In 1968 I was a skinny, pimple-faced High School Senior. My biggest challenges were refraining from squeezing my zits and soiling my undies in my sleep. Worrying about economics, paying bills, who was in charge of the world, or any of those things took a back seat to fantasizing about my Business teacher, Miss Hopkins, and her Tabu perfume, and selling shoes at Bakers in Iverson Mall. But the whole country was going crazy; I just didn’t think about it.
It has been argued that 1968 was the year that changed everything. Lyndon Johnson grew frustrated with the war in Vietnam and decided not to seek reelection. He had become President upon the death of
John Kennedy and then won the election by beating a lame opponent, Barry Goldwater. But now he wanted out. The country was being torn apart by opposition to a war that was none of our business. Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated. After the death of MLK, the cities erupted in riots. Whole city 
blocks were burned to the ground. Richard Nixon was elected to his first term as President, only to resign the office amid scandal five years later.
O. J. Simpson won the Heisman Trophy.
It’s easy to say today that everyone was just out of their minds back then, but unless you were there you can’t know. I was there, but oblivious, so how can anyone not subjected to it really understand? There are news accounts and historical records, but the atmosphere is not in the records. It was surreal. I remember my mother waking me by yelling upstairs to my attic apartment that Bobby Kennedy had been killed. All that went through my mind was that one day five years before, where the only thing on television was the funeral of John Kennedy. Was I going to miss Mayberry R.F.D.? Seriously though, it was shocking. How could I understand what was happening? My graduation was in just a couple of days, and that was heavy on my mind.
The Tet Offensive had just taken place in January. We watched the 
television reports, while my parents worried I would be drafted. I worried, too. Everyone was expected to wave a flag and declare love for America, but the young people could not figure out why we were in Southeast Asia. We were being thrown to the dogs for the sake of stopping Communist aggression. Or, so the story went. No one wanted to call it a Civil War.
But that’s all in the past. We made a mistake and lost a lot of lives as a result. I just didn’t want to be one of them. John Prine wrote a great song, “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You into Heaven Anymore.” It was written in 1971, but I always loved the picture it painted. Honestly, I don’t really care what your feeling might be for that period of time, but while I was there, that’s how I felt. When the media was hammering Bill Clinton and George W. Bush for avoiding the draft, I sat back and held
my tongue, because I understood. No one really wanted to go.
It’s easy to go to war when you can do it by proxy. Your life is safe if someone else is doing the fighting. Soldiers lose an arm, a leg, an eye, a life, a family, but it’s all OK, if it is them and not us. Politicians wave their arms high and scream “bloody murder,” but it is not them who are suffering. They don’t walk around with a limp, or an eye patch, or scooting around in a wheelchair. Yeah, they send their kids, but they send their kids. Not 
them. They’re safe. You can label me Liberal or whatever, but the fact of the matter is, war kills. It isn’t good for anyone. Everyone suffers.
As a society, we have to find a way to avoid war. If we are attacked, we have to react. Afghanistan made sense because that was the haven of Al-Qaeda, and they struck first. Iraq was vengeance, getting even for the past.
If fifty years of history taught us anything, I would be surprised. We never seem to learn. When it comes to economic gains over death, we accept death as a consequence. As long as it’s not our death. Throw a soldier into the heat, and he’ll take it. But we’re running out of soldiers. In 1968 we had the draft, which meant the soldier had no choice. He had to go. Today, there is no draft, and with what is occurring at the present time, fewer men and women are opting to join. They don’t want to die any more than the politicians who have chosen their fate.
With that being said (ha ha), we need to change the future.
With Love,
Bake My Fish
tongue in the display case and started using it on AOL and made it my first Twitter name. Then in 2011 the 
Things were running smoothly, and I was having a great time, making the Favstar Leaderboard quite often based on the number of likes of my tweets. I felt like a star.
