Congratulations – You May Already Be A Weiner

Tags

baseball, can of corn, Catbird seat, National Pastime

No more calls.  The response to the “Can of Corn” riddle has been underwhelming.  I’ll give the straight and short answer.

When used in a baseball sense a ” Can of Corn” refers to a pop up that goes straight up and straight down making the catch an easy one for the fielder.

Where does it come from?  How did the phrase originate?  Here’s what I think I know and I think I’m on base ( heh, heh, ahem) with the answer.

In my youth and in the days before there was supermarket every few miles the public was served by a host of Mom and Pop corner grocery stores.  We had one in our neighborhood known as ” Harry’s Deli.”

When I was a kid I would often be sent on a mission armed with a note from my Mom and a few bucks to buy whatever was needed.  I would trudge the two blocks to Harry’s, hand him the note and return home with whatever my Mother had specified in the note.

In those days with these small stores the shelves sometimes went clear up to the ceiling meaning a normal person couldn’t reach the top shelf without a ladder or a device that I don’t think really has a name.

It’s similar to one of those hand held litter picker up devices except the grocery store variety was about six feet long.  If you wanted a top shelf item you took the device and opened the grabber at the top by squeezing the handles at the bottom.  Seems ingenious – no?  But as with all great minds and inventions a slight shift occurred over time.

One could also get an item, say a can of corn, from the top shelf by just flicking the top of the grabber at the can gently knocking it off the shelf where it would fall straight down like an up and down pop up or like a Can of Corn.  It’s trajectory was  true.  But it had to be a one handed catch as your other hand was still holding the grabber.

In a future issue we’ll examine the phrase ” Sittin’ in the Catbird Seat.”

In the meantime, as the 2014 Major League regular season winds down I think it’s always fun to examine the wonderful language of the National Pastime because as you know ” Words is My Business.”  Especially Baseball.

Congratulations !

 

 

 

The Baseball Radio

Tags

am radio, baseball, can of corn, front porch, imagination, on deck circle

For almost as long as I can remember I have spent summer evenings on my front porch listening to baseball games on the radio.  The radio makes it’s appearance sometime in May and provides play by play until the evenings get too chilly and dark to sit outside listening to the National Pastime.

Due to my geographic location the only team I can follow on the air is the Philadelphia Phillies.  If you know the game you know that this season has been a long and slow painful slog.  Similar to the fortunes of my first love baseball team – those New York Mets.

I’ve had plants swiped from the porch but the radio seems to hold no value to the thieves.  It holds value for me.

Baseball was made for radio just as it seems football was made for tv.  I can see a ball hit in the gap and I can clearly imagine a close play at the plate.  If you love baseball tell me you can’t see a 4 – 6 -3 double play.  The double play – a pitchers’s best friend.

Baseball’s unique terms, a little nubber in front of the plate, dying quail, frozen rope, Uncle Charlie, cheese in the kitchen, right in his wheelhouse.  How can you not use your imagination?

I’m borrowing this line and it’s true – Baseball is the only game you can see on the radio.

Listening to a radio broadcast may be a passive exercise on face value but “upon further review” as the say in the NFL it’s really not.

Now matter how old I get the sound of the crack of the bat on a tinny little am radio speaker always take me back to when summer lasted forever and ever.

I brought the radio in this afternoon.  The Phillies aren’t going anywhere this year except home.  It’s 7:30 pm and darkness has already taken hold.

Speaking of baseball’s wonderful lexicon – Can anyone tell me what the baseball expression ” Can of Corn ” means?  Extra credit if you ever actually witnessed a real     ” Can of Corn.”

I’ll be over here waiting in on deck circle.  I love this game.

Seasons and The Circle Game

Tags

Fall, Jackson Browne, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, seasons, Spring, summer, Tom Rush, Winter

I’m sitting at the kitchen table this morning eating my bowl of generic Cheerios aka known as Oat-O’s around here.  I look out the window at the dogwood tree that forms much of the view.

The leaves are no longer green.  I see shades of red, orange, maybe purple with a little brown and yellow mixed in.  Then it hits me.  It’s Fall.  Never mind the calendar.

