring them as I’d use them in Florida and maybe someone there needed to interview someone.

I went to my first meeting, a dinner with the Board Chairman. I wore my sport coat and the ecru shirt. I explained the situation to him and he laughed, of course, because it was funny. The next morning I appeared in a striped suit with my gambler striped shirt and a print tie and it looked a bit weird but it was a great story to tell the search committee.

In the end it didn’t matter of course because I got the job. It was my Dress For Limited Success story.

I took a cab to the airport dressed in a suit with the ecru shirt and a tie, flew to Toronto and changed planes for Miami. Some million miles and many hours later, on a December day, in an overcoat, a suit and a tie I ended up walking out on the tarmac in 85 degree weather. Sweating, I waited for my wife, and while waiting I realized I was the funniest looking person in the airport because people were staring and pointing at me.

Criminal Intent

I’m sure everyone has some kind of story about thefts from your workplace. It’s just a part of life, and often annoying and expensive. It can be devastating, but sometimes very funny.
Last year we had a cashbox, a tall plastic money keeper for people who wanted to donate funds. It usually got spare change and often a bill or two and would add up to several hundred dollars a year. It had been there for at least the ten years I’ve been there and surely many years before. It was a tall rectangular clear plastic box, about 40”tall and 14” square. We had gotten a new box, smaller, and able to sit on our front counter, and were going to use it to replace the old one which was sort of falling apart.

Some event was going on at school, and we moved the larger box farther down the hall. At the time it contained about $12 or $13, but had been just emptied. It was there on a Friday evening and we noticed on Monday morning that it was gone.

What a big job for so little money! Someone had to sneak the box out of the back door, put it into some sort of vehicle without being seen and breaking the box open and getting rid of the parts! All this for the $12 or $13!

Years ago two men came into the school where I was working dressed in gray work clothes. When we see men in gray work clothes, we usually don’t see them. That outfit is a cultural cloak of invisibility.

The men entered the building and went directly to our darkrooms. They had a tool box with them, and they carefully dismantled two very good enlargers, packed them up and left. No one, of course, even bothered to ask who they were or why they were doing this. Clearly, it was assumed they belonged. They didn’t!

In the 80’s, we were missing a large, student wall hanging. It was nearly 8’ wide and 5-6’ high. It was removed from a bulletin board hallway art display in a classroom building. When it was reported as missing, we asked around and lo and behold one of our armed guards saw the woman take the piece. She was very well dressed, it was described, so no one would question why she was walking out of the building with a large piece of art, carefully folded over her arm! She also was seen getting into her Mercedes and driving away!

When I worked for the department store in the 60’s, we were always on the lookout for shoplifters. The ones we never caught were probably men in gray uniforms and well dressed women. The ones we always caught were those who were so obvious that no one could ever miss them. When I was on duty on the first floor, near the back door, I can remember watching these potential thieves walk in and my calling security to say, “Here he comes, he’s coming up the stairs”. This would usually be a guy in the hot summer time wearing a large pocketed long raincoat in to the store, or carrying it over his arm. There are some things we just couldn’t miss.

The problems with gangsters, criminals etc., is the more they play to their stereotype, the easier it is to be recognized. The best of criminals are the ones whose neighbors are at least shocked that good old Ralph is really some horrible sociopath, because he’s always been a good neighbor.

Last year I told the story of the theft from my office in Detroit where the criminal took my umbrella, a free gift from Aramis Aftershave and did not take $30,000 worth of prints. However, to be fair, it may just have been raining outside but I doubt it!

I seen several embezzlement cases, one I wrote about last year, usually it takes a while to spot. There was one I wrote about some time ago, where our Business Manager, Jim Coffman, saw this box of paint carefully put away in a faculty office.

He watched that box of paint, which had my name written on it, for weeks, waiting for me to "steal" it. Finally, in desperation, he asked me about the box. I had no idea there was a box of paint with my name written on it but I looked into the situation and found out it belonged to the sculpture department. They put my name on it so no one else would steal it! Jim assumed I was the culprit!

The Interview #4

I did several New York interviews over the years and they stand out as particularly interesting. First, I get to go to New York which is fun to do and secondly, it always is more upscale.


