Obit Vault

It's the last day of the year. A chance to add one more posting to my count for the year, making the total 106, a tie with last year's total.

Anyone who reads the tribute obits in the NYT knows that the obit editor, William McDonald, will write a year-end recap of the lives that were lived and passed away in 2023. It's always a neatly worded elegy, picking out the highlights of the well known, and not so well known who have passed away. Would you remember the name of Joe the Plumber if not for a NYT obit? Bill reminds us.

This year's recap picks up the theme of the very long lives of some of the notables who passed away. Many are over 100; a lot between 90 and 100.

Interesting in Bill's piece, he uses an out quote from one of his former obit writers Margalit Fox. She's the only obit writer quoted in his piece. Margalit was the closest writer to the now long departed, but always missed, Robert McG. Thomas Jr. She could capture in a lede an entire life.

Margalit has left the paper to write books, but I know the obit writers on slow days are given ne assignment of updating advance obits that are in the "morgue," or starting new advance obits on the famous who might be near the grave. You know President Jimmy Carter's obit keeps getting updated, but has yet to makes its way out of the morgue as he will, and all of us, eventually head into it.

In one of my October Vermont visits I would always stop by the Northshire bookstore in Manchester and buy a Warren Kimble calendar for the coming new year. When I presented the calendar to the cashier, the older owner of the bookstore, I asked, "how high do the numbers go?" As I'm now found of saying: How bad can the year have been if you're alive at the end of it?

He didn't immediately understand the question, but then took in the calendar's year, maybe 2016, and understood. I'm more than a little surprised that I've made this far into the 21st century, being born just before the half century mark of the 20th. 

And anyone who reads NYT obits as regularly as myself knows that when a Robert McFadden obit appears the subject will probably be a nonagenarian, or older. McFadden himself is a Pulitzer winning reporter whose ledes are pure poetry.

I think he's still active with the paper, being somewhere in his 70s. Anything by McFadden is a delight to read, and Bill's recap for 2023 made me ask: "how many McFadden obits are in the vault waiting to rise to a day's edition?"

Even when eventually Mr. McFadden passes away here might still be a few left in the vault. When the subject passes away after the obit writer, Marilyn Johnson who wrote the valentine to obits, "The Dead  Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries," would tell us these are called "double downs" by the pros.

When this happens, the editor usually adds a note to the obit that so-and-so passed away before the subject, lest someone start to think the writer has risen from the dead.

Obit writers might pass away, but they never leave us.

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Oh Boy

When watching any of the British police procedurals that I'm so found of—being a BritBox subscriber—I always keep a pad of paper and pen handy to write down their acronyms and expressions that I don't initially recognize. After all, we share a common language separated by an ocean.

DAC-Deputy Assistant Commissioner
ANPR-Automated Number Plate Recognition
NCS- National Crime Squad
NFA- No Further Action
PCSO-Police Community Support Officer
FLO-Family Liaison Officer
ASBO-Anti Social Behavior Order

There's more, but that's just what I've looked up in the past few weeks.

There's a miniseries called River about a very senior detective John River, played to perfection by the Swedish actor Stellen Skarsgård, who witnessed his partner, Detective Sergeant Jackie Stevenson played by Nicola Walker, get shot down and killed in the middle of the street by a passing motorist.

'Unforgotten' is another cop show starring Nicola Walker where she meets her end in the last episode. Who's her agent? The difference in 'River' is that we learn of her death through a flashback in the first episode. D.I. John River however keeps seeing her and talking to her throughout the six episodes. He sees other people who he converses with, leaving colleagues and bystanders giving him a wide berth.

Of course John gets referred for counseling since he's witnessed a traumatic event. Rosa the therapist asks if he sees ghosts. "No, I see manifestations" replies River. Okay. Nicola Walker keeps appearing thought out the series as they work to find who killed her and why.

It's obvious there's a simmering unblossomed affection between John and his deceased partner. He sees and hears other people and talks to them, notably, Thomas Cream, the notorious Poisoner of Lambeth, a late 19th-century Canadian-Scottish doctor who was a serially poisoner, about whom John is reading. John sees and hears Cream trying to convince John that living isn't worth it.

But it is his murdered partner Detective Sergeant Jackie Stevenson, "Stevie", whose manifestations River encounters the most.

It's a sensitive series about a troubled, lonely detective and a mystery as to who killed Stevie. Once you get past the manifestations as a plot device the series is enjoyable.

At one point Stevie's "ghost" teases John that he's part of that tribe of window lickers. He grins a bit at being made of. But what's a window licker? It's got to be one of those British phrases that didn't cross the Atlantic. Or, if it did, I wasn't familiar with it.

I offer Google's definition:

Noun. Window licker (plural window lickers) (British slang, offensive) A mentally handicapped person.

And what is the origin of the phrase?

Derogatory term for a mentally handicapped person. Derives from the stereotype of handicapped children on a school bus licking the windows.

River is a new series, not renewed past the first season. Wow, the British Woke police let that one slip by.

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Helping Sherlock Holmes and Watson

One more playful use of ChatGPT. As much as I've always enjoyed the BBC Masterpiece Mystery offerings of Agatha Christi's Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple, Sherlock Holes in where my heart is. I bought the collection of stories of Conan Doyle's detective in 1962 when I was 13 years old. I read all the novels and the stories, and saw all the movies and TV shows that showed off the detective's skills.

So, it was only natural that I asked ChatGPT what would Sherlock make of my collection of accent marks and symbols.

Query

What fictional message does Sherlock Holmes decode from words containing one or more instances of the use of these symbols or characters: ¾, á, ó, ™, ¼, É, °. â, ê, à, ö, §, ô, ½, ¢, £, é, –, è, ã, †, —

ChapGPT:

