Let Us Now Praise Famous ...

Like millions of other Americans you’ve probably asked yourself from time to time, “Why hasn’t greater recognition been paid to the great ukulele players of the past?” If so, you’ll be happy to learn about the “Ukulele Hall of Fame” which is “dedicated to the preservation of ukulele history,” a topic that has long been neglected by traditional historians. The UHOF was founded in 1996; among the inductees are Ernest Kaai, Manuel Nunes, Roy Smeck, and May Singhi Breen. You’re probably thinking, “Haven’t these famous musicians already been honored in many other ways?” The surprising answer is, no, and that’s just one of the many reasons the Ukulele Hall of Fame is so important to this country. We need organizations such as this one so our young people can learn more about these real life heroes and role models and “just say no” to the scandal and shame surrounding much of popular music today. But let the Ukulele Hall of Fame tell its own story. Do yourself and your family a favor by visiting the site today at:
http://ukulele.org/

Young People Today

I couldn't resist posting this from the old Monty Python Show:

FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye, very passable, that, very passable bit of risotto.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Nothing like a good glass of Château de Chasselas, eh, Josiah?
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
You're right there, Obadiah.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Who'd have thought thirty year ago we'd all be sittin' here drinking Château de Chasselas, eh?
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
In them days we was glad to have the price of a cup o' tea.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
A cup o' cold tea.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Without milk or sugar.
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Or tea.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
In a cracked cup, an' all.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Oh, we never had a cup. We used to have to drink out of a rolled up newspaper.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
The best we could manage was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
But you know, we were happy in those days, though we were poor.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Because we were poor. My old Dad used to say to me, "Money doesn't buy you happiness, son".
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye, 'e was right.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye, 'e was.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
I was happier then and I had nothin'. We used to live in this tiny old house with great big holes in the roof.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
House! You were lucky to live in a house! We used to live in one room, all twenty-six of us, no furniture, 'alf the floor was missing, and we were all 'uddled together in one corner for fear of falling.
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Eh, you were lucky to have a room! We used to have to live in t' corridor!
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Oh, we used to dream of livin' in a corridor! Would ha' been a palace to us. We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish tip. We got woke up every morning by having a load of rotting fish dumped all over us! House? Huh.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Well, when I say 'house' it was only a hole in the ground covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, but it was a house to us.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
We were evicted from our 'ole in the ground; we 'ad to go and live in a lake.
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
You were lucky to have a lake! There were a hundred and fifty of us living in t' shoebox in t' middle o' road.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
Cardboard box?
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Aye.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
You were lucky. We lived for three months in a paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean the paper bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down t' mill, fourteen hours a day, week-in week-out, for sixpence a week, and when we got home our Dad would thrash us to sleep wi' his belt.
SECOND YORKSHIREMAN:
Luxury. We used to have to get out of the lake at six o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of 'ot gravel, work twenty hour day at mill for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would thrash us to sleep with a broken bottle, if we were lucky!
THIRD YORKSHIREMAN:
Well, of course, we had it tough. We used to 'ave to get up out of shoebox at twelve o'clock at night and lick road clean wit' tongue. We had two bits of cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at mill for sixpence every four years, and when we got home our Dad would slice us in two wit' bread knife.
FOURTH YORKSHIREMAN:
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of sulphuric acid, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad and our mother would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah.
FIRST YORKSHIREMAN:
And you try and tell the young people of today that ..... they won't believe you.
ALL:
They won't!

I can't understand it--he's never eaten anyone before

I am not a “dog person.” I recognize, though, that there are plenty of people who are and I don’t begrudge them their affection. In fact, I’m willing to admit that I’m probably missing out on something by not being able to bond better with my canine buddies. What I don’t understand, though, is why someone would deliberately buy a breed of dog that seems genetically disposed to kill people. I have heard the arguments -- it’s the owner’s fault; it’s mostly mixed breed pit bulls that attack; any dog can be made vicious, etc. etc. But why is it that stories about dogs attacking and seriously injuring and even killing people nearly always involve some kind of Pit Bull Terrier or Rottweiler? Even if “all of the evidence is not yet in,” why would someone take a chance on these breeds? Aren’t there enough peaceful doggy varieties out there that are just as faithful, watchful, cuddly, loyal and fun? Can these beasts do something special (other than fight to the death) that makes them somehow attractive? What goes through the mind of the buyer? Here’s one answer: “I may be a real loser in your eyes. I’ve really screwed up my life, and I don’t have much control over what happens to me but I do have control over this dog--this great big, tough, mean looking dog who’s very gentle but who, at my command, could tear your throat out and then eat you for lunch.” Beyond that obvious folly, what’s the bloody point?

Some Thoughts on "Five Easy Pieces"

Five Easy Pieces
I’ve never seen the complete movie, “Five Easy Pieces,” only the scene in the restaurant that seems to be replayed ad nauseum on TV. I’m almost sure you’ve seen it too. The Jack Nicholson character sits down with three friends in a booth and tries to order an item not on the menu but obviously easy to make. The waitress reminds him, coldly and indifferently, there are no substitutions allowed at which point Nicholson sarcastically tells her how to fill his order without breaking any rules. When she questions him further he looses his temper, says something obscene and sweeps everything off the table. It is the obvious intention of the filmmaker to show the Nicholson character as the everyman striking out against the unreasonable, uncompromising, and uncaring rules of our modern world, etc. etc. In fact, when this scene is replayed, the commentator usually sets it up in exactly this context--we’re supposed to be on Jack’s side here. Instead, I feel sorry for the waitress. Sure she’s surly and rude; I wouldn’t want her for my waitress. On the other hand you’ve got Jack Nicholson acting like a complete jackass and displaying the self-control of a two year old. I don’t think I want this anti-hero to speak for me. Which is worse: a society where unfriendly waitresses and bureaucrats invoke silly rules to avoid complications or a society that applauds temper tantrums as legitimate and justifiable methods of promoting dignity and self-worth?