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Turkeys on a plain

War just broke out, which didn't seem like a good time for a long humor piece or a "buy my books" plea. Instead I dug this out--something that's been sitting in my drafts for a year, that serves as a reminder that life goes on ... even wildlife we never used to see around here.

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I've said it before and I'll say it again: It's bad enough having so many turkeys behind the wheel, without having to worry about the real thing flying out in front of you.

I suppose they were out there just gobbling up worms.




parody song: Walk Like an Old Penguin

 There's been a lot of ice this winter. Okay, there's a lot of ice every winter, but maybe a little bit more this winter. So, as a public service and because I can't control myself, I wrote a song to teach everyone how to walk on ice or, as the authorities put it, "Walk like an old penguin".

No, seriously.

See? I don't make this stuff up. (Actually, I made up the "old" penguin part, because if you really want to be careful, start worrying about breaking a hip.)

So, remember the Bangles and their song "Walk Like an Egyptian"?

Oh. You don't? Crap. Well, review the song first:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cv6tuzHUuuk

 


 Okay, now that it's in your head, here's "Walk Like an Old Penguin", which is set to the tune of ... well, I guess you know that, now:


Walk Like an Old Penguin

 

All the ice dropping down the roof

We do the ice dance don’t you know

If we move too quick (oh whey oh)

We’re falling down like a domino.

 

All the cars slide into a pile

They got insurance on the way

They’re on speed dial (oh whey oh)

More premiums that you’ll have to pay

 

Foreign cars with the broken bumpers

(whey oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh)

Walk like an old penguin

 

The business people on their way

They spin around when they hit the ice

Now they can’t move (oh whey oh)

A broken hip, it don’t feel too nice

 

All of us are so sick of snow

We have to salt and then plow again

When we see them fall (oh whey oh)

We’re walking like an old penguin

 

All the kids with the sidewalk skate say

(whey oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh)

Walk like an old penguin

 

 (Sliding instrumental interlude!)


Take short steps on ice, don’t break your back

Arms at your sides, you got the knack

Ice is hard you know (oh whey oh)

So don’t get hit by a Cadillac

 

Watch the way you step, with flat feet

On your way to the donut shop

Don’t sing and dance (oh whey oh)

You’ll spin out and, take a hard knock

 

All the witnesses with their phone

Film it first, then call 911

They stayed upright (oh whey oh)

They walk the line like a penguin.

 

All the docs at the ER door say

(whey oh whey oh, ay oh whey oh)

Walk like an old penguin

Walk like an old penguin

 

You'll notice Beowulf is walking like an Egyptian ... dog.

 


Former Olympic Events Leave Fans Confused

I haven't seen a lot of this year's Olympics, because I had my hands over my eyes most of the time. Are there always that many crashes, or didn't I notice before? And why isn't someone giving those people tickets for traveling 70 mph on two sticks? And no way are there safety belts on those sleds.

Even one of the curling guys fell over.

So instead of writing about how my bones hurt just watching, here's my 2014 look at some past Olympic sports that are no longer in the games. Yes, it's a rerun--give me a break, this is my 28th Olympics.

Several years ago, baseball and softball were pulled from competition. The American women dominated in softball, while in baseball Americans … well, they only got three medals in five tries. The Cuban team grabbed the gold. There’s not much else to do in Cuba, except play baseball and stare longingly toward Florida, where senior citizens have high speed internet and all-you-can-eat buffets.


Lacrosse was a medal event—in 1904 and 1908. It involves people in facemasks hitting their balls with big fly swatters. It died out in the early 1900’s because only the Canadians, British, and Americans were willing to take the punishment; former lacrosse players are now employed as dog catchers and butterfly collectors.

Basque pelota was only a medal event in 1900, because nobody could figure out how to pronounce it. It’s played on a court with a ball, sometimes using a racket, but sometimes not.

In other words, it’s handball. If they’d called it that, basque pelota-ites would be on Wheaties boxes.

 

Downhill skiing initially fared poorly, with over a dozen cases of heat stroke before it was moved to the WINTER games.

  

Tandem cycling was popular in the Olympics from 1920-72. It’s being considered again with new, more interesting rules: The guy in front steers, while the guy in back can lash out at other competitors with lacrosse sticks. It’s now a favorite of retired hockey players.