Subject: The Unveiling of the Cryptic Narrative My Esteemed Watson, In the intricate tapestry of linguistic symbols, I have successfully decoded a concealed message ingeniously encrypted within words adorned with a variety of intriguing characters. Allow me to present the essence of my analytical deductions: "¾" - A fractional revelation, exposing only a fraction of the concealed truth. "á" - An acute accent, underscoring the importance of a pivotal detail. "ó" - The character signifies the revelation of a key element, casting light upon the mysteries of the unknown. "™" - A trademark symbol, indicative of authenticity and a unique identity within the disclosed information. "¼" - Another fraction emerges, reinforcing the notion of a partial disclosure. "É" - A capitalized letter, standing tall among lowercase counterparts, emphasizing the gravity of the disclosed detail. "°" - The degree symbol suggests a turning point or a directional shift within the narrative. "â" - The circumflex accent introduces a rise in tension or significance within the deciphered message. "ê" - The caret symbol emphasizes a critical detail, guiding attention to a specific point of interest. "à" - The French accent adds an air of sophistication and elegance to the unfolding mystery. "ö" - The umlaut signals a modification or emphasis on a particular facet. "§" - The symbol of authority hints at a legal or regulatory dimension within the decoded text. "ô" - The circumflex accent returns, suggesting a twist or an unexpected turn in the narrative. "½" - Half the truth emerges, a fractional revelation within the encoded words. "¢" - The cent symbol implies a valuable clue or piece of information within the deciphered message. "£" - The pound sterling suggests a monetary aspect, adding weight to the unfolding mystery. "é" (first occurrence) - An acute accent, underscoring the importance of a revealed detail. "—" (first occurrence) - An em dash introduces a pause or break, creating a moment of reflection in the narrative. "è" - An accent grave introduces a subtle nuance, enriching the complexity of the unfolding narrative. "ã" - The tilde introduces a wave of complexity or nuance into the unfolding mystery. "†" - The dagger symbolizes sacrifice or marks a critical juncture in the narrative. "—" (second occurrence) - Another em dash suggests a continuation of the paused narrative. Together, these symbols weave a narrative tapestry, gradually exposing the layers of a meticulously crafted cipher. As we continue our investigation, I am confident that the obscured message will fully manifest, revealing the profound depths of this captivating enigma. Yours deductively, Sherlock Holmes Message ChatGPT… ChatGPT can make mistakes. Consider checking important information.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Interesting, in the query an en and em dash are presented. Holmes's response treats them as equal symbols, but offers a variation explanation on their meaning.

Asking the same query again however produces a far different response. The answer has been turned into a story.

ChatGPT

Decoding a message from a set of symbols and characters can be highly subjective and dependent on the context or specific rules applied to the cipher. However, I can certainly create a fictional interpretation for you:

Sherlock Holmes, known for his unparalleled deductive skills, was presented with a mysterious letter containing an assortment of cryptic symbols: ¾, á, ó, ™, ¼, É, °. â, ê, à, ö, §, ô, ½, ¢, £, é, –, è, ã, †, —

Holmes carefully examined the symbols, his keen eyes darting across the page. After a thoughtful pause, he reached for his notebook and began to decode the message.

"Ah, this is a clever play on linguistic elements," he remarked to his ever-curious companion, Dr. John Watson. "Each symbol seems to represent a letter or a phonetic sound. Let's see."

Holmes went to work, deciphering the symbols with a combination of linguistic expertise and deductive reasoning. The final message emerged:

"In the heart of the £orest, where âncient §ecrets ŧhrive, the ¾eystone of Öld will unlo¢k the Éternal Gâte."

Watson was astonished. "Holmes, how did you manage to unravel this intricate code?"

Holmes chuckled. "It's a matter of understanding the patterns, my dear Watson. The forest, ancient secrets, and the Keystone of Old – these are likely clues to a hidden location where something of great importance lies behind an eternal gate."

And so, fueled by the cryptic message, Holmes and Watson embarked on a new adventure, deciphering not only the code but the mysteries that awaited them in the heart of the ancient forest.

Inspector Lestrade would be confused.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

One final query to ChatGPT on identifying the blog (mine) that uses the statement, "We're where we are because of where we've been. Even the road not taken branched off from one that was taken. Everything gets connected somehow. We live on a Möbius strip."

ChatGPT:

Your statement reflects a philosophical perspective on the interconnectedness of events and choices in life. Let's break down the key concepts:

Causality and Connection: "We're where we are because of where we've been." This implies a belief in cause and effect, suggesting that our current circumstances are a result of past actions, decisions, and experiences.

Fate and Choices: "Even the road not taken branched off from one that was taken." This concept echoes the idea that choices and decisions shape our paths. The mention of "the road not taken" suggests the influence of Robert Frost's poem and the significance of choices in determining our journey.

Interconnectedness: "Everything gets connected somehow." This underscores the idea that events, people, and experiences are intricately connected, forming a complex web of relationships and influences.

Möbius Strip Analogy: "We live on a Möbius strip." The Möbius strip is a mathematical object with only one side and one boundary. This could symbolize the interconnected and continuous nature of life, where there's no clear distinction between the beginning and the end, and events loop back on themselves.

Overall, your statement encapsulates a holistic view of life, emphasizing the interwoven nature of our experiences and the idea that every choice, even those not taken, contributes to the tapestry of our existence.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

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Special Characters III

And since I've been watching PBS's series on the life of the great British mystery writer Agatha Chrisite, I've asked ChatGPT what they can do with the special characters as spun into an Agatha story. The output is not very long, and Agatha certainly wouldn't sell many books as short at ChapGPT's take, but it might have served as an outline for creating a longer narrative worthy of Christie's talents.

I asked ChatGPT:

Create a narrative where Agatha Christie explains the murder because of the following accents and symbols she has found at the mansion: ¾, á, ó, ™, ¼, É, °. â, ê, à, ö, §, ô, ½, ¢, £, é, –, —, ê, ã, †.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The air in the opulent drawing room hung heavy with tension as Agatha Christie, the renowned detective, studied the cryptic symbols and accents scattered on the mansion's walls. The grand estate, nestled in the English countryside, had become the backdrop for an intricate murder mystery that seemed to unfold like the pages of one of Christie's own novels. The symbols, a curious blend of diacritical marks, letters, and special characters, formed an enigmatic tapestry. Agatha paced the room, her keen eyes darting from one symbol to another. In her contemplative silence, the guests, still shaken by the recent tragedy, looked to her for answers. "Ah, my dear friends," Agatha finally spoke, her voice calm yet laced with authority. "The solution to this perplexing puzzle lies within the very walls that surround us." She gestured gracefully toward the symbols and began to unravel the mystery, her mind working like the intricate gears of a well-oiled clock. "You see," she explained, "these symbols are not merely random arrangements. They are a coded message, a narrative left for us by the perpetrator." Pointing to the symbols with a gloved hand, Agatha began her deduction. "The accents and characters, each carefully chosen, represent the key players in this unfortunate drama. The ¾ signifies three main suspects, the trio central to our tale. The á, ó, and ™ delineate their distinct roles in this macabre play." As she continued her analysis, the room seemed to hold its breath. The ¼ and É hinted at a clandestine affair, a quarter of the puzzle piecing together a web of deceit. The ° suggested a cold, calculated motive, while the â, ê, and à spoke of hidden emotions and layered complexities. Agatha's gaze lingered on the ö, §, and ô. "Here we have the currency of the crime—wealth, power, and a deadly secret bound by the symbols of financial influence." The ½ revealed a fractured alliance, a betrayal that had shattered the trust among the mansion's inhabitants. "The ¢, £, and é point to a motive rooted in greed and jealousy, and the –, —, and ê signify the timeline of events leading to the unfortunate demise," Agatha elucidated. As she concluded her deductions, Agatha turned to the final symbols, the ã and †. "The ã suggests a concealed truth, an element that eluded the scrutiny of those involved. The †, my dear friends, signifies the ultimate act—the tragic end that was foretold in this cryptic script." The room fell into a hushed silence as Agatha Christie's revelation resonated. The mansion's secrets, laid bare through the detective's astute interpretation, left the guests both awestruck and horrified. In that moment, Agatha had not only solved the mystery but had also crafted a narrative of intrigue and deception worthy of her own celebrated works. ---------------------------------------------------------------------

You gotta love ChatGPT adds quotation marks when Agatha speaks.