On one occasion, I met with the head hunter in an office along with one person from the college. This was a pre-interview, mind you, a free trip to New York to meet to see if I was capable of sustaining the “real “ interview. By the way, I was.

In the same case I met with the search committee at the school during my second visit. I was interviewed by many groups in an all day event. It was grueling, and I was tired. The President, at the end of the day, knowing I was very tired and had expended much energy provided me with a subway token so I could make my way back to the hotel.

Not to be one upped by the institution or the President, I took the token, thanked him and also took the Presidents secretary with me. We had a lovely evening together.

In another New York case, I was called and it was arranged that I would fly out in a few weeks. I checked the air fares and discovered one that cost $345 to get from Calgary, AB to NYC and return. Two weeks later they called and cancelled. A week or so later they called and asked me to come on the original date and I had to get a ticket in a week. It cost $2,450 for the same flight! They, of course, were paying.

They called me again to come out in a few weeks and I did and was interviewed by most of the same people again.

In both of these New York positions, I don’t think I ever got the offer, as they haven’t called back yet! One would think that after they spend all that money and all your time, and theirs, that they would at least call and say thanks but no thanks!

A Taste of Honey and a VW

It was the early 60’s and we were off to New Haven for a visit to our friends Diane and Jerry. We had our baby son on board, and were off in our new 1963 VW bug. It had many of the extras available, like vinyl seats and a radio.


Jerry had grown up in new Haven and had gone to Yale, and was working on going to U Conn law school. All of this has no bearing on the story.

Jerry told me Bobby Scott, the very talented performer and song writer, the creator of “A Taste of Honey”, played in a local New Haven bar all the time. It sort of was like his place to be. We decided to go see him one afternoon, and leaving wives and baby together, we went off to the bar.

From The Encyclopedia of Popular Music:


29 January 1937, New York City, New York, USA, d. 5 November 1990, New York City, New York, USA.


Scott was a pianist, singer, composer, arranger, teacher and record producer. He also played several other instruments such as cello, bass, vibraphone, accordion and clarinet, but was mainly known for his jazz piano work and vocals.


Despite his early classical training, Scott turned to jazz in his teens, and played with small bands led by the likes of Louis Prima, Tony Scott and Gene Krupa, with whom he cut some sides for Verve Records. From 1954, he recorded under his own name for labels such as Bethlehem, Savoy, Atlantic and ABC, and in 1956 had a US Top 20 hit with ‘Chain Gang’, written by Sol Quasha and Hank Yakus (not the Sam Cooke song). In 1960, Scott wrote the title theme for Shelagh Delaney’s play A Taste Of Honey, which became popular for pianist Martin Denny and, when Ric Marlow added a lyric, for Tony Bennett. It was also included on the Beatles’ first UK album. The song won a Grammy in 1962, and three more when Herb Alpert took it into the US Top 10 in 1965.


In the early 60s Scott was the musical director for Dick Haymes for a time, and, as a pianist, arranger and record producer for Mercury Records, also maintained a close working relationship with Quincy Jones. Scott played piano on most of Jones’ Mercury albums, and accompanied Tania Vega and John Lee Hooker on Jones’ soundtrack music for the film The Color Purple (1986). As a producer, Scott supervised sessions for important artists such as Aretha Franklin, Marvin Gaye, Bobby Darin, Harry Belafonte and Sarah Vaughan. He discovered and recorded guitarist/vocalist Perry Miller, who changed his name to Jesse Colin Young, and he is also credited with taking singer Bobby Hebb back to Mercury, although Scott left the label before Hebb released his biggest hit, ‘Sunny’, in 1966. Scott’s compositions included ‘He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother’ (lyrics by Bob Russell), a hit for Neil Diamond (in 1970) and for the Hollies a year earlier and again in 1988, when it featured impressively in a UK television commercial for Miller Lite Lager; ‘Where Are You Going?’ (with Danny Meehan), sung by Joe Butler in the film Joe (1970); and ‘Slaves (Don’t You Know My Name?)’, performed by Dionne Warwick in the movie Slaves (1969).