The trees have no qualms about accepting the change of seasons.  It’s time and they just do what they have always done.  Accept things as they are and move on.

What is it about us or maybe just me that wants to squeeze the last little bit of Summer out of Summer?

Fall is a transitional season.  It’s always in motion getting cooler every day.  Same with Spring except in reverse.  Summer lays in for a good long haul and Winter does it’s job of letting nature rest.

The answer to last week’s puzzler was of course Joni Mitchell who wrote ” Urge For Going.”  I first heard it on an album by one Mr. Tom Rush titled ” The Circle Game.”

Tom also covered tunes on that record by some other up and coming songwriters named Jackson Browne and James Taylor.  I wonder how they turned out?

Yeah, I’d like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so.

It will be Fall on Tuesday.  Have a great weekend.

Sometimes it’s best to have No Regrets.

 

 

 

I Guess It’s Gettin’ To Be About That Time

Tags

autumn, Fall, Marathons, New England

Leaves on the trees are no longer bright and shiny.  They have taken on a dull hue.  The lawn has stopped thriving and growing.  All I get now are small spiky and ratty looking patches that still need to be mowed.  When I do haul out the mower I push my way through brown leaves and grass.

The tomato plants are long past dead. The sunflowers are being picked over by  squirrels and finches who don’t have the sense to head south while there is still time.

Had one volunteer pumpkin grow out of the compost pile.  It’s done now too.

The sun has lost it’s Sunday punch.  It gets weaker every day.  It’s dark by 8pm anymore.  Nights are getting too cool for the house plants that have lived on the front porch all summer.  Time to bring those babies back to the living room and the kitchen.

Just like squirrels scurrying to stock up for the winter I see runners trying to bank miles in anticipation of their upcoming marathons.  The 18 and 20 mile runs are coming up.

Folded up the awnings, rolled away the porch shades and found an extra blanket because I still sleep with the windows open.  I don’t plan to give up summer without a fight.

Thinking about a road trip to New England where my mind always wanders when September starts to melt away and slides towards October.

I get the urge for goin’ but I never seem to go.

Extra credit – who originally wrote that line and who had a minor hit covering that tune?

Well, it was cult following hit but nonetheless if you are a New Englander it should have been part of your musical upbringing.

And keep your eyes on your own paper.

 

Perusin’ the Obits

Tags

Larry, newspapers, obituaries, Philadelphia Marathon, The Three Stooges

I read my local newspaper every day. I am part of a dying breed – I get the paper delivered seven days a week to my front door.  Can I get a show of hands?  How many still get the paper delivered?  I thought so.

I live in a relatively smaller city where the paper is a thread that runs through all of our local lives.  But like most newspapers it’s wheezing and struggling to hang on to it’s once prominent place as the final arbiter of good taste, political endorsements and what really constitutes news.

My son had a carrier route for the afternoon version while he was in elementary school.  Great money for a kid and the Christmas tips were pretty ok.  The Sunday deliveries were a family chore that I dreaded but we managed through dark winter mornings, snow, rain and cold.  Sort of like the US Postal Service.  Eventually high school and after school activities (cross country and track) took him out of the paper delivery game.  I was his substitute carrier.  It was a pretty nice gig walking the neighborhood, chatting with neighbors and saying hello to the friendly dogs on the route.

The afternoon paper finally gave up the ghost and had it’s own obituary.

Both kids read the paper before they left for school.  I think it gave them a sense of what was going on in the world and their town.  They both still have a strong sense of being tuned in to current events.  My daughter now gets the Boston Globe delivered to her i pad or whatever mobile device she’s currently using.

I know this is a long way to go to get the title.  Thanks for being patient.  Here it is.

I read the obits every day just as I read the editorials, the local news, and sports.  Sometimes in reading the obituaries I’ll come across a the name of a person I know. Small town.  Their whole lives are captured in two or three paragraphs along with a small picture.

The obits can be a wake up call especially when the deceased has left us long before his or her time should have been up.  When a person passes at the age of 97 or so I like to think that they have led a long, happy and productive life.  I know that’s not always the case but I’d like to think that was so.  It’s tough to read of a life that ends way too early due to something like cancer.  Obituaries for kids are difficult.