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Special Characters II

ChatGPT was asked to tell us what is the meaning of part of the Kryptos message that's on the sculpture in front of he C.I.A. building in Langley, Virginia. Three of the four sections have so far been decoded.

ChatGPT was asked:

EMUFPHZLRFAXYUSDJKZLDKRNSHGNFIVJ

The text "EMUFPHZLRFAXYUSDJKZLDKRNSHGNFIVJ" is a portion of the Kryptos sculpture's encoded message. This specific part has been deciphered, and the decrypted text reads:

"BETWEEN SUBTLE SHADING AND THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT LIES THE NUANCE OF ILLUSION."

This is one of the sections that has been successfully decoded by enthusiasts and codebreakers. Keep in mind that the full message of the Kryptos sculpture has not been entirely decrypted, and it remains a ongoing challenge for those interested in solving it.

I bet ChatGPT cannot read the Daily Racing Form and predict winners. The world still needs me.

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Special Characters

No, these are not people. These are those accent marks and punctuation characters you don't find directly on the keyboard, but can nevertheless get the software to make them appear with a combination of pressing the ALT key and an array of numbers.

I'm never really sure what they add to the pronunciation, but in an effort to reproduce what I see in the  newspaper and other print media, I've started a list of the ones I've so far used in my postings.

I mean, what do the two dots over the word Möbius add to the pronunciation? Or the accent aigu over the e in fiancé as to how we say it? I know there are symbols in the dictionary that are designed to get the mouth and tongue in the correct position to say the word properly, but I'm usually out to sea as to how to interpret them. The pronunciation guide at the bottom of a dictionary's page helps me little.

What started me on this posting is my transcribing the marks as I've looked them up and used them from a very worn out index card to another index card. The original card is worn, and getting hard to read. Thus, what follows is challenge to ChapGPT to create a text that uses at least one instance of a word that needs a special accent mark or symbol. If I attempt this, alert readers will be the first to see the output.

Until then, here we are with my list as compiled so far.
¾
á
ó
™
¼
É
°

I couldn't resist. I plowed ahead and asked ChapGPT to create a narrative using the first 7 of my listed accent marks and symbols. The following is part of what could be part of a screenplay for an Indiana Jones movie. 

----------------------------------------------------------

In a distant land where the sun kissed the desert sands, a mysterious oasis bloomed beneath the watchful gaze of a solitary cactus. The air was filled with the scent of adventure, and the whispers of the wind carried tales of a hidden treasure—a treasure adorned with symbols that held the key to its secrets.

Álvaro, an intrepid explorer with a heart marked by the symbol ¾, embarked on a quest to unravel the mysteries of the oasis. His name, pronounced with the accent mark á, echoed through the vast dunes like a rhythmic drumbeat.

Guided by a weathered map that bore the symbol of ™—a testament to the authenticity of the ancient tales—he journeyed through the scorching sands. The landscape seemed to dance in the heat, mirages playing tricks on the eyes as he ventured closer to the oasis.

At the heart of the oasis, he discovered a hidden cavern, its entrance marked by a symbol of ¼—a fraction that hinted at the secrets concealed within. The air inside was cool, and the sound of dripping water echoed like a mystical melody.

As Álvaro ventured deeper into the cavern, he stumbled upon a chamber bathed in a celestial glow. There, he encountered a majestic artifact, an ornate chest adorned with the symbol É—an accent of elegance that hinted at the treasure's regal nature.

With bated breath, Álvaro opened the chest, revealing a collection of ancient scrolls and artifacts. Among them was a map that led to a fabled city obscured by the shifting sands, marked by the symbol of °—a circle representing the cyclical nature of discovery and renewal.

As Álvaro embarked on the next leg of his journey, he realized that the symbols he encountered were not merely markers on a map but a language woven into the fabric of the desert's tale. Each symbol, whether it be ¾, á, ó, ™, ¼, É, or °, held a story waiting to be unraveled.

The desert, once a barren expanse, now whispered its gratitude to Álvaro as he continued his quest. The symbols, like constellations in the night sky, guided him toward the horizon, where the next chapter of his adventure awaited—a tale written in the language of the desert, told through the symbols that adorned its ancient treasures.

-------------------------------------------------------------

I think ChatGPT is a romantic. I'll continue my list. I'll then give ChatGPT the ultimate challenge to use all of them. Maybe he'll get out of the desert. It will be the following posting. Who knows where ChatGPT will send the seeker of fame and fortune.
â
ê
à
ö
§
é
è
ô
½
¢
—
£
†
ã

Alert readers. Stayed tuned.

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Spoiler Alert

This posting is NOT written using Open AI's ChatGPT, it is about Open AI's ChatGPT, and I wrote all of it.

A.I. is the most talked about technology in quite sometime—Artificial Intelligence. I will admit I've bristled a bit at how artificial is Artificial Intelligence if a human thought of how to make the computer do something. I've been quite skeptical if A.I. is correctly being called A.I.—at least until I read a recent A-Hed piece in the WSJ about a municipality in Brazil that got ChatGPT to write legislation on water meters. ChatGPT stands for: Chat Generalized Pre-trained Transformer.

Legislation on water meters? How dry for something wet. Turns out in Porto Algre, a town in southern Brazil, there was a need to write legislation to make the water company responsible for incurring the cost of replacing stolen water meters, rather than make the homeowners responsible.

You could do a whole story on how it comes to pass that water meters are stolen. Auto parts, tires, catalytic converters, air bags would seem to be a problem, but it seems in Brazil there's a ring of water meter thefts.

Enter the councilman Ramiro Rosário, who was fed up with how long it takes the municipality to create legislation amongst the 37 council members. A six-member team would be assigned to draft the legislation and with so many layers of input and the fact that Brazilians take long coffee breaks and extend holidays that fall on a Thursday into time off until Monday, a simple statement requiring the water company to bear the expense is a monumental piece of legislation. The Brazilian constitution apparently is 64,488 words, so a country that gave us Bossa Nova music is not known for written  legislative brevity. Who knew?

The bill passed, but not because anyone knew it was written by a computer. Ramiro plugged in some key provisions, and violá, out came the bill, even with an unexpected provision that Ramiro didn't think of. The computer added phrasing that makes the water company liable for free service if they haven't re-installed the meters within 30 days! He was impressed, and so am I.

It's too late for The United States to draft a ChatGPT Declaration of Independence. And no need. We're free of British rule, if not British television. And the Constitution?

Well, there I wonder if Thomas Jefferson and the Philadelphia boys would have fought over a document worded by ChatGPT. In Brazil, the other council members were pissed at Ramiro for not telling them ahead of time who the real author was. They passed the bill with no rancor, but accused him of cheating, like to was in college and used ChatGPT for his term papers.