Scott also composed incidental music for the play Dinny And The Witches, and several pieces for harp and string trios, including ‘The Giacometti Variations’, so-called because it was part-used as a radio advertisement for the Giacometti Exhibition held at the New York Museum of Modern Art. His compositions for guitar included ‘Solitude Book’ and ‘The Book Of Hours’, the latter recorded with Brazilian guitarist Carlos Barbosa-Lima. For Sentimental Reasons displayed Scott simply as an accomplished pianist, who also sang. He died of lung cancer in the year of its release.


Incredibly, Bobby Scott was at the piano in fine voice, and ran through some great jazz numbers. The patrons could care less in this little Italian neighborhood bar, and argued over the ball game as we listened to the music. They had great food, grinders and pasta etc.

After a few beers we left to go back to the apartment and I was parked on the street. We got into the car, I looked out of my left side mirror and saw nothing. I went forward. The oncoming car was in my blind spot (that’s very close) and when I pulled out he hit his brakes as hard as he could and he swerved. His car turned sideways and slid forward, missing me and missing everything. He stopped way down the street as I hit the gas, did a U turn, and got the hell out of there. I was shaking (as I am sure was the other driver) but I wasn’t going to stay to get yelled at and maybe even see the police. Drinking and driving don’t mix well and I didn’t need to explain all this to anyone. As well, no was hurt in any way and there was, thank God, no accident. Due to quick reflexes on the part of the other, unnamed driver, my family and I are all here today.

I thought later on about this, and have at least once a year thereafter, how different everything would have been if I was off by a second or two. My wife would have been a 19 year old widow, my son would have not have had a father, my other sons and daughters would never have been.

Here's the Hollies with A Taste of Honey:

The Interview #3

And then there was the time I was interviewed for a job as Dean of Fine Arts at a large University. I was treated very well and spent some time in the interview process.


Unbeknownst to me, one of my sessional faculty members was at the University at the same time interviewing for an arts job.

One of my “stories’, given as an answer to one of the never ending questions asked by the search committee, was not believed to be true. I know this is amazing, but perhaps someone didn’t believe me. I find that hard to believe, but my stories do get a bit fanciful, albeit true. However, with this faculty member on campus already, they decided to break all protocol and ask him about the validity of my story. He corroborated it, and told me so I had the information.

In the end, I was not hired. The Vice President Academic called me, I am happy to report, and apologized to me about my not being hired. This stands out in my mind, as apologies are not usually offered.

It seemed that in the end, the committee was in favor of my candidacy but the President of the University overruled the committee, in order to hire an internal candidate. Everyone would have been better off if in the beginning, if we all understood the rules.

The Interview #2

I was never quite prepared for interviews. I dressed up pretty good, but it was always those questions, which I was aware were coming, that threw me. I realized as I thought about it this morning, what the problem was. I took to the group questions just like I was on Hollywood Squares, and I was the secret square! Or perhaps I saw myself as Paul Lynde. Paul Lynde said, “Comedy is exaggerated realism. It can be stretched to the almost ludicrous, but it must always be believable.”


I was always ready with an answer, but after the comedy routine, they often wanted a “real answer”. To the always asked Management Style question, I usually answered “by Devine inspiration” or I admitted to being a “benign despot”.

I will admit I should have prepared an answer but it was always a bit too much time between interviews when I was looking for work, and I would forget the idea.

The 50 most asked questions in a job interview (from the net) are:

1. Tell me about yourself:

2. Why did you leave your last job?

3. What experience do you have in this field?

4. Do you consider yourself successful?

5. What do co-workers say about you?

6. What do you know about this organization?

7. What have you done to improve your knowledge in the last year?

8. Are you applying for other jobs?

9. Why do you want to work for this organization?

10. Do you know anyone who works for us?

11. What kind of salary do you need?

12. Are you a team player?

13. How long would you expect to work for us if hired?

14. Have you ever had to fire anyone? How did you feel about that?

15. What is your philosophy towards work?

16. If you had enough money to retire right now, would you?

17. Have you ever been asked to leave a position?

18. Explain how you would be an asset to this organization

19. Why should we hire you?

20. Tell me about a suggestion you have made

21. What irritates you about co-workers?

22. What is your greatest strength?

23. Tell me about your dream job.

24. Why do you think you would do well at this job?

25. What are you looking for in a job?

26. What kind of person would you refuse to work with?

27. What is more important to you: the money or the work?

28. What would your previous supervisor say your strongest point is?

29. Tell me about a problem you had with a supervisor

30. What has disappointed you about a job?

31. Tell me about your ability to work under pressure.

32. Do your skills match this job or another job more closely?

33. What motivates you to do your best on the job?

34. Are you willing to work overtime? Nights? Weekends?

35. How would you know you were successful on this job?

36. Would you be willing to relocate if required?

37. Are you willing to put the interests of the organization ahead of your own?

38. Describe your management style.

39. What have you learned from mistakes on the job?

40. Do you have any blind spots?

41. If you were hiring a person for this job, what would you look for?

42. Do you think you are overqualified for this position?

43. How do you propose to compensate for your lack of experience?

44. What qualities do you look for in a boss?

45. Tell me about a time when you helped resolve a dispute between others.

46. What position do you prefer on a team working on a project?

47. Describe your work ethic.

48. What has been your biggest professional disappointment?

49. Tell me about the most fun you have had on the job.

50. Do you have any questions for me?

I had one interview somewhere in the mid west, where the head hunter apologized about my interview position being right after lunch, I didn’t even know why. She explained that people get sleepy after lunch, I just hadn’t thought about it.

I had flown in from Calgary in the middle of the night, and I was one of many people they had brought in to meet with the whole search committee. After my interview, I was brought back to the motel, packed my bag and was on my way. I’m not sure if I even had a meal in any facility except an airport.

The interview itself, a series of questions from the "50 question bible" above, included the Board Chair in the front row. That’s right; there were so many interviewers that we had rows! My personal goal at this interview was to keep the Board Chair awake. I did not achieve that goal and never got the job, I think, as I’m still waiting for a call back.

I have many of these less than perfect experiences interviewing, and I cherish the experience as much as any other part of the process. You can read about my rich and wonderful experience interviewing in Cleveland if you look at the August, 2009 posts.

I will try and remember a few more over the next few days.

No, I am not looking for a job right now, I’m just enjoying thinking about it.

The Interview

Set in the late 60’s to early 70’s, the interview was arranged. The candidate for the position (college teaching) was to come to Baltimore by train from New York, early, so the interview could take place in the early afternoon. The candidate had no time to eat breakfast, and I gather by the time he arrived in Baltimore, and made his way to the school, he was ready to go into the interview. There was no real cafeteria at the time, so the candidate, nervous and hungry, ran into the school, found his way into the candy machine area and bougconsumed four candy bars for ”breakfast”.

He arrived well sugared!

The Dean had invited the Department Chairman to sit it on the interview, of course, and all was to commence.

The Department Chairman was a bit of a gnome, a good teacher but truly a strange and annoying kind of person. The interview started, and the Dean was there to make sure the Chairman acted “normal” and all would be smooth sailing. Then, the secretary appeared at the door and the Dean had an emergency to handle. He had to excuse himself for a few minutes, as he alone was needed to stem whatever tide was brewing.

He returned just a few minutes later to find the candidate rushing past him,. The door to his office open and the Chairman was lying on the floor, holding his nose with a handkerchief while blood spilled forth.

The Dean told me, many years later, “I was just gone a few minutes!”

Happy Hour and Creepy Stuff

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:


“Happy Hour is a marketing term for a period of time in which a restaurant or bar offers discounts on alcoholic drinks, such as beer, wine, and cocktails. Typically, it is in the late afternoon Monday through Thursday, usually taking place at some period between 4 PM and 7 PM. This promotion is intended to boost business on what may otherwise be a slow day. In most cases the "happy hour" lasts longer than a single hour.


The term Happy Hour also is commonly used to describe the gathering of work colleagues at a restaurant or bar after work hours, possibly outside the period of 4 PM and 7 PM.


The specifics usually differ from country to country. In some European countries like the Netherlands, the price of an alcoholic drink is regulated and selling them at half price is prohibited. During happy hour, a customer gets double the amount of drinks instead. In Italy, a customer often pays the same price or even more for the drink but is offered free finger foods. In the United States it typically entails finger foods and discounted drinks.