One gentleman was a veteran of WWII, Korea and Vietnam. A woman was a nurse in WWII and rose to the rank of Major before she retired.  One guy was a farmer for 60 years.  On and on.  Just like life and death.

The obituaries summarize your life in a few lines.  You don’t have a say in what the obit says (unless you write it yourself).  A family member tries to recall what was important to you, the good things you accomplished and how they think you would like to be remembered.

The other day this one appeared which triggered this post.  In summary:

He was 75 years old (way too young in my opinion), liked NASCAR, followed the Philadelphia Flyers and was a fan of The Three Stooges.

Yeah, the Three Stooges.  Nice going to whoever added that to their loved one’s obit.

For my friends who are running the Philadelphia Marathon in November there is a building somewhere in the South Street area along the route where a mural featuring a picture of Larry Fine of Moe, Larry and Curly fame.  Look for it, I think it will be on your left.

And be sure to tip your newspaper carrier.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somebody Else’s Grocery List

Tags

shopping carts

I swear this is true.  You think I make this stuff up?  I’m not that smart.  Read on…

I went to my local supermarket over the weekend.  I grabbed a shopping cart from the corral in the parking lot where people who are too lazy to return their carts to the store dump them.  I know one of the cart collecting guys and so I always wheel a cart into the store from 100 yards away trying to reverse the trend of abandoning shopping carts in the nether reaches of the lot.  It’s my little contribution for working people everywhere.  It doesn’t seem to make any difference.  I’ve seen people return carts to the corral even though they are parked closer to the store than they are to the corral.

My Mom insisted that we return carts to the store. Her exact words were   “What, are your legs broken?”  Funny what stays with you.  I always return the carts.

The cart I randomly chose and cut from the herd had a yellow sticky note on the handle with the previous shopper’s grocery list.  Written in pencil it read thusly with the following punctuation and capitalization.

Parchment paper, Bay leaves, Triscuit- thin crackers original – plain ( blue on box), fresh oregano.

Was this list for a designated shopper or for the author of the list him or herself?  We’ll never know.  Seems like it was intended for a party of sorts.  That was the extent of the list.  That’s all he or she wrote.

At the very least the shopper could have checked out easily at the 15 items or less aisle. I tend not to use that lane since there is no candy to tempt me for an overpriced impulse purchase.  And no gossip rags to peruse as I fork over my cash.  What are those Kadooshian, Kadulian, Kalashnikoff girls up to this week?

I thought about purchasing the items on the note but decided to load up on peanut butter cups.  You never know when your legs might be broken and you won’t be able to get to the store or return your cart.

 

I Was So Much Older Then…

Tags

age, friends, getting older, younger

Depending on your age you might be able to figure out where I’m going with this post from the title.  This is a real convergence of the age, space and time continuum.

I have a buddy who I’ve known since we were in our twenties which is a long time ago in calendar years but not such a long time in my brain years.   He is appearing in local production of ” Death of a Salesman.”  I am assuming that you are familiar with the plot and the story of the play so I’ll put away my English teacher hat.

The startling fact is not that he’s acting or that he’s in that particular play.  The kicker is that he’s playing the lead.  He’s Willy Loman.

Here is a friend who is a few years younger than me playing the iconic worn out, down on his luck, washed up old man.  Wait a minute.  How did this happen?

The thing about acting and being an actor is that you can’t play certain roles unless you are about the right age (except for the 30 year olds playing teenagers on Glee).

One of my contemporaries is now the right age to play old men.  That means that I…

There are several versions of this song available.  I chose this one because of the performers age and really, where ya gonna find a better band?

I’m younger than that now – I hope.

 

My Sad Running Notebook

Tags

Levon Helm, notebook, Ophelia, Running

This is not a post by that guy who wrote a sappy and very marketable novel that was made into a movie and probably made him a gazillionaire in the process.  No, my sad notebook is my running log and it’s in a bad way.

The last running entry was on August 5th – 4.3 miles.  No time recorded, no weather notes, no reaction to the run.  Just the facts m’am.  That was the last day I ran before Lefty got hauled in for a scheduled arthroscopic overhaul.  One month ago.