You have to wonder how our Second Amendment would have come out if ChatGPT was around in the late 1700s. "...the right of the people to keep and bear arms..." might have come out a little different, maybe not so broadly based as to apply beyond forming militias to fight the British.

But there can be amendments to our Constitution that could use ChatGPT. I read recently that Congress worked on over 700 pieces of legislation, but only approved 76 bills. That's a lot of verbal treading water.  

And what about the 14th Amendment that Colorado is trying to use to keep Donald Trump from occupying a place on the 2024 Republican primary ballot? The 14th Amendment is worded so that anyone who took place in an insurrection, namely Confederate soldiers, couldn't take office in the federal government. This was meant to punish those who tried to succeed from the Union.

Maybe something a little more pointed would emerge with ChatGPT preventing anyone who stood outside clapping their black-gloved hands exhorting a crowd of demonstrators to charge up Capitol Hill and demand a recount could keep the Donald from appearing on a ballot. Or anyone else for that matter. The possibilities are endless.

Ramiro Rosário is also advocating using ChatGPT for their press releases. "There must be 20-30 people who write press releases—they probably won't be needed in the future, well to be honest, they're already no longer needed." ChatGPT wrote the press release for the water meter bill.

No wonder people are worried for their jobs.

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Flaco, Meet Neil the Seal

Manhattan is not the only place that can claim a wildlife mascot. Theirs of course is the famous Flaco, the orange-eyed Eurasian eagle-owl with the 6' wingspan who escaped from the Central Park zoo in February, and so far shows no interest in going back there. Whatever rodents Flaco can eat are just fine with him.

When I included my Australian X-pal @justjenking with my latest posting on Flaco she responded with amazement that Flaco has his own Wikipedia page. I didn't know that, but I'm not surprised. Flaco is the darling of New York social media and his sightings are newsworthy items.

Jen in Australia enthusiastically told me of the recent NYT story I hadn't yet caught up to of Neil the Seal, a Tasmanian elephant seal who has been showing up in public and private settings in Dunally, a beachfront community not far from the capital Hobart, on the Australian island state.

I'm somewhat confident that even those who can't qualify for Jeopardy might find Australia on a map, but I'm not so sure they could find Tasmania on a map. Aside from its natural beauty and always being associated with the Tasmanian Devil, a marsupial that looks fierce but is supposedly unaggressive, Tasmania is the birthplace of the movie actor Errol Flynn, a bit of a devil himself. "In like Flynn" is an expression attributed to his ease and proclivity of getting and romancing women into the bedroom.

Neil the Seal is not aggressive either, unless you count making himself so comfortable that a woman can't get past him to her car. He is very much the aquatic version of the elephant in the room.

Australians are accustomed to having wildlife get in their way. Snakes, frogs, turtles spiders kangaroos and wallabies have all collided with daily living. Jen has shared photos of snakes and frogs that have considered her home their home.

Through my PBS Masterpiece streaming subscription I've just taken in the first episode of The Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS),, an Australian outback medical corps that tends to the extremely isolated in Western  New South Wales, Australia.

With their twin engine airborne hospital/ambulance they reach those who are many, many miles away from anywhere and would likely die without medical attention.

The first episode revolves around a female surgeon who leaves the U.K. because of a breakup with her surgeon husband and who signs on with the RFMS.

On her arrival she finds herself in the customized hospital plane waiting to land on an Outback airstrip as soon was the ground people make a pass down the runway to chase the kangaroos off. Sully and the Miracle on the Hudson had birds in his engines, but colliding with kangaroos might not prove as fortuitous as Sully's heroics. 

The scene reminds me of reading about the lives in Unakakleet, a Bering Strait community in Alaska that runs its high school track meets on runways until incoming aircraft require them to pick up the hurdles.

The newly hired doctor establishes her chops by performing a craniotomy in an airplane hanger with a sanitized Black and Decker drill bit while getting video instructions from a Zoom feed with a neurologist 600 km. away.

Surgery is a success, and the welcoming party they throw for Dr. Eliza Harrod at the pub on Bingo Drag night finds the single mom headed back to the flight nurse's place for a quick shagging with the hunky  Pete. She's lonely after all, and doesn't know many people, except her teen-age son who's back at the apartment. This is only the first episode and she's already hopped in bed, so it's going to be interesting to see what she gets up to next. (I plan to keep streaming.)

But back to Neil the Seal, who can grow to 16' in length and weigh in at 7,500 pounds. His mother, probably off course, gave birth to him near the town, and since seals like to go back to where they were born, Dunally has a new member.

You have to admire the patience of the townspeople in not screaming for his oily ass to be dragged out to sea. It takes a nature-loving community not to see Neil propped up and gutted on cinder blocks like what would probably happen to him if he wound up on Manhattan's Avenue A, like some automobiles.

Now, Neil makes land near a fish and chip shop in Dunally where he "alternates between a boat ramp and the middle of the road." The nearby shopkeepers worry that if he sits in the road too long he will blend in with the color of the roadway and certainly get killed, but not before causing an accident. They have gotten the police to scare him back into the water with sirens, but he insists home is where his fins were born.

The NYT reporter, Livia Albeck-Ripka, tells us a Sydney-based ecologist, Dr. McMahon, feels it is likely that unless Neil finds some other seal company in the waters he is likely to keep returning. This might be good for tourism.

Flaco the owl of course is nowhere near the size of Neil and doesn't seem to impede humans. The fear is Neil will get too used to humans and will meet an unhappy ending at their hands.

As far as we know, there is no Wikipedia page for Neil the Seal, or a Go Fund Me Page to try and get him out of town to meet more seals.

If @justjenking gets in touch with you, you will know what's it's about.

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It IS A Bird!

Anyone who might be entitled to half fare on New York City transit will remember he opening lines to the T.V. series Superman starring George Reeves in the '50s...'It's a bird, it's a plane..."

But right now, it IS a bird. More specifically, an orange-eyed Eurasian eagle-owl named Flaco with a six foot wingspan that since February somehow got out of his enclosure in the Central Park Zoo and ever since has been making appearances all over Manhattan. He's captured the attention of anyone in Manhattan whose windows might be clean enough to see through. 

He's news. Even The Wall Street Journal just did an A-Hed piece on his sightings, complete with a map of where he's been spotted. He's popping up in more places than Chick-fil-As.

The astounding photo at the top of this posting was made on an X feed from @PBeiboer on December 2, "It's official...UWS [Upper West Side] has a new undisputed king...welcome Flaco to my hood! #birdcentralpark"

@Above96th Street follows with a 12/3 reposting, along with @Sarahlyall who tells us: "Forget Batman. Flaco is keeping Gotham safe now." It's like this all over the city. Social media is abuzz with his sightings.

As usual, the A-Hed piece is filled with puns. I always wonder if the reporter thinks of these on their own, or does the WSJ employ a pun master who inserts words like: "Flaco the owl has become a peeping Tom." "He's become  a true nosy New Yorker, a bit of a hoot and a real owl about town." (Night and day owl, I guess.) "His case has become a hoo-dunnit." "Well, that was a hoot."