Happy Hour can also be referred to as the period prior to dinner, where appetizers and drinks are served at ones home.


The term originated in the United States Navy. In the 1920s, “Happy Hour” was slang for a scheduled entertainment period on board a ship during which boxing and wrestling bouts took place, this was a valuable opportunity for sailors to let off the steam accumulated during the long periods at sea.


The idea of drinking before dinner has its roots in the Prohibition era. When the 18th Amendment and the Volstead Act were passed banning alcohol consumption, citizens would host “cocktail hours”, also known as “happy hours”, at a speakeasy (an illegal drinking establishment) before eating at restaurants where alcohol could not be served. Cocktail lounges continued the trend of drinking before dinner. "Happy hour" entered civilian use around 1960, especially after a Saturday Evening Post article on military life in 1959.


The push against drunk driving and alcohol abuse has curtailed the use of the happy hour to some extent.


In the 1980s, bars started providing free hors d'oeuvres to patrons in order to reduce the rate of absorption of alcohol into the bloodstream, in an attempt to lower blood alcohol content.


In 1984, the U.S. Military abolished happy hours at military base clubs. Massachusetts was one of the first U.S. States to implement a state-wide ban on Happy Hours in 1984.


The Canadian province of Alberta created restrictions to Happy Hours that took effect in August 2008. All such promotions must end at 8 pm, and drink prices must conform to the Alberta Gaming and Liquor Commission's minimum price regulations at all times


In Ontario, while establishments may vary liquor prices as long as they stay above the minimum prices set by the Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario, they are not permitted to advertise these prices "in a manner that may promote immoderate consumption." In particular, the phrase "Happy Hour" may not be used in such advertisement.”

In the 80’s in Michigan, we sure had Happy Hours. The little place down the street from work went as far as 3 for 1 drinks! This was a amazing number and all gathered swore they were small or watered down, which probably makes sense for the owner. Three one ounce drinks end up the same as two 1 ½ ounce drinks, with a bit more use of glasses, ice and mixers. Many a night I left there after way too many drinks and drove home.

Sometimes they included a bit of finger foods as well.

I remember going out the Detroit airport about that time to go to the bar in the hotel, which had a free taco bar for their Happy Hour. I was there with one of our Board members so I don’t think free tacos was our main purpose for being at the airport, but the free food is what I remember, no surprise there. We had some drinks and some tacos, and I excused myself to go to the men’s room and there it was!

I had never used, or probably never knew the term pedophile at that time, so it was not what came directly to mind. This was many years before the JonBenét Ramsey case and I never had heard of participation in child beauty pageants. Having had three sons, nothing like that had ever come up. And yet, as I walked back from the hotel bathroom, I ran into a well dressed friend of mine accompanied by two small girls, about five or six years old wearing what can only be described as ball gowns, with intense hair and make up. I was stunned!

I knew something was very wrong!

This was unnatural, it was weird and I was immediately concerned. It must have showed on my face. My friend, a perfectly normal guy, quickly understood my concern. He explained the situation to me as he had been hired to be the judge in the” Little Miss Michigan” or maybe it was the” Little Miss Detroit" pageant. They were interviewing candidates and he was escorting some kids to the washroom. He knew it was weird, and I understood his predicament.

No, he was not a pedophile.

No, he had nothing to do later on with JonBenét Ramsey.

It was just clear to me that this event was some kind of unnatural act!

OK, the devil made me do this one:

The Tomato Plants

On New Years 1978, I moved to Detroit. While my house in Baltimore was for sale, my new job had started. I moved into the Art Center Apartments, next to the school, on a month to month lease. Years later, we purchased that building for student housing, but at the time it was an old midtown apartment building which was probably quite luxurious in its day. As a single resident, my family staying in Baltimore until our house was sold, I needed very little.
There were built in shelves for clothing inside a very large walk in closet. There were built in book shelves between the living room and the dining room. My friends in Ann Arbor had loaned me a large folding bed and helped me build a night stand. I borrowed a table and four chairs from our school cafeteria, just next door to the building.