Frederick, MD, which had a decent nightlife and was centrally located. The 
about the zodiac confusion. I like 
concentrated on what was happening because I was still in my comedy bubble.
control, becoming somewhat of a punk and smartass filled with snarky comments, still trying to be funny. My last Twitter page shows my influence and pretty much where I stood.
had nothing to do with policy, just accusations, innuendos and nonsense. What bothered me so much is he is a retired Admiral who’s just a political hack. As a veteran I tend to honor other Veterans, particularly Officers, but here is an Admiral who wasn’t worthy of my respect. So, I reacted to his tweets in a mean way because he always made me angry.
Twitter Rules really haven’t changed, just the interpretation and enforcement of them. Tweeters were constantly complaining about Elon Musk’s takeover but staying out of the fray seemed like a good way of protecting myself by not slamming him. After all, he is the Free Speech Guy.
Charles Manson is well known for his cult following of marauding murderers and sadistic killers. He had a way of convincing some folks to snuff out lives indiscriminately, without conscience. Fortunately, he died on November 19, 2017, so for some sickos, their martyr is gone.
resurrection from the dead of the executed savior, Jesus Christ? I don’t quite understand the correlation of the two, but I assume when the 
even though those doing the killing and torturing declared they were doing so “in his name.” Was Peter (the rabbit) created as a sort of soothing distraction? Who could blame a cute little bunny, giving away treats, for any indiscretions of the past? I’m sure anyone being tortured during the Spanish Inquisition did not have furry little critters dancing in their heads. They were just a little busy croaking.
historians the most notorious of them all; quite a blemish on the permanent record of influential distributors of The Word. There is not much mention of it during contemporary sermons. It’s better to forget and let bygones be bygones. After all, those who were involved are no longer available for interviews, and descendants can’t change whatever an ancestor considered appropriate.
campaign to rid the land of non-believers and establish the Catholic Church as the one true religion.
Apparently, the fun part for the Inquisitors was the torture. They developed 
Heights that always died within a week, and pancake breakfast at the First Baptist Church on 57th Avenue. Then there was fidgeting through the preacher’s talk about Christ and why we celebrate Easter, but all that went over my head because I couldn’t wait to get home to find the hidden eggs. I bet more children overdosed on hard-boiled eggs during that time of year than any other. The eventual 
flatulence was cause for celebration as each kid tried to out-toot the other. It was a grand time, followed by several days out of school. So, what about Jesus? Lost in the childish celebration of 
declare all the holidays we want to make it seem better, but it can’t erase the past. Charles Manson should never be forgiven. His victims can’t speak out for themselves. Neither can those who suffered during the Inquisition.
That’s what I think when starting every TV event because I’m being blasted with all the gibberishy nonsense regarding what I’m about to watch that may possibly in the eyes of someone somewhere upset me in some trivial or possibly major way if I am sitting improperly clothed in a go-cart by the light of the moon in a corn field recently used as a launching pad for the Jeepers Creepers beast. I mean, c’mon, isn’t the 
two, so I’ll chance it. R means there will be lots of cussing, violence and sexual innuendos. I’m all in. If it’s NC-17 (which I don’t recall ever seeing) it’ll probably be a terrible movie pretending to be porn. So, why does the media feel the necessity to add more 
Fife pulling out his bullet-less gun, Elly May acting too sexy, Coyote trying to kill Roadrunner, Dick Van Dyke almost kissing Mary Tyler Moore before he trips over the ottoman, Popeye punching out Bluto, Curly whoop whooping his way through unintentionally humiliating someone while Moe slaps him silly, or some secretary in some show lighting up a cigarette. Do you get my drift? Today all those things can be considered hurtful if even thought about, so be warned.
I get it. Society changes and so do moral norms. Movies and television shows during the 60s were wholesome and free from meddling by those who would school us regarding what we should watch. We only had three stations, so how much damage to our psyche could there be?