It was feared when Flaco escaped and resisted efforts to come back that he was going to starve. He's only ever been fed by humans. But nature takes care of its own, and the owl's appetite for rodents has kept him healthy looking. New York city claims to be getting its arms around its persistent rodent problem with better garbage containers, but Flaco knows where to look.

In New York, there is always someone who knows something you don't.  Think Flaco has just been soiling your air conditioner.? No, there are clues there.

An actress has posted videos of Flaco. Could she tell if he was ill? Through her window the actress "examined the color of his droppings and eyed his vomit, pellets made of rat bones, rat fur and other things he can't digest." This is what I mean about New Yorkers. They bring a level of expertise to everything. 

Verdict? Flaco is fine.

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Sock It to Me

You have to be deep into your Medicare Part D drug deductible for you to remember Rowan and Martin's Laugh In show.

Many people advanced their show business careers through a start on Laugh In. It was a No. 1 show for years. Goldie Hawn got her start advancing from a Go-Go body painted dancer in a cage to an actress in movies.

Goldie was well casted as the dizzy blonde discotheque dancer on the show. After all, her previous gig was doing a gyrating act in truck stops in titty bars outside the  Lincoln Tunnel in Secaucus, New Jersey. A girl's got to start someplace.

One of the zany features was to have people behind a wall of porthole windows that opened when jokes were uttered. A face would appear in the window and make a face and say "Sock it to me." The show was so popular that celebrities off all stripes lined up to appear in cameo appearance. President Richard Nixon appeared once shaking his five o'clock shadow jowls and saying, "Sock it to me." Little did he foresee.

A few years ago I went to a New York Mets game at Citi Field and they were handing out pairs of Met socks to the first so many fans. I got a pair, and was tempted to say, "Sock it to me" but thought better of it when I realized that the young girl handing out the socks wouldn't know what the hell I was saying.

If I were to have been asked what difficulties I might foresee in getting older, I'm absolutely sure I wouldn't have said putting my socks on. Yet, here we are.

Spinal arthritis, degenerative disc disease, spinal fusion has left me a little inflexible when it comes to bending over. To pick something off the floor I do the one knee "proposal drop" to get there and back up, while grabbing onto something. It's not a big deal, put I will leave pennies on the ground.

To my surprise, socks have proved an obstacle to getting dressed. Okay, when one arm was in a sling due to rotator cuff surgery, dressing was understandably difficult. But that's in he rear view mirror now.

I've taken to wearing rather thick socks with my Timberland boots. I don't know how long it's been since I've worn a pair of dress shoes.  The socks are either from Darntough.com Vermont, or Fair Isle Shetland wool pairs. They are tightly woven, and as such I have trouble creating an opening large enough for me to jam all five toes in with one swoop over my foot. Bending forward for this has its limits. In a word, it's tough lassoing my feet.

Enter what I'll call the sock valet. I don't know when I might have first become aware of something advertised on TV that helped you put your socks on, but it was a long time ago. In the back of my mind I must have retained the local TV ad. Enter "sock valet" in an Amazon search and I was presented with more choices and prices ranges than I thought possible. Amazon is of course the 21st-century Sears  Roebuck, having one of everything in its warehouses.

And here it is, looking like a piece that fell off a 1890's whale bone corset. No labeling, no instructions, no name of a manufacturer, just a scoop-shaped appliance with long tethers that is quite effective in helping one get their socks on. It is advertised for people with disabilities and pregnant women, anyone I guess who might have a problem bending forward enough.

It was priced under $10, and with free Amazon Prime shipping I felt I couldn't go wrong. If it didn't work I wasn't going to be out anything significant.

Laugh In was a great show, produced by George Schlatter, who Google tells us is still with us at 90. It was a forerunner to Saturday Night Live, but without the snarkiness. I don't know if it's a sock valet, or a sock-putter-on-er, or the greatest thing since sliced bread, but it works. I'm not going to leave home without it.

Sock it to me.

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TD

Not since Joe Namath was slinging footballs for the New York Jets in the '60s and early '70s has New York had a quarterback with a playful nickname. Joe was of course known as Broadway Joe, hard partying, hard loving quarterback who was out at all hours before a game and never seemed to suffer for it. He was partners in a New York watering hole called Bachelors III, a swinging place, whether he was there or not.

One titanic upset in the Super Bowl and Joe's reputation was sealed. Eventually, however, something caught up to him. He was tossing 6 interceptions a game and was eventually traded to the Los Angeles Rams. Goodbye Joe. We loved you when we knew you.

Enter Tommy DeVito, the Cinderella quarterback for the New York Giants who has won the last three games for the woeful Giants that he's started. He has injected excitement into a chameleon franchise that this year basically stunk at the outset.

Politicians can only dream of being as popular as Tommy Cutlets, so named because at 25 he still lives at home with his parents in New Jersey and loves Mom's cooking. You won't find a more wholesome lad than Tommy DeVito, who barely looks old enough to drive the family car. Between home games he probably helped his plumber dad decorate the outside of the house for Christmas,

In case you've been just getting back from the Space Station, Tommy DeVito is the hottest sports celebrity to hit New York since Aaron Judge for the Yankees. He was an undrafted third-string quarterback that got the starting assignment by attrition. Daniel Jones and his successors couldn't stay uninjured or hold the job.

He's hit the covers of the New York Post—front and back. We're getting headlines like: LIVIN' DeVITO LOCA: GOOD FELLA! His Italian heritage is quite a hook for the papers. He's the most popular unindicted Italian American since Fiorello La Guardia. 

Even the usually sedate New York Times has a piece on him. Not in their outsourced Sports Department The Athletic, that can't seem to find where Madison Square Garden is. No, the NYT piece is on the front page of this morning's print edition, lower right corner. I had to check is twice to make sure I was really seeing it.

There is a twin bylined piece from two NYT senior reporters who are allowed to write about things New York and New Jersey, Corey Kilgannon and Mark Bonamo. If Phil Rizzuto were alive he'd have tears of joy dripping into his cannoli to be reading a story under the headline:

'Passing Paisan' Wows N.F.L.; And Thrills Old Neighborhood

Tommy didn't just suddenly start playing football. He grew up in Cedar Grove, NJ a town 10 miles from Giants Stadium. He went to all-boys $19,000 a year Don Bosco Prep High school in Ramsey, New Jersey where he lead his team to a state championship. Phil Simms's son went o Don Bosco, as did a nephew of my son-in-law. (He didn't play football however.)

Tommy went to Syracuse University and the University if Illinois. We wasn't a draft pick, but showed up for a try-out and was signed as an undrafted player, destined to ride he bench.

Lou Gehrig entered the New York Yankee lineup when Wally Pipp was injured. Lou then never left the lineup until he died.

Until reading the NYT piece I didn't know that the 9.6 million people of New Jersey's population, 1.25 million identify as at least being of partial Italian descent.