I brought with me a few items including a small, black and white TV, a small vacuum and some pots and pans. I needed nothing to continue life as pretty normal.

In the spring of that year, we sold the Baltimore house and found a house in Birmingham. Everything was set for a move in at the end of the summer when the current owners of the Birmingham house found one they wanted to buy and had to leave their house. We struck a deal, and I would rent the Birmingham house for two or three months until our sale was completed, and at that point we completed the purchase, sometime in August. So, I left the Art Center Apartments at the end of May, after five months, and moved to the new house.

I moved in all my current borrowed furnishings, but lost the built-ins etc., and was living sparsely, in a much larger situation. I had a lot of space and had inherited a pool table and player piano, too big and heavy to move out of the house. Also, I had a swimming pool, which I needed to learn to maintain anyway. So while I had little, I had recreation galore.

My family did eventually move in late in the fall, but I was alone for the summer.

Late in the season, I was in the Dammen's hardware store in Birmingham, and they were closing out remaining plant stock. In the plants there was a flat of tomato plants way past their prime. The flat was $2, and I figured, as an old “sort of” gardener, I could get one or two of them to grow and I might get a tomato or two out of it. I would be so proud! Alone, in my suburban house, I could produce a tomato!

I planted 40 of the 42 plants available to me as two were beyond saving. I carefully watered and weeded and lo and behold, they all flourished!

That was the fall I learned to make tomato sauce!



Potato, Potato, Tomato, Tomato Let's Call the Whole Thing Off (I just had to do it!)

Smoke gets in your eyes

It was a long time ago that I heard this story.
I was in Baltimore, and the story was relayed to me by a School Principal who I used to be close to. He told me because of my Art Education background.

It seems one of the young teachers he knew was the art teacher in one of the junior high schools. This teacher was not part of my program, was not a student teacher under my direction and had nothing to do with me so that I take no responsibility for this event. I did know her at that time, but that is only guilt by association.

You may have experienced smoke drawing. You could take a candle and hold a paper just above the flame, and if you were a careful manipulator you could get a smoke drawing. You would have to be very adept at this to get any kind of an image, but one was possible.

You could also, very carefully draw with an accelerant such as turpentine or varsol and light it with a match, and very quickly blow it out and get a burned image into the paper. This would work better than the candle but was much more likely to catch on fire. However, if you were nuts and in an experimental mood, that would work.

The young junior high school art teacher knew about these methods and decided that this would work well for her classes. Not carefully thinking out the possibilities, she knew that the fire and smoke would captivate a teen aged audience.

She went shopping and purchased 30 squeeze bottles, the kind we usually see for catsup and mustard. She carefully poured some gasoline into each of the bottles and distributed the bottles, along with a piece of paper, to each child. She had them work on a drawing, which she would light herself so as not to create a hazard. Failing to recognize the hazard of gasoline fumes because after all, she opened some windows, she lit the first drawing so the kids could see.

The school was forced to rebuild one wing of the building after it was burned to the ground.

However, no children were hurt in the making of this very real story.

Adult Education

Starting in about 1964, I began to teach Adult Education, an evening program designed for adults with special interests including auto mechanics, cooking sewing and art. This seems to be gone now. I just tried to see if it still existed, but our world has changed and at least for Howard County, Maryland, there seems to be no such programming.

Adult Education was basically a hobbyist escape, I think, and was a great deal of fun for me as the teacher and seemingly for my class, and most of the others with which I was familiar. Even later my father-in-law, himself a long standing adult ed participant (auto repair) in the Baltimore City Schools, became a teacher when he retired to Florida. He was teaching Lucite Design in one of the Dade County, Florida High Schools late in the evening.

I taught Oil Painting on Tuesday evenings from 7:00 until 9:30 (I think). The fee was $1 for the entire course and I was paid (I have no memory of the amount but it was worth driving back to the area after dinner to do it). The only requirement I had was to collect the dollar on the first night and register the people, turn in the money and the registrations, keep attendance and turn in the attendance report at the end of each month. You had to maintain a certain number to continue the class. I think it required about 10 or 12 to start and you had to maintain an average of 7 to keep teaching.

