DR. HERMANN LEMP

I have three very intelligent daughter's that I love very much. They are about the same height and fair of complexion. That's where the similarities end. They each have diverse life styles and outlooks on life.
How ever, it is plain to see that some where in their genes,they were blessed with intellect and an insatiable craving for caffeine. They say that characteristics in hereditary some times skip a few generations. So I'm thinking some of their psyche and caffeine fixes, can be tied directly to their great great grandfather. antiqbook.com/boox/cum/36393.shtml
He was an electrical engineer and an inventor with hundreds of patents to his credit. I can boast that he was a genius because it is true. All you have to do is google, Hermann Lemp and you will find reams of historical information about him. I can also can verify the fact, that somewhere between the time I was born and the time I entered the first grade I lost my second n. Right there is proof positive, that his genes skipped my generation.
So though my great grandfather is famed for his development of generators, alternators and diesel engines. I think he had a caffeine addiction similar to my girls. Hence his invention of what was called a controlling device. (see picture to the right) Which at the time was the first electrically controlled timer, So that you could smell the coffee perking,when the alarm clock rudely started your day.
In my great grandfathers day coffee had silly little nick names like java, Joe or a cup of mud. And the only embellishment was cream and sugar. Not only was it inexpensive, but the servers were proud to boast that their establishment served bottom less cups. But in this day and age, it seems as though the more outlandish the name, the steeper the price. So with names that would give an orthographer a headache. Cockamamie concoctions, that would make a soda jerk proud, my daughters proudly imbibe and extol the virtue of a variety of lattes. So if Hermann was around these parts today he would probably be sitting around with the girls, sipping on an exorbitantly priced cup of coffee. Commiserating with them, the fact that if their father wasn't so miserly, he could be having a delightful cup of Joe with them.
However that is their father's curse. I just cannot enjoy trendy things at inflated prices. You have all heard over the years all the old adages about doing stupid things. Like jumping off of a bridge etc. So my excuse is I am not going with the flow, because I am trying to be circumspect. And also somewhere in the Lemp genes there must have been a tight wad of epic proportions.And his genes are predominate in me.
I don't want you to think I am slighting Joe, I will get to him on another day.
Getting back to my missing n. It's still there on my birth certificate. I always thought that it was my fault that it was missing on everything else. I really struggled my first two years of school, For traumatic reasons, that I touched on in previous blogs. So when I over heard my first grade teacher tell another teacher, that she had a few pupils, who could not spell their names. I some how figured that I was the culprit in the case of the missing n. But know I think that who ever enrolled me into that school, must be responsible for that dastardly deed.
The teachers were very stern and rigid in their approach back then. So if I misspelled my name I am sure I would have had too print it correctly on the blackboard it least one hundred times.
I remember the same first grade teacher forcing my brother Noel, a natural southpaw to write right handed. This went on for weeks, he just could not do it. He was belittled and made fun of.
The school systems of today may be to lax. But it least they are aware, that every shy or retiring student, may have more problems,than stupidity.

In the past week I have been in a funk.I don't know how to describe it, but two or three times a year I get into a malaise that lasts about two weeks.When I get like this,every thing seems to be a little off center. Kind of like the Elvis song "didja ever" when nothing goes right from morning until night. Every thing seems like a major chore and depressing.So I have to constantly give my self dope slaps, tell my self to stop feeling sorry for my self. All I have to do is look around and see friends and associates really going through trying times. And realize that my problems are minor. My sixth grade teacher once said to me, what you need young man is a kick in the pants to fly right. So when I look around and see what other people are going through. I have to say what my teacher told me back in the fifties ,still applies.
This brings me to a subject that goes against all the principles I give credence to. That being, by talking about things,you can jinx them. Now I know,that saying "knock on wood" is nonsense. I know that baseball players, talking about a no-hitter is nonsense. I don't believe in life after death, ghosts or any other super natural occurrence. But I truly believe that by verbalising you can jinx something. Now I know this does not fit into my over all out look on things. So I am just going to chalk it up to our expanding use of the airwaves. What can be done with computers, phones and gadgets,was unheard of fifty years ago. So maybe fifty years from now telepathy will be an excepted way of communication. Scary if you think about it. A man could probably get arrested for lewdness, just watching a woman walk by.
I know my main problem is that I hate where I live. And having to recertify every year, with all the bureaucratic bullshit that goes with it. Is enough to sour any one's disposition. So I am going to go by the old saying "always expect the unexpected" and hopefully find a new abode before 2010 is over.