New York attaches a lot of cachet to celebrities who can tout their ethnicity. And don't think for an instance that just because Tommy D grew up in Jersey he's not seen as a New York product. He plays for a New York team that just happens to be playing its home games in North Eastern Jersey now for nearly 50 years. Yeah, so? Where are the New York Giants incorporated?

When it suits a New Yorker, New Jersey is just another outer borough, connected by a few bridges and a tunnel. 

It probably hasn't happened yet, since the season is still playing out, but my guess is Tommy DeVito will be invited to Rao's in the Bronx to break bread with Bobby De Niro and Bo Dietl. You have arrived if you dine with those two.

If he's of the same personality as Frank Gifford and Broadway Joe, there won't be a watering hole in New York City that won't he happy to serve him a drink—on the house. In Golden Boy Gifford's heyday there wasn't an East Side saloon that didn't welcome him as a customer. (Or the bookmakers inside) Al Schacht's and Toots Shor's were famous for sport and mob figure hangouts. My friend's father introduced my friend as a very young man to Frank Costello at Toots Shor's

Italians are unavoidably associated with being mob connected, fair or not. The New Jersey based Tony Soprano Bada-Bing strip club characters hang heavy over Tommy's head. It is not helped by how Tommy's agent dresses, who is seen on the sidelines in a black pinstripe suit, black turtleneck with a rakish fedora. Such peacock strutting might fit the TV image but will do little for Tommy DeVito's emerging image. 

Sean Stellato should remember that Tommy Dorsey thought he had Frank Sinatra's  singing contracts locked up until the story goes the business end of a handgun was pressed against Tommy Dorsey's temple.

Sport figures and celebrities of all stripes have graced New York restaurants and watering holes. There was of course Elaine's on 2nd Avenue, and Ponte's on the extreme West Side of Manhattan where Joe Torre never waited for a table. Those places are gone. And while the horse I'll Have Another didn't grace Bamonte's on Withers Street off the Brooklyn Queens Expressway in Brooklyn, his owner, Vinny Viola of St. Elias Stables, still can be found there. Vinny of course was Donald Trump's Secretary of the Army for about two weeks until he resigned,

Sit at the right table at Bamonte's and you can see the small plaque on the wall amongst all the photos that is "FROM THE BOYS".

Hopefully it's not a sign of foreboding that Al Lombardi, the owner of Lombardi's, a restaurant down the street from where the DeVito family lives in Cedar Grove, is quoted as saying of Tommy DeVito, "he's the don now.

"An N.F.L. quarterback and a mobster, there's no difference. Any day, it could be over."

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Final Jeopardy

I will admit to being a fairly consistent Jeopardy viewer. I once took the Anytime Test and know I couldn't have done that well. There are people who probably get nearly all the questions/clues right. There's a reason you don't see anyone who is 74 as a contestant. Twenty-first century clues leave me in the dust. And forget the opera and the Greek Mythology ones.

I do well with sports. I had a friend who would seethe with anger when people couldn't get anything right that referred to horse-racing. Win, place, show, furlongs. Triple Crowns question/clues usually wound up not being answered correctly. His world revolved around racing even more than mine. He was good at U.S. President questions/clues as well, being a history major in college. But horse-racing was in this veins.

Being an alert viewer I've noticed that the show's writers can wrap wildly different "answers" to produce the same correct response. It's all in the framing. I've noticed the book Gone with the Wind has been the correct response from very different clues. These writers are clever people.

Usually there is something in the clue that if recognized, will lead you to the answer. But I didn't see it in a recent Final Jeopardy clue a few days ago. It was a very cleverly written clue. I almost feel ashamed I didn't get it.  I thought of my departed friend and wondered if he would have pounced on it correctly.

FAMOUS NAMES

Subject of a 2003 film, his 1947 obituary said he fathered at least 100 & died of a heart attack at 14 at a California ranch.

Answer: Seabiscuit

Ooof. So simple it could make you cry.

The NYT obituary for Seabiscuit touches on all the high points of his career, his owner, trainer, but no mention of the one-eyed jockey Red Pollard. Thoroughbred jockeys were considered part of the "help" and not accorded much status in that era of horse-racing. I can still remember opening up a program in the late '60s when the rider was not yet assigned to an entry there was a notation that "No Boy" was riding. There could be several "No Boys" mentioned on the card. You would think he came from a very large family.

The most famous match race of all time was when Seabiscuit beat War Admiral at  Pimlico in 1938. It was the East Coast racing establishment against the West Coast racing establishment. The popular 2003 movie so accurately captured the era with Jeff Bridges, Elizabeth Banks, Toby McGuire and Chris Cooper.

It is significant that the clue people put the text under a heading of FAMOUS NAMES and not FAMOUS PEOPLE. Despite this subtlety, you might still be groping for a person to have achieved fathering over 100 offspring. But still, by the age of 14?

Only one contestant got it right, but they weren't in a position to advance. When you look at entries the Daily Racing Form, gives you the horse's sire and the dam's sire. By the 1960s when I started to follow racing, any reference to a horse sired by either Seabiscuit or War Admiral had long disappeared. War Admiral was an offspring of Man o' War, who only lost one race. Seabiscuit's breeding was much more pedestrian, but linked to Man o' War through the grandsire line. He was himself sired by Hard Tack, who was sired by Man o' War. Thus, Man o' War figured on both sides of the breeding when the match race took place.

Kudos to the contestant who had Seabiscuit. Like many of my bets, I shoulda had it.

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Billions: The Finale

I am going to miss this show. Maybe not since 'Cheers' have I felt such a strong liking for a show.

The finale didn't disappoint, and leaves clear indication the producers are headed for a spin off with Bobby Axelrod back at Axe Capital, and Charles Rhoades Jr. as U.S. Attorney for the Southern District  of New York riding future oversight of the business.

The ending had all the elements of the final scene in 'It's a Wonderful Life.' An office suite of happy, happy people looking at their phones and realizing they are all mega-millionaires. Where do I get a phone like that? Verizon?

It was obvious the producers had to take down Michael Prince. But how? Well, exsanguinate his firm from all his money. And what a collection of conspirators to do it!

The overthrow cabal went beyond the Magnificent Seven. Through a series of flashbacks from the penultimate episode we see the scene extensions that set Mike Prince up. Never did one guy make so few friends. 

Until the final episode we were led to believe that only a select few inside Mike Prince Capital and Chuck and his posse were intent on brining him down. Turns out Mike's No. 2 guy Scooter's nephew Philip is in on it, as is Kate Sacker, the well-traveled legal consul that was once Chuck's No. 2 at the U.S. Attorney's office.

Up till now it was thought that there would no way to get Prince to screw up with his investments and create sub rosa conflicts of interest on his way to the presidential nomination. Mike's too careful. 

Mike has it timed. Go to cash, and after he's cleared a path to the nomination and met with the president at Camp David for his national security briefing on the basis of being a presidential candidate, go back into the markets and restore all positions. But don't be greedy about it. Just get back to level.