The people were fun, and we were in the art room in Howard High School. We had desk tops that leaned back so they sort of turned into easels. The regular teacher, Morris Green, was a friend and I tried to make sure we didn’t mess up the place.

My job was to give out a materials list, look over the materials everyone had to start with and get them started on projects. Given the set up of the room, it was pretty much each person working separately on their own projects. It was basically a night out for everyone in the room. They also got to use paints probably gotten for Christmas, and not worry about messing up their living rooms.

We talked about painting grounds, varnishes and mediums, and all the painting terminology long since forgotten by me. I had people of all ages and backgrounds, and even a few married couples every term or two.

I usually had enough to start the class and was able to keep it going most of the months.

It was not exciting for me, as I was tired at the end of the day. It was not exciting for the students as they were tired at the end of the day. But, we all were motivated enough to keep going at it and a few stars came out of the group. All in all we had a good, educational time. I believe I kept it going for four years before I finally had to turn in my brushes.

The incident that stands out in my mind as the funny point and the low point simultaneously in this experience was a small, but memorable question.

A woman, painting a small (9’X12”) canvas board picture of a fall scene, was copying it from a small, standard travel postcard. It was a “Somewhere in Pennsylvania” card with trees filling the landscape. She had her sharpened pencil poised over the postcard as she was doing this painting. She pointed to a spot on a medium sized tree and using a small magnifying glass to see it said, “See that leaf, how do you make that color?” My best guess was at that time the leaf in question, if one could discern it from the mob, was less than 1/32” square.

The funniest part, given my need for the extra job and my general enjoyment of Tuesday nights, was to answer the question seriously, which I did. She mixed the color for the leaf I couldn’t possibly see, even with the eyesight of a 22 year old teacher, with my help and thanked me for the answer, whatever it was.

If that didn’t get me off of teaching, I was sure nothing ever would.

Rena's Cookbook revisited

Two years go or so I posted the blog, "Rena’s Cookbook".



Many of you have found this artifact, and I have added the few “foodie” pieces from Arthursdays to sort of update the site, which was complete when I put it in the first time.


I decided to repeat the link to the site because I’ve added new readers as time goes on and they may never have looked into the back postings. It was done as a labor of love, as is this whole site.


It becomes clear to me that I do this for me. It is making me the writer I never dreamed I was, and as my audience maintains or grows (I know not which), I want to bring back some of the past “hits”.


I don’t know who reads this one except when I’m told. There are a few I can count on, some old friends and some old relatives, and an assortment of others. I am always surprised when I hear from some of you, usually by email or sometimes by phone or Facebook, that you’ve been reading something I’ve written and thought it was funny, or moving or even stupid.


My wife, who you may remember does not approve of all this, tells me it’s creepy!


My second son told me two women in his office in Chicago read it from time to time. I will not tell stories about him in here, at least not using his name. I’m sure some already exist.


In my mind its fun, and a great way to be creative for a continuing audience. Since there is no money involved in this, it has to be for the love. So, here is the start of the old post.

When my mother passed away at the beginning of November, 1997, we were left with the task of cleaning out her apartment. In that effort, we almost lost my mother's recipe box. It is a 50's printed red metal box that almost slipped out of our grasp and into the trash.


My mother was not known for her cooking, and often made fun of her own dishes. We used to joke about her cooking. For many years, as you know, we all lived together in the same house on Walcott Avenue, my Mother, my Father and my Grandparents. “Bubbe" did most of the cooking, especially at holiday time. But with her passing in 1967, and my Father's in 1970, my mother became the cook for herself and her father until his passing in 1976. After that, living alone, we often spoke of cooking, new ideas, and new ways to prepare old dishes. Most of these recipes reflect another time, where canned foods were the basis of food preparation, not today's lighter, fresher ingredients.


Many of the recipes stuffed into the box were from friends and relatives, some noted as such with names attached and others anonymous. Many came from Jell-O boxes, product inserts and newspapers. I have copied all the ones that were hand written and Xeroxed, and have not included the printed ones because you can get your own Jell-O box.


This is an amazing collection. Some of my personal favorites are not included, because she already knew how to fry chicken, or make our favorite family veal chops. These recipes must have been things she didn't make regularly so she needed a recipe. These are not a legacy as such, but a glimpse into a time, long forgotten. Holiday foods, special meals and even an alcoholic drink (from my Aunt Hilda) are included. I hope this all brings back warm memories for you as it does for me.