I didn’t necessarily hold my hand over my mouth in shock and putter away from the screen, but I did notice.
images, jumpscares, fighting over a parking space, spurting blood, drinking of cheap fortified wine, dog taking a dump, spider walking up a girl’s arm, smoking, racism, classism, discomfort caused by a character inserting a pair of contact lenses which could be uncomfortable for people who are sensitive to seeing someone touching their eyes, Knock Knock and Yo’ Mama jokes, panty hose laid over a chair, skid marks on underwear, back view of some guy peeing on a bush, ice cream cone dropped on the ground, vomiting, eating bugs, etc.”
This Christmas I watched 
. If it’s Reform 
After several years of not maintaining this blog, I am back. Twitter took me away, but Twitter is not the same site now as it was then, so I need another outlet.
Pssst! What’s wrong with this picture? Give up? Well? What? It’s the fraction. I didn’t pay much attention when I was younger, nor have any idea when it began. If you know, tell me, because I am clueless. Now that I’m old and cranky, it just pisses me off!
purposely pumped 9/10 of a gallon in my car. I usually try to round it off at the .00 mark, occasionally going a penny over (man, it ticks me off when that happens) and then try to go all the way to the next .00. Sometimes I get caught at .77 and can’t fill the tank any more without spilling it on my shoes. My preference is to pay for the fuel in round numbers, not tenths. I rarely have a pocket full of tenthathents.
3.23, not 3.24. Many will drive a couple of more miles to buy the gasoline at 3.22 9/10, because it seems like it’s only 3.22. The strategy seems to work. I too, fall prey to their ploy. And to be even sneakier, they don’t use dollar signs (like they’re some fancy restaurant), as if we lemmings won’t know it’s money. Lately, I seem to have stopped chasing down the few-cents-cheaper-gallon-several-blocks-away. It just doesn’t seem worth the fight. I’ll probably burn any savings during the chase down. When gasoline is necessary, I just get it.
almost as irritating, but for some reason not quite as much as 9/10. Decimals are more appealing than fractions. Fractions seem a bit unwieldy. Decimals are quick and clean. Fractions are like a little fence you have to jump. Decimals are to the point. Hell, they are the point.
arrived where people are paying more for water than gasoline. Of course, no one can drink 10 gallons of water a day, but we can easily use 10 gallons of gas.
I love the 
lateral that is music to our ears. Living beyond 65 for an offensive lineman is a luxury, but who cares? We have our sport. Today’s Gladiators provide our entertainment and milk our weaknesses by proxy.
are waiting for the fiery crash. In hockey we love the fight, where a couple of teeth are knocked out. A knockout in boxing brings with it a cheer from the fans, and tears from the loser’s family. Baseball brawls, with the dugouts emptying on the field are particularly exciting; the more players involved, the more newsworthy the event. An NBA player entering the stands to punch a fan in the mouth gives us goose bumps. Soccer hooligans are damned-near idols in some countries, tearing down fences and trampling spectators. A near-death collision in the NFL is spectacular. We thrive on the violence. Am I wrong?
Every year the NFL winner comes down to which team is the healthiest. When key players are hurt, the whole complexion of a team changes. How many of you relish the thought of your team’s biggest rival losing a player who makes a difference? I’m happy when Dak Prescott is hurt, or Ezekiel Elliott doesn’t get to do his cereal mime because he’s out with an injury. It helps the 
only have a few months before I’ll have to apologize to my wife and dogs for ignoring them. Sunday is my domain.
It is generally accepted that 
manager and 
team and Saturdays were anxiously anticipated. I couldn’t wait to get to the lanes for the bowling (but really for the French fries). Bowling Alley fries were the best. That was when they cooked them in real fat, not this sissy trans-fat-less stuff we use today. Grease, salt and ketchup . . . . mmmmm, the best. We were active kids, not slothy adults, so the cholesterol didn’t clog our arteries. In my adult years I bowled with a fellow who drenched his French fries in mustard. If we wanted to snatch a fry or two while he was on the lane bowling, we had to eat them with the yellow stuff. I guess his intent was to thwart our thievery of his snack. It worked. Or maybe he just liked them with mustard. On our team, he was the only one.