Oh boy. The wheels have been spinning out of Mike's sight. At the Rao's confab between Axe and candidate Nancy Dunlop we now see through a flashback that Bobby has answered Nancy's question as to what he can do for her: Clear a path to the nomination. Accept Mike's bid to be his VP, and just let Axe and the group do the rest. Trust them.

We also are treated to a scene where Wendy meets young Philip in a bar where he's drowning his sorrows over Mike taking over his favorite professor's idea for organic concrete, cutting the professor out of his invention and soon to be guaranteed wealth. This was in a prior episode. This does not sit well with Philip, a sensitive, bright guy who knows a bastard when he looks at Mike Prince.

Also joining the cabal of revolutionaries from the inner circle of MPC is Kate Sacker, who we see in a scene joining the cabal, waiting for zero hour when the axe falls at Mike Prince Capital. Unbeknownst to us at he time is that Kate has gotten the programmer for the proprietary trading program used by MPC to act with destructive instructions. So, when Mike goes back into the market, he's in for a surprise. A BIG surprise.

Mike is chuffed that he's on his way to Camp David with Scooter, his No. 2, and Bradford Luke, the political wunderkind adviser. Unbeknownst to them is that on the road to Camp David in rural Maryland they pass a utility truck on the side of the road manned by Chuck's go-to fixer who communicates that the Prince party is 9 minutes out from entering Camp David. Battle stations.

Prior to this Chuck has floated a "rumor" in the office that his office will be investigating several countries over a conspiracy to fix natural gas prices worldwide This will of course send shock waves through the market. Chuck's dad has been feeding all the financial media people of this "leaked" information from the comfort of his Fifth Avenue den. The Rhoades come from money.

Inside MPC Philip has put all of Mike's cash that is going back into the market into stocks of natural gas companies, companies whose value is about to go over the cliff when the "rumor" hits, and it does.

This has happened when Mike is in a communication blackout with his phone having been taken by the  Marine guards on entering Camp David. No one in his party knows he's tanking.

Mike and his posse emerge from the meeting from the president, a meeting the producers have no need to show us, and checks his phone. It nearly explodes in his hand. Not the news he was hoping for.

He looks like the doctor in the movie 'The Hospital' who learns his stock portfolio has tanked, thanks to the crazy avenging angel patient, Diana Rigg's father.

Mike is frantic. Tries to log on: frozen out. He orders a helicopter to get back to New York; orders the SEC be contacted. Halt trading, reverse his trades.

Chuck has taken care of all this. He's gotten the New York Attorney General to keep the trading open on the natural gas companies, and to insure that trades cannot be reversed. Mike is starting to realize the world is against him.. "They're all in on it."

Once storming off the elevator at MPC he immediately wants to know "where is fucking Wendy Rhoades." He's astonished she is there, and he shot puts a good size office chair through her glass office. Wendy's not hurt, just astonished.

Mike is purple. The rest of the scene that plays out in the office suite is reminiscent of the final scene in "It's a Wonderful Life." Joyous people start appearing from all over to witness the meltdown. Kate Sacker is there. Chuck is there. Nancy Dunlop comes in and scoops up wunderkind Brandon to work on her revived campaign. The elevator door bings sound like Clarence the Angel has entered MPC office suite as witness.

Mike is stunned, but not contrite. What happens to all the MPC employees whose money is wiped out by the sell off. Well, it seems that's been taken care by a backdoor fund called The Admiral's Fund, the title of the episode.  Tens, hundreds of millions of their dollars have been carved out of the landslide and are resting nicely in individual's account. Their money has increased 3x. They are all quite rich. Filthy rich.

Mike threatens to sue their asses. Chuck laughs. Mike is not penniless. He's been left with a parting gift of $100 million to go back to Indiana and live like a billionaire.

Chuck and Bobby look like Redford and Newman at the end of  'The Sting.' They did it. They shake hands. They got Lonigan to run out the back door with a briefcase emptied of his cash because he greedily put all his money on a past post horse on the nose rather than to show. He's wiped out, and has now witnessed a guy getting shot. Time to beat feet.

Euphoria all around. A very busy successful day. The investigation "rumor" has been debunked, and the markets are behaving rationally again.

Wendy meets Chuck on the sidewalk leaving the building and accepts a dinner invitation to join Chuck and the kids at a Japanese meal ringside where the meat and fish are being grilled and sliced in front of them. Theses are very wealthy people, who know how to enjoy New York.

Wendy has told Chuck she's not joining the resuscitated Bobby Axelrod at Axe Capital; she's going to be the CEO of that new startup mental health provider, but yeah, we can be a happy family for now. Gone are the S&M episodes.

Wait for the sequel. There are too many power broker restaurants to plug in New York City for there not to be more meals in empty eateries between two scheming people.

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Penultimate Billions

Since I wasn't interested in any more football on Sunday I considered watching the final two episodes of 'Billions' back-to-back. A mini binge. I changed my mind and only watched one. I'll watch the other tonight and add my impressions then.

Since the season has finished airing there are no spoilers here. People who've been watching as the episodes unspool already know the ending. So far, I don't.

The movement to derail Mike Prince's presidential candidacy continues. The penultimate episodes opens with an obscure Springsteen song, 'It's Hard to be a Saint in the City', and Bobby Axelrod tooling around Manhattan in a convertible Bentley.

Bobby is met in his new office digs with the presence of Mike Prince, arrogantly taking up space in Bobby's conference room. No matter. We cut to alternating scenes of how each of them have taken steps to derail, or further Mike's quest for the nomination.

Mike has fired those he doesn't trust. His liquidated all the Mike Prince Cap holdings—for now. Axe has arranged, or thinks he's arranged, for the other candidate Nancy Dunlop, governor of Montana to not throw her support to Mike Prince. Mike thinks he's got Nancy in his pocket. Her endorsement, her staff, her campaign machinery will be his. Chuck has identified private holdings of Mike he's going to announce investigations on. His Assistant U.S. Attorney alerts Kate Sacker of the list in the bowels of an abandoned New York City subway station. (I think it's the old City Hall stop.)

Each side is firing volleys. Bobby Axelrod rents out all of Rao's for a tête-à-tête with Nancy Dunlop, who has a near orgasm over the meatballs. The ownership of Rao's, Frank Pellegrino Jr. et al. stand by in attendance. (Check the credits. They get to play themselves.

What is it about Italian meals as a backdrop for heavy dealings? Chuck and the police commissioner get Patsy's to themselves. Bobby gets Rao's, with a nod to the 'Godfather' when Nancy acknowledges she's just been served the "best veal in the city." At least no one gets shot.

Chuck invites Nancy, who by now should be exhausted from wearing the same clothes and in need of a shower, into his office to outline how his people can get her to the nomination.

Parry, thrust, parry. We are finally treated to the ultimate sit down. Most of Magnificent 7 file into a conference room taking up one side of the table, while Prince and his people take the other side. It's the Paris Peace talks.