In 1948 winter pentathlon was put on as a demonstration sport, and consisted of downhill skiing, cross-country skiing, shooting, fencing, and horse riding.

All together. In the same event.

Cat Pool proved particularly popular with dog lovers.

  

Sweden, which remained more or less neutral through World War II, had a whole army of young men just itching to shoot something: They swept all the winter pentathlon medals. However, the sport was discontinued after ski-clad Swedes on horseback shot all the competitors’ horses while jumping over the fencing.

Motorboarding--and I initially thought this was something altogether different--was tried in 1908. It ended with only one boat finishing in each of three races. It turns out the Swedes used their winter pentathlon rifles to shoot up the other boat engines, leading officials to change to rowing.

Polo was a favorite Olympic event in the early 1900’s, but it was canceled after the Swedes sent in their entry forms.

The Olympics also tried an obstacle course … involving swimmers. Competitors had to climb over a pole, go over a row of boats, and then swim under another row of boats. Luckily they had an excess of boats left over from the motorboat races.

Speaking of swimming, in 1984 they tried solo synchronized swimming.

Think about it.

 

Synchronized Ball Inflation preceeded most Olympic sports that included balls, but failed badly after the tennis event caused several aneurysms.

  

Then there’s the one Olympic sport I actually participated in: Tug of war. Not in the Olympics, but we won, and didn’t even have to borrow Swedish rifles to do it. Between 1900 and 1920 the sport was dominated by Great Britain, which sent teams of police officers. And remember, back then their cops were unarmed. Good thing the Swedes didn’t have a team.

Distance plunging would have been interesting … or not. Athletes would dive into the pool and coast underwater, without moving.

That’s it. The winner is the one who drifted the longest in sixty seconds, or when they floated to the surface, whichever came first. An American won the gold, although it should be noted that this competition happened only once, in the 1904 St. Louis Olympics. It should also be noted that only Americans competed.

I’m not sure how they could tell whether the athlete was winning, or drowning.

Groundhog Racing was halted after a series of crashes--and rabies.

Also at St. Louis, another US competitor did an impressive job winning gold in a sport that gives this old gym class hater nightmares: the rope climb. Why was George Eyser so impressive? Because he had a wooden leg.

In 1906 they tried the sport of pistol dueling. No, it wasn’t won by a Swede. It wasn’t really dueling, either: Competitors shot at a dummy dressed in a frock coat, and by dummy I don’t mean the guy who planned the Sochi games. It’s a good thing they cleared up how they did it, because I was thinking this would be one sport where the silver and bronze medals were awarded posthumously.

Finally, here’s a sport they tried just once, at the 1900 Paris Olympics:

Live pigeon shooting.

When the feathers cleared, a Belgian named Leon de Lunden got the gold for downing 21 birds, none of which had a say in the matter. Then he celebrated with a steak dinner.

Once the onlookers got a look at the mess left behind, they decided the Swedes weren’t so bad.

 

 

We Got Snow Spoiled

 Okay, so, we survived the Snowstorm of '22.

That just isn't as catchy as the Blizzard of '78, but it never quite got to blizzard status--it was just a regular snowstorm. At least, it was compared to weather in the old days. You know the story: We walked to school five miles every day, uphill both ways, dodging polar bears and wading through ten foot drifts in the morning, then in the afternoon using our ten deep pile of school books as shade against the 102 degree sun. Plus we painted our feet black, because we couldn't afford shoes.

And we were happy to have that paint.

Cars? We didn't have cars. Our parents rode dinosaurs, and not those big ones either--they had to ride those little, chicken size ones, which was fine with them because they needed the eggs.

The story gets better every year. When I tell it to my grandkids, I'm going to add murder hornets and clowns.

But in recent years we've been, shall we say, spoiled. I joined the fire department in 1980, and for the next ten years our name for twelve inches of snow was "a good start". One year we got a snowstorm like last week's every weekend for the whole winter. This idea of seeing what was under the snow between November and March was inconceivable. I remember during the April grass fire season when we had to walk around snow drifts to get to the burning grass.

I don't miss it.