bowled on leagues in Suitland, Forestville (Parkland), Queenstown, Hyattsville (Prince George’s Plaza), Marlow Heights, Catonsville (Westview), Laurel (with mustard guy), Silver Spring (White Oak), Riverdale (Rinaldi), Wheaton (Glenmont), College Park, and probably a couple of places I’ve forgotten.
occurrence. Many ten pin bowlers think they’re “tough guys” because they can roll the heavy ball down the lanes. They ain’t so tough when ending up with two pins for a whole frame because the first ball chopped, and the next two were rolled through the hole. I guess they really don’t appreciate the challenge and precision necessary to be a good duck pinner, so they make fun of it.
The biggest factor in the decline was the demise in 1973 of the only company manufacturing automatic pinsetters (one source says it was 1969).
due to their willingness to expand and Sherman’s desire to stay at home. His company didn’t survive, and today Fair Lanes establishments are named AMF.
That’s all fine and dandy, but my preferred awards were for Best Team Name and Best Bowling Attire. My favorite team name and attire (designed by my son) is in the picture to the left.
like a star. Spend a few minutes clicking on the links (particularly the 
Only a few of you might recognize the guy in the picture. His name was 
card reader console with several 
used different sing-song inflections and would go on and on into the whole rendition you might observe at a tobacco auction (where as a boy, he developed his fascination). The students loved it. We were all cracking up. Richard really was good.
There was more to Richard Rose than the hard-working Computer Guy/Auctioneer. When I ran for the 
American Heart Association of Carroll County. If you have an auction, who do you call? Richard Rose! He jumped at the opportunity.
but, now I have a bunch of jerseys, pajama bottoms, shirts, drinking glasses and other paraphernalia with the logo just hanging around wishing for some use. The team is now called the Commanders. Ugh.
Personally, I favored 
Well, the name is here, and we have to live with it. I have to admit the uniforms turned out quite good despite the lame name. Now, if they could just win something.
coaches over twenty-three seasons. Washington has not advanced past the Divisional Round during his tenure. The media allege that his managerial style and 
as a selfish money-grubbing loser. Hopefully, the new owners will let the team succeed without their stifling involvement in the football operations other than that of concerned owners cheering for their team and dealing with the team’s economics.
In any event I can live with the name, Commanders, no matter how stupid it sounds. I just hate that Snyder lobbied for it and got his way.
the surge of fast food establishments. In 1955 Ray Kroc opened the first franchise outside Chicago. The original McDonald’s opened in 1940. Many of you probably know the origin and history of the company from The History Channel or Food TV. So, I won’t bore you with the details of when they began and how they have grown. If you are unaware of the history and want to read about it, check out the following link 
heart attacks and diabetes. Now, I don’t know how tall this fellow is, but for him to be considered ideal weight would mean he’d have to be somewhere in the neighborhood of the height of an adolescent oak tree. Did it not dawn on him that he was eating too much and growing in stature? Was the increase in waist size over the years not a hint? Like I said earlier, “Hello . . . . I was a Fat Guy!”
milk shakes. It’s their fault for making stuff people like to eat! We should probably require them to put warnings on the wrappers, “Caution! Eating too much of this can possibly cause obesity, which can lead to high cholesterol, high blood pressure, diabetes and heart attacks!” Duh. I guess it goes along with the other self-inflicted diseases we struggle with these days but blame everyone else for causing. But why waste the print on the warnings? No one will pay attention, even if they are old enough to read. Just buy bigger clothes and help the sweat suit industry (eventually they’ll be sued for making us look frumpy).
Celebratory salads, celery sticks, tofu, and carrots just aren’t considered festive. But stick a candle in a cake and everybody sings, applauds and gorges. Probably the #1 song in the world is “Happy Birthday.” We all know the words. They even have ridiculous renditions of it at restaurants, sung by the help, clapping their hands in a silly way, while they are delivering the dessert to your table, as you feign embarrassment and surprise.
Boomer Twilight 