The notebook lives in a bookcase near my bed.  Throughout my convalescence I have often looked over at it and thumbed back through my recent and not so recent running history.

February 2, 2014, Groundhog Day.  3.6 miles, 37:22. Warm sun, cool air, ground covered with patches of snow.

Monday, September 30, 2013.  Nine miles – felt strong all the way.

11/29/09 – 60 degrees, 6.2 miles.  Enjoyed working up a sweat.

10/4/08 – Half Marathon in 2:06.  Felt good, great pace – had alot left at the end.

And on and on.  The notebook itself is not one of those fancy store bought official  running logs.  It’s a spiral notebook I fished out of the trash after my daughter left for college a couple of years ago.

It still has her notes about ee cummings, Hamlet, Gertrude and Ophelia.  I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it was from English class.

During this month of neglect as a running chronicle it has morphed into a place for me to make to do lists,( paint the porch ceiling), a packing list for next weekend’s camping and guitar/folk music trip, supermarket shopping lists and sketchy drafts for the blog  The notebook is sad.  But we’re about to turn that frown upside down.

I see a return to the roads in my immediate future once Lefty gets a clean bill of health.  Lefty, for all you latecomers is my left knee. Stay tuned, Righty wants to get back to work.

Ophelia – now there’s is a name that you don’t really see much in current rotation.  EXCEPT in this great performance by the late, great Levon Helm.  He was 69 years old when this was recorded.

Note the standard drum kit, no flashing lights, no pyro, no smoke, no fog, no elevators, nothing but great musicians and great music.  The good stuff holds it own.  The good stuff holds up.  How about that Levon smile?

Still many blank pages in the sad running notebook.  Plenty of time and lots of miles left to run to fill in the empty spaces.  Let’s turn those miles into smiles.

Ugh, I can’t believe I just wrote that, saved it and then hit publish.  Maybe there is a major motion picture in my future.  I hope so.  I hear a gazillion dollars goes a long way these days.

 

 

A Leap of Faith

Tags

bluegrass, faith, Guitars, picnic

Went to an old time, dyed in the wool, honest to goodness Fiddlers’ Picnic on Labor Day.  Bluegrass bands on the main stage.  Bluegrass jam sessions in the grove under the trees.  Live music everywhere.

Musicians literally from 5 years old to over 90 playing, singing and carrying on.  I think that we tend to think that music is a recent invention and that it belongs to the young.  Not so fast.  It was a cross generational melting pot in progress.  But to the point of the title.

The gathering was spread out over a large area.  I parked my guitar case by a pavilion and strolled  through the jams looking for one that was not in the key of G.  It’s bluegrass, it’s always in G.

At some point my case is out of my sight.  I know it’s back there somewhere and I know, I just know that it will be there when I get back.  No one will have rifled through it or swiped the loose change that for some reason lives in the case.

Where else can you leave something in a public place surrounded by people and expect to find that item exactly where you left it?

Sometimes it’s good to take that leap.

 

A Travesty

The answer to the title reference for the post ” Questions 67 and 68″ is, of course, that great band formerly known as The Chicago Transit Authority and now known simply as  Chicago.

How this band is not in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is beyond me.  It’s a travesty, it’s a mockery, it’s…

This band has been around since 1967 which was a very good year. ( Obscure musical reference #1).  How did Kiss, The Sex Pistols and ABBA get into the hall before Chicago?  Even Chubby Checker doesn’t make the cut.  Hall, Schmall.

The hall is a travesty of a mockery…see above.

I’ve worked the band several times.  Sometimes in my job I can’t believe that I get paid to listen to such great music.  And sometimes not but that’s another story.

This song always makes me smile (Obscure reference #2) and transports me to where and when I first heard it.  For the record, New Haven, Connecticut, on a warm spring day in 1971.  That’s the beauty and the power of music.  The ability to freeze time.

At least that’s when I think it was.  That’s pretty close.  It really doesn’t matter anyhow.

Every song has a story, where you were when you first heard it, who you were with and what it meant to you at the time.

Beginning at around 2:30 turn up the volume.  Higher, keep going, more, up to annoy the neighbors loud. Your laptop speakers can’t handle it. This song needs to be played  through a proper set of speakers.

Hall, schmall.