The dog loved this. He'd go lay in the snow, and I had to make him come back inside. But me? I hate cold, and I hate the short days. I guess the snow would be okay if it was warm and the days were long, but that's not how it works. It doesn't help that my old frostbite injuries are acting up so much I started losing the use of my hands while shoveling, even with gloves on.

I didn't always feel that way. When I was young, I'd use a snow day as an excuse to go out and play in the snow. Maybe I'm suffering a form of PTSD, because doing that is how I got the frostbite.

So, suddenly a winter wonderland is a winter torture land.

Like everyone else, I got complacent, so this storm became the 2000's equivalent of the '78 blizzard. Snow, wind ... and the cold. If it was a country, it would be Iceland. If it was a Civil War Battle, it would be Cold Harbor. If it was a city, it would be Coldwater. If it was a 90s rapper, it would be Vanilla Ice. If it was a rap song I've never actually heard, it would be Ice Cold.

If it was revenge, it would be best served cold.

The weather got so nasty, I took all these pictures from within twenty feet of my home. I got lucky and was on days off during the worst of the storm, and didn't otherwise have to go out, thanks to four appointments getting canceled. It gave me a taste of what it must be like to just stay inside and wait it out, and I gotta tell you ...

I enjoyed that. I enjoyed it like ... ice cream.


New Review for Hoosier Hysterical

 We got a new review of "Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All"!

Spoiler alert: They liked it. (If they hadn't, I probably wouldn't have mentioned it.)

 

Anyway, you can see the review on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/RT3XQRTQIT7ML/ref=cm_cr_dp_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=1533120625


Or on Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30641159-hoosier-hysterical


or on BookBub:

https://www.bookbub.com/books/hoosier-hysterical-how-the-west-became-the-midwest-without-moving-at-all-by-mark-r-hunter


Or just give me a call, and I'll tell you they really, really liked it.

And remember: Every time you buy a book, history gets a little more funny.



 

RIP Dennis Smith: Hero

Dennis Smith passed away a couple of weeks ago, but I got sidetracked by weather stuff in writing about it.

 

As I've said before, the term "hero" gets thrown around way too much these days, and often at people who haven't earned the title. There are many people I admire who aren't heroes. Those who truly are heroes will insist they are not.

Dennis Smith was a hero.

He didn't look like a hero. Heroes rarely do.

He was an author of sixteen books and otherwise led a successful life, but what made him a hero is the eighteen years he spent as a firefighter for the City of New York. He took the oath in 1963, and a few years later transferred to Engine Company 82: The busiest single fire company in New York and, it's believed, the busiest one in the world at the time.

He didn't retire for another ten years after his first book, Report From Engine Co. 82, became a best seller. In 1976 he founded Firehouse Magazine, which became the most popular periodical for firefighters in the world, and he was a civic leader in many other areas. He was an advocate for firefighters, and even produced a series of training videos.


 

Then, on September 11, 2001--almost twenty years after he retired--Dennis Smith showed up at Ground Zero to assist his brothers and sisters. He spent 57 days helping with rescue and recovery efforts, later chronicled in Report From Ground Zero.

He didn't have to. But see, that's what a hero is: Someone who does something for others, despite risks to their own selves, when they don't have to.

I became interested in firefighting in my late teens, and there were few books on the subject at our local library. One was Report From Engine Co. 82. I read it over and over, of course, then I went searching for his other books.

He had a spare, matter of fact style of writing, and when he told stories about his work in the FDNY he didn't brag: He just told what happened, straight out. The risks they take, the injuries they received, are shocking to the reader, but just another day for Dennis and his coworkers.

Dennis Smith influenced me as both a writer and a firefighter, and I'm forever grateful to have that influence in my life. Rest In Peace, Firefighter Smith. If anyone earned it, you did.