Mike offers an olive branch to his antagonists. Silence. Nancy Dunlop strides in as only a woman who is comfortable in high heels can be, and with a bit of a preamble throws her support to Mike. She'll be his VP. Glumness sets in.

Up to now I've felt that the soundtrack should be something from Elmer Bernstein, or portions of Bolero, but this piece of news falls like a ton of bricks.

The cabal glumly watches TV as Mike raises Nancy's arm at a podium as he announces his running mate. Wunderkind political analyst gets a call that Mike is to be read into the security briefing at Camp David the next day because he is a candidate for president. Boom. Boom indeed.

What will the final episode reveal? It's got to be better than how 'The Black List' ended with master criminal Raymond Reddington getting fatally gored by a bull. Jesus, who wrote that?

I have no idea. I really doubt the producers want Mike to run for office, gain the presidency, and then spin off another version of West Wing. 

Whatever speculation I've read is that there will be a sequel to 'Billions', but in what direction? Damian Lewis back from his needed attention to family across the pond. I don't know what actors have signed on for an extension of 'Billions', or what it might be called. Gazillions? National Debt?

'Billions' doesn't resort to gunfire, so I'm guessing Mike Prince doesn't get assassinated. Does a sexual scandal blow up in his face? Does someone else emerge to challenge for the nomination? So far, we've only got Nancy and Mike visibly going for the office.

Whatever happens, it's in the can and I'll see what happens tonight. Mike is definitely not getting gored by a bull, but maybe run over and killed by a Grub Hub food delivery guy on an electric scooter. The New York City way to go. Death in the City.

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When I Get the Gas, Do We Need Anything Else?

I wonder if the WSJ A-Hed reporter who when writing about the guy in Brazil who set himself up to live like a king, be known as a king, designing his house to be a castle and sitting on his throne with a beer in one hand, was aware of how incongruous it was to report that Ivanio Batista da Silva, a.k.a. His Majesty Ivan I of Cubatão, bought one of his nine ceremonial swords at the petrol station.

Maybe it was that he bought the other eight somewhere else, or that when you only buy one at a petrol station there's nothing unusual about the gas station's inventory.

I know little about Brazil, and what is bought where. I'm going to assume the reporter, Samantha Pearson is based in Brazil and perhaps not aware of how many bells might go off in the Northern Hemisphere when she writes, "His regal paraphernalia comes from diverse places. He bought one of his nine swords at a gas station." 

A former reporter for the WSJ, Stephen Miller once told me the A-Hed pieces are pitched to the editor of the column, and come from staff members all over the world. I have to say I've never seen the same byline twice. Everyone it seems has one good tale to tell.

Samantha tells us Cubatão is a community in southeast Brazil of 130,000 souls, none of whom have to swear allegiance to Ivanio I. Ivanio is 59 years old and was once, like the president of Brazil, a shoeshine boy made good. He's done well, and well, wants to live like a king. His wife is extremely tolerant.

I suspect Brazilian gas stations are like our gas stations and probably have a convenience store attached to them selling microwaved sandwiches, soda, candies, cake, beer, milk, newspapers, chips, coffee, donuts and maps. If you were to make a list of items found in one of our gas station convenience stores, add the word "swords" to it, and ask someone to cross out the item that doesn't belong, my money is on the person who will cross out swords.

Reading any A-Hed piece is informative. I didn't know that until 134 years ago Brazil was a Portuguese kingdom. There are plenty who still wish it was.

There is no mistaking Mr. da Silva's home for a castle. It is pictured above, complete with high walls and turrets. Inside, he is seen sitting on his throne. My wonder is, based on declaring himself king, does he still have to pay taxes? Is there an exemption for "royalty."

Mr. da Silva is only 59, and seems to be in good health. Ms. Pearson tells us he has plans to build a 60 foot dragon on the roof and that his wife still loves him, despite his over the top eccentricities.

Mr. da Silva was not born wealthy. He made his small fortune in the 1990s disposing of factories' waste. He took the saying "to live like a king" quite literally, and by all appearances has surrounded himself with all the trappings.

If the obituary writers Robert McG. Thomas Jr. and Jim Nicholson were still alive, and Mr. da Silva were to pass away, we would no doubt be treated to an exquisite obit on the Brazilian "monarch." Long live the king.

Oddly enough, if you Google "swords and gas stations," you get the fact that there is a Chevron station in Houma, Louisiana that sells hunting knives and ninja swords. The owner's daughter tells the local newspaper, "The convenience store industry is not about just selling gas."

I guess not.

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The 19-Gun Salute

When I heard yesterday that Henry Kissinger had passed away at 100, I was curious to see where the NYT would put his expected front page obituary. 

I'm sure most are unaware there is a hierarchy/protocol when the famous pass away that dictates where their obits might appear in the NYT. The famous might get the front page teaser acknowledgment which informs the reader that so and so has passed away and that you can read about them inside on page whatever.

There is the below-the-fold treatment where the whole obituary starts, with a photo of the deceased, below the fold in either the left or right corner. The fold in a broadsheet is seen as the dividing line between news you immediately need to know, and that which is somewhat less important.

There is above-the-fold, a placement reserved for...I really don't know the rule. A current head of state, maybe the president, or recent former president. Above-the-fold is rarely awarded to the deceased by the NYT. I really don't remember the last one. Perhaps an alert reader can point this one out. Will Jimmy Carter get such a placement?

NOTE: Henry Kissinger's obit appeared in Thursday's print edition, just above the fold. In Friday's paper the obit appears again—in the same space—which goes to show you how important Kissinger was. Maybe it's a 20-gun salute from the NYT editors.

Then there is the just-above-the-fold where a portion of the story appears above-the-fold, say the name of the deceased and the years they lived, and perhaps a portion of their photo. The just-above-the-fold is rarely awarded too, but serves as a somewhat neutral acknowledgment that someone notable has passed away.

In today's print edition of the NYT Henry Kissinger earned the just-above-the fold placement. I call this one the 19-gun salute.

The burial of a U.S. President would qualify for a 21-gun salute. I'm familiar with the 19-gun salute when my Uncle George was buried in Arlington Cemetery in December 1968. He retired as a Rear Admiral in the Navy, having commanded destroyers in the Pacific in WW II. He was the first Greek-American to graduate from the Naval Academy in 1931. He was the second son of my grandparents; my father was the third son. George was my father's favorite.

At the burial in Arlington that cold, but clear December day, a full military funeral was held. Riderless horse, caisson, honor guard from Fort Myers. They fired their rifles into the crisp Virginia air, each retort echoing across the cemetery.

I counted the shots...16-17-18-19. When they got to 19 I will always remember saying to myself, Jesus, two more and he's the president. Nineteen was it, based on rank apparently.

The Washington area is not somewhere I go back to. My father worked there, but we never visited Uncle George's gravesite. But apparently you can access photos of it online. A simple white headstone, consistent with all the surrounding headstones is there, etched with the service medals awarded.

The 19-gun salute.

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