Not particularly ranty

So here’s 100 words about the  peculiar and comfortable feeling of simply not having 100 words I need to say. My friends were telling me about their grandchild, who is a year old and has a vocabulary consisting mostly of "Mama," "Dada," and "Please." Which is nearly enough. By the time we’re two we find out about "No," and then we go on saying it over and over for the rest of our lives. It’s odd that it takes us only a year or so to learn how to talk, and then so many decades to learn to shut up.

Now I'm off to boil my icicle.

I need to apologize for what you are about to read, both a dumb pun and shameless spoonerism. We were talking about Stephen Hawking, who has lived with ALS for about a half century with both cerebral and reproductive apparatus fully functional. Along with his other achievements, he has inspired all those movies with that brainy geek in a wheelchair who from his basement can break into the Pentagon's top-secret files with a Commodore 64 and a 300-baud modem. But what about the poor guy who lacks this intellectual acuity and fertility? What ails this sterile dullard? Neuter Moron Disease.

It's bleeding demised.

It's just sad sometimes when the old band gets back together for one more show, maybe to pay off some mortgages or help a grandchild through grad school. Various original members are dead or too demented to perform. The ones who do show up have to review recordings of the old material to relearn it. Really, it's like seeing a tribute band composed of retirees. Especially since, like infants, old people tend to look alike. Is that really Mick Jagger, or just Don Knotts in a Beatle wig? Of course, at a certain age Funny Walks are pretty much spontaneous.

So, a mixed reception.

The High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program (HAARP) is shutting down. In case you are neither a communications researcher nor a tinfoil hatted nutcase; HAARP employed an antenna array in Alaska to bounce radio waves off of the upper atmosphere. This to either gather basic knowledge to facilitate improved global communication or to achieve other, darker, aims. We have been warned that these antennae can cause floods, droughts, hurricanes, thunderstorms, earthquakes, power outages, and chronic fatigue. And potentially a sudden reversal of the Earth's magnetic poles, which could cause all the crayon drawings to fly violently from your refrigerator door.

His image

The other day I drove past a billboard with a picture of Jesus Christ on it. Nice looking fellow, sort of glowing. And what I thought was, boy, this guy must have really kind of stood out in first century Jerusalem. It makes you wonder why Judas would have to go through the whole kissing thing, instead of just saying, “He's the tall fair gangly blue-eyed goy.” Of course, maybe Judas just liked smooching blondes. Also, I wonder if a lot of people ever walked up to Jesus and told Him how much He looked like a young Gregg Allman.

It comes down to nose hair, really.

If you turn 21 this year, first off I want to say don't blame me. It was already mostly like this when I got here. Now. They're calling you the digital generation, masters of 21^st century technology. But seriously, that's like calling a Victorian gentleman a Master of Steam Power because he knew how to buy a railway ticket. Actually, the railroads are one candidate for most transformative innovation ever. Others include the backstrap loom, movable type, artificial fertilizer, antibiotics... Me, I say it's scissors. A decent pair of scissors makes the difference between a civilized human and a savage.

Let's namecheck Hoyt Curtin here.

“Cottontail,” “Lester Leaps In,” “Salt Peanuts” are all written on top of the harmonic structure of “I Got Rhythm.” So is the Flintstones theme, and about a schmillion more. “Scrapple from the Apple” is the changes to “Honeysuckle Rose,” “Donna Lee” is “Indiana.” But wait. In 1928, Sigmund Romburg composed the operetta The New Moon which included the song “Softly, As in a Morning Sunrise.” In 1954, jazz guitarist Johnny Smith wrote a new tune on those changes. In 1960, some pickers in Tacoma cut a twangy version: The Ventures' “Walk, Don't Run,” courtesy of Siegmund Rosenberg from Kanizsa, Hungary.