From Wikipedia:

Dennis Smith has written sixteen books in his career, among them:

  • Report from Engine Co. 82
  • Final Fire
  • Glitter & Ash
  • Steely Blue
  • History of Firefighting in America
  • The Aran Islands – A Personal Journey
  • Firehouse (accompanying photographs by Jill Freedman)
  • Dennis Smith's Fire Safety Book
  • Firefighters – Their Lives in Their Own Words
  • A Song for Mary
  • Report from Ground Zero
  • San Francisco Is Burning – The Untold Story of the 1906 Earthquake and Fires
  • A Decade of Hope – Stories of Grief and Endurance from 9/11 Families and Friends
  • Of Love and Courage

For children:

  • The Little Fire Engine That Saved The City
  • Brassy the Fire Engine


The Four Horses of the Snowpocalypse

 I used to have a t-shirt that said, "I Survived the Blizzard of '78".

It was easy for me, though: I was a kid. I didn't have a paid job, I wasn't a volunteer firefighter yet, and I didn't even have to go to school for a week. Yeah, there was snow shoveling, but we have that now.

We've been spoiled since then, here in northeast Indiana. Sure, there were bad snowstorms, especially in the eighties when it snowed nonstop for eight months of the year. Well, it seemed that way. To compare, the big snowstorm of 2009 dropped 13 inches of snow here. The '78 storm topped out at 30.6 inches, and killed 70 people in Indiana.

So when we tell "Well, in my day" stories about snow--we don't have to exaggerate.

Now we're expecting at least a foot of snow, in two waves over two days, with the Thursday portion accompanied by 30 mph winds. This is bad. And--this is going to sound ironic, coming from me--I don't think people are taking it seriously enough.

Well, some people are.

I went to the store early Monday, and apparently a lot of the panic shopping happened over the weekend. By the time I left an hour later, it looked like the locusts were stripping away all the grain in Oklahoma.

Maybe I'm worrying needlessly. Just the same, I did everything in my power to keep the storm from happening at all. See, I have a reputation for my predictions being wrong. A lot. So when we had good weather all through December (for December), I loudly proclaimed that we would pay for it in January and February.

Okay, so sometimes I'm right. But when forecasts of this particular storm started coming in, I took quick action to stop it:

I loaded up at the store, stuffing our freezer and cupboards with so much food we look like a survivalist compound.

I refilled all my meds, especially the ones that keep me from turning all Jack Torrance every winter.

"Here's J-J-J-J-brrrrrr.......

 

I topped off the car's gas tank, and made sure it held a snow shovel, blankets, snack bars, abrasives, and a flashlight that actually lights. Also, a little fake hand with the middle finger up, so I won't get frostbite flashing reckless drivers the bird. I did all that despite the fact that I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere for the next week, other than work. Work is three quarters of a mile away--I can, and have, walked there, even in bad weather.

On a related note, I prepared my winter underclothes and my winter over clothes, just in case I do have to walk. People might report a Jupiter-sized suspicious subject in a ski mask, but these days masks are more expected than they used to be.

I made sure the dog has lines going out both the front and back door, so all I have to do is buckle him in. If he wants to go out in that crap--to crap--he's on his own.

"Wait ... what?"

 

I charged our cell phones, and my Kindle, in case power goes out and we have to burn our books for heat. (Kidding! It would be way too sad reading e-books by the glow of a book fire.)

I studied the weather forecasts. Okay, I studied two dozen forecasts in a three state area. (Hey, I work in the emergency services.) I worried when they all started agreeing with each other. Although bad weather is notoriously difficult to predict, the guys and gals who go to school for that stuff are getting increasingly good at it, even though armchair meteorologists prefer to think otherwise. May the Blue Bird of Unhappiness drop an ice bomb on their foreheads.

After confirming the forecasts, I started shouting the warning out, long and loud, to anyone who passed by the street corner downtown. Okay, on social media. There was no excuse, I declared, for not being prepared, so be aware and take a care--ahem. Sorry.

Why? Because if my predictions are usually wrong, then maybe all that prep would cause mischievous Mother Nature to nudge the storm, one way or another, just enough for us to get six inches and a breeze instead of sixteen inches and a blow. It's the same reason why sports fans hire me to root for the other team. You're welcome, Bengals.

Will it work?

Well ... no. If I thought it would work, it wouldn't. That's how it works. I mean, doesn't work. As I write this it's early Tuesday, and by this time Wednesday it'll be clear we're in for a big time butt-kicking. Remember, the Four Horses of the Snowpocalypse  are Cold, Snow, Wind, and Shattered Hopes.

But that won't stop me from trying.