Fantasy

I know you probably think I'm dreaming about Jennifer Aniston again. Or maybe about finding a rich old maid. But no, I am not thinking about Jennifer today. And in reality, if I did find a rich old maid who would show any interest in me, I am sure she would look like two ton Tony Galento.
No I am talking about how much fantasy baseball, politics and the stock market have in common. The more I get involved in these pursuits, the more I realize that the tortoise of racing fame had the right idea about handling adversity. His modus operandi, go slow and keep your cool. Is advisable if you practice any of these three persuasions.
Before I get into my take on their similarity, I want to tell you about the Massholes and the Roosters of Sunsport's, Nolan Ryan league. About fifteen years ago I enrolled my son Joey into this league. At that time he was far and away the youngest player in the league and his team which I dubbed the Roosters finished dead last for the next two or three years. Well Joey hated the name of his team. And he thought he was getting to old and too cool to be called Joey. So he changed the name of his team. And demanded that every one call him Joe. So with the new names and two or three years of experience under his belt. He went on to dominate the league for the next decade.
I still think that anybody who has every seen a bantam rooster strut around a farm yard. Would agree that a bantam would make a great sports logo. Joe is no longer in the league, he has grown up and gone on to more worldly things. I am still in the league. My team the Massholes, so appropriately named by my daughter Diana, is still a yearly contender at sunsportsamerica.com, buts it's just not the same with out Joey!
So like the tortoise I've learned that in fantasy baseball I need to be conservative. To stick with the proven veterans and keep the rookies on the bench. I could not estimate the number of times a phenom has blinded me. The same goes with the market and politics, stick with the blue chips and things will more than likely have a lot more stability to them. The market and politics are in my mind the two places where temporary insanity is the rule,not the exception. Any place where rumors and greed rule, is a good place to avoid.
So my advice is avoid financiers and politicians who promise change. If we did not run off chasing fads and rainbows. We might have a sound economy, Kerry Healey and Hillary Clinton.
So like the Tortoise, go straight, calm and slow and avoid all detours

Journey back home

As hard as it is for me to believe, my high school graduation class will hold it's fiftieth anniversary this coming August.
As much as it would be out of character for me to attend. I am actually entertaining thoughts of making a cameo appearance. I base this uncharacteristic thought on a couple of things. The first is the relating of my childhood experiences has seemed to mellow me some what. The second is just curiosity, for I have not seen any of my old class mates in years.
Now I have always been the type of person who avoided camera's and mirrors. The reason being I was always disappointed when I got to view my image. The reason for this of course was a lack of self confidence. On the other hand, the majority of my class mates would fall all over them selves when ever they saw a camera. And few could resist the opportunity to preen in front of a mirror.Of course all the preening and camera mugging was just an attempt to fit in.
As far as academics went, I was a mediocre student at best. So fitting nicely with my inferiority complex ,was the feeling that the majority of my classmates were a hell of a lot smarter than I. However over the years I have learned first hand that good study habits and common sense, very rarely go hand and hand. Some of the most educated people I know are as dumb as a door knob.
Marring money, winning the lottery or inheriting, does not make you successful. Just very fortunate. So it will be interesting to see how many are still pretenders, and how many have accepted their lot.
I really doubt that the majority of people were any different then I was. Peer pressure and all that goes with it makes the high school years a sweet and sour proposition.
So when push comes to shove, I will again be a no show. So many times over the years I have vowed I would attend functions, visit with family or be more social in general. With the end result being, I end up alone, feeling as though I was missing something. But that's me, and try as I may it's just my nature.
As nostalgic as I get, I hate to go back to my old haunts. I am a person who hates change. I would much rather remember the small town atmosphire of my youth. Today those areas just seem like extensions of Boston.

Reluctant Sox watcher

Today's blog is going to be about baseball a combination of sentimentalism and sarcastic raving.