Enjoy!

Please click on link below


www.renascookbook.blogspot.com

Max goes to the dentist

Max needed dental care. If you regularly read this blog, you know Max is our Cairn Terrier, and the ruler of the roost. This was preventive surgery, as nothing was wrong but with some gum recession, it could go wrong. Rather then wait for the problem to happen, we went for it, of course.

We love (and better still Max loves) the vet. We hope everyone has that kind of a relationship with their vet, and we trust him completely. Therefore, if he says we need it, we need it. Still, I ask you to review this bill. I know it’s all highly specialized and I couldn’t do it but I would never have ventured a guess at this one! My dentist, who I know could not and would not do it, would simply charge less to do this for me.

Years ago, a vet friend of mine rented his operating facility to a friend with a heart surgeon friend, to operate on this guy’s dog. He had agreed to do the dog’s needed heart surgery for free, so all he needed was the proper place as the hospital wouldn’t let him operate on a dog.

The place rented, they proceeded with the operation one evening with the vet’s cautionary tales about this being a big dog (a great dane as I remember) and not a human. The dog died on the table, of course.

All this being said, you can see the bill here. Did I need the money, of course? Did I have a better place for the money, no? Max comes first always, but still, $650.62 to remove two teeth from a small dog, my God!

I am sure the prices are proper, and it all seems fine. My expectations were just different than my reality, but that seems to be my life story, doesn’t it?

A kiss to build a dream on......

Last year I started a post on Social Kissing with the following:



I have quite a time with social kissing


Now I like kissing as much as the next guy (just not kissing the next guy) but sometimes it’s a tough call. Do or don’t I?


Do I go in for the kiss or hold my ground? What about violating social space? What about business kissing, a new sport?


It used to be you kissed your Aunts or maybe your cousins and that was it! OK, sometimes your parents, like at graduation or something


But your friends?


Your business acquaintances?


Other guys?


OK, I exaggerate, maybe, but friends at dinner parties? I kiss the ladies, but what about new people? I seem to meet them going in and kiss them going out.


Just a word about air kisses. What is that? A cheek kiss gone awry?


What about the possibility of the wandering tongue? Is such a thing possible? Will it happen? And then, what is your response?


I will admit to having it happen only once, it was my birthday and I was kissed and there was tongue movement. What to do? Truthfully I had trouble sleeping. It was a Friday night and I had to see her again on Monday morning.


You probably know this was a long time ago, as if it were now, I would not be writing it in a blog for everyone to see. No, I was not married when this happened, but still, it was social kissing.


If you are reading this post and are now intent on slipping me the tongue the next time you see me, please remember that I will need some warning as it may be over stimulating for my heart!

I attended a alumni function (this is another 80’s part) and as I was circulating around the room, I was stopped by a woman who was the “girlfriend” of a guy I knew pretty well. She said, “Arthur, will you kiss me?” I was startled, but she was serious. I smiled and said something like sure, and went in for the kiss. When we connected, I realized she was serious! I wasn’t sure how cool I could be, as we were in a room full of people and they could all see. It lasted a bit, and we disconnected. She smiled and said something like, “Pretty good”, and I had a strange look on my face, as I didn’t understand her comment. She said,” Beth (fictitious name used to protect me and the woman) said you were just an amazing kisser, and I wanted to see for myself”.

I was dumbfounded!

I didn’t know this was a test! (I might have tried harder.)

I tried to remember when and where Beth had gotten this information, and lo and behold a memory came drifting back into my addle brained head; I had an encounter with Beth.

It was the year before, and we were somewhere, out of town I believe, and I was in a hotel lobby when Beth appeared. She may have asked me to go upstairs, (I know I didn’t), but there was this goodbye kiss! It was foggy in my mind, as I had been drinking and I’m sure she had been to. I forgot it by the morning and she had clearly carried it with her, at least until she could pass on this important information.

Did I pass the test? I’ll never know. I never saw the young lady again, and I never kissed Beth again.

The truth is out there.