I, like all kids of my era, was addicted to America's game. Playgrounds and sandlots were busy places. In those days you would have to be there early, or risk not getting into the game. This of course was also true for football, hockey and basketball. But baseball was favored. I think the main reason it was so popular was, that unlike other sports, size was not a factor. Plus the fact that pro baseball was heads and shoulders ahead of all other sports. I would say that next in line was boxing followed by pro hockey and college football.
I had a morning paper route (It was expected that paper would be on stoop by 6 a,m,) that introduced me to my life long love affair with box scores. In those days Boston had eight daily newspapers (yes I remember the names of them all). Most games were played in the afternoon and where ever you went you heard the familiar voice of Curt Gowdy calling the game on WHDH radio.And of course Ilene Hennessy saying "Hi neighbor have a gansett".
Every spring,Henry Meyers who was the druggist and owner of the Ryal side drug store would ask the local kids for their predictions for that year's American league pennant race. He would then write the picks on the wall in back of the comic book rack. He would spend the rest of the season needling us about our picks. We had of course all picked the Red Sox, because as everyone knows all ten year old kids are optimists.
My first memories of Fenway park, came from the generosity of the Beverly Mass. recreation department. Every summer they would herd all of the playground kids on to buses and take us to a major league baseball game. Always an extremely hot day, and the competition was always one of the league doormats. But to a baseball junky it was utopia!.
I had many Fenway park experiences when I was young. And I am not going to bore you with a long narrative about them.
But as an example of how times have changed. I want to tell you about opening day April 11, 1969. It was a very cold drizzling, windy day. Four or five First National buddies and I had been talking about attending for weeks. So when the day dawned cold,wet and ugly it did not slow us down one bit. I remember Johnny O'Connell and Buster Goodrich being with me.But for the life of me,I cannot remember who the other guys were.
But the point I started out to make was the announced crowd of 10,277. I feel safe to say that was an inflated figure. In this day and age, there is that many people hanging around outside of the ball park. All hoping to buy a ticket from a scalper. The Sox lost to Kansas city,and I froze my butt off. Little did I know the serenity of Fenway park and all of pro sports,would in the next couple of years dive head first into the toilet!
I still get all out of sorts, if I some how miss my daily box score fix. But as far as everything else about baseball and all pro sports goes, I have became extremely jaded. Again I place the blame on the media. But in fairness to them,we are a society that would follow the pied piper into the ocean.
I will admit that I was a fan of the first sports talk shows.Guy Mainella, Clif and Claf and Eddie Andelman. The formats were humorous, enlightening and brief. Now I refuse to even consider watching or listening to any of the garbage that is aired to day. ESPN is with out a doubt the biggest piece of dog shit on the airways today.Not only do they deal in deceitful rumors. They some how manage to hire one sex deviant after another. If Chris Berman and his ilk are a disgrace nationally, then locally WEEI and the big fat blowhards led by Glen Ordway are a close second. They bring buffoonery and ignorance to a new level.
The way major league baseball and Fox broadcasting handle the world series is a complete joke. Not only are they saying tough shit!, to the people in the northeast who have to work for a living. They are practically eliminating the kids from their audience all together. What they should do is start the games an hour or so later. I hear a lot of people on the west coast are upset because the games are starting when they are usually having happy hour. Why not, they don't care that the kids they are eliminating with late starts, won't give two squats about baseball, when they are old enough to buy all the cars and beer they are shilling.
So the old Red Sox jingle which I use to croak to Lisa and Becky "I'm a Sox watcher" still holds true. It's just does not feel the same anymore.
Trivia Question
Which athlete played for three different Boston pro sports teams?

There is a sucker born every minute!

In February I wrote a blog about Mr. Schadenfreude. In that blog I told you how he was doing all he could to block the residents of Great Meadow Village, from using a donated shed as a designated smoking area. He had the support of some lower level bureaucrats, and all the bluster and threats that they could muster. So after a lengthy moratorium the daring residents decided on the bold course of civil anarchy. They began using the shed for it's intended purpose. They are now puffing to their hearts content. Once again proving that lower level bureaucrats are usually all bark and no bite. When they found out that the aged rebels from Great Meadow Village were taking a stand. They did what all low level bureaucrats do.That is to stick to the old stand by. Which is of course is, do nothing. And the upper level officials did not want to get involved. Simply because there was no money to be diverted.
So I decided I would go ahead, finish, and install the flower boxes that I made last spring. This being my way of being a good neighbor,while avoiding becoming a member of the tenants organization.
So as soon as the last violent nor'easter started to peter out I appealed to the smoking clique to give me a hand, panting and installing the boxes. My goal was to have them up and planted in time for Easter weekend. After all they were the one's who originally asked me if I could some how magically install four flower boxes for them, at no cost to themselves .
Now I could call them lazy bastards. But you know how I feel about motherhood .So as not to insult their mother's, I will just call them blowhards. They sit around all day expertly expounding on all subjects. They are so knowledgeable it's amazing that they are not all millionaires.
However it's a horse of a different color when you ask them to actually do something. Here is a few of their excuses. "I'm allergic to latex"-- "I'm blind in one eye"-"I've got an ingrown sex organ"- "I'm over weight". No shit Dick Tracy, you and all the rest of the blowhards.
Well with the help of Dale Brinkley, the tenant's maintenance man. I beat my dead line. The boxes are hung on the shed and planted with Pansy's. In June I will pull out the Pansy's and put in Supertunias.
So now I have a whole growing season to maintain these boxes. All The while the kibitzers will tell me that I'm doing it all wrong. And I will be wondering if P.T. Barnum was referring to me!