Hey! Hey! Hey! Heeeeey!

Hi. Remember “The Breakfast Club?”

Remember the date on which that detention was portrayed to have happened?

March 24, 1984.

30 years ago.


In Other News

Hank the Angry Dwarf wants to sell you a car!

Sigh. Hank.


That’ll Be The Day

It’s a weird occurrence, when you’re watching the television and someone on the television says exactly what you were thinking. That’s what happened last night as I watched Alex Preston’s performance on “Amercian Idol” and its aftermath.

Preston’s performance of One Direction’s “Story of My Life” should not have been a showstopper, not for me, as I couldn’t pick any of those young men out of a lineup and I have never heard the song before to my knowledge. But man, this Alex, he’s that good.

As I watched him perform, the name Buddy Holly came to mind. Something about how this young man carries himself, something about how awkward he seems off-stage and how self-assured he seems when he’s in front of a microphone. This kid from New Hampshire brings to mind that kid from Lubbock, it just can’t be helped.

J-Lo noticed it, too, as she made the comparison in her remarks. So, hey, Alex. Time to go shopping for some big-horned specs, kid.

Re: Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370

On Oct. 13, 1913, Albert Jewell was flying a Moisant-Blériot monoplane from Long Island to Staten Island, intending to compete in an aerial derby. He disappeared and was never heard from again; no trace of Jewell or his airplane were ever recovered.

On May 19, 1919, New York hotel owner Raymond Orteig offered a $25,000 reward to the first aviator to fly non-stop between New York City and Paris. François Coli and Charles Nungesser tried to do this in May 1927, leaving from Paris in a Levasseur PL.8 biplane called L’Oiseau Blanc, or The White Bird. The plane disappeared and was never found, leaving the task to Charles Lindbergh two weeks later.

There are countless other tales of disappearing aircraft and pilots between that and the one you know about, when Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan attempted to fly around the world in a Lockheed Electra 10E in 1937 and disappeared somewhere near Howland Island in the Pacific Ocean. And there are countless more tales after that, not to mention the disappearance of the UC-64 Norseman over the English Channel that carried band leader Glenn Miller. No trace of that flight was ever found.

Before Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370, the last plane reported missing was in November 2008, when a small Beechcraft King Air plane disappeared over Guyana. They lost 3 crew members who were never heard from again.

We still lose airplanes. We’ve been losing airplanes for 100 years, and we’re still losing them. Losing an airplane is still within the realm of possibility. In my own car, I can have a computer talk to me to tell me how to drive to Pittsburgh, but we can still lose an airplane. From this latest event, I draw two reflections.

This world we live on is big. I have posted these numbers recently: The total surface area of the Earth is 196.9 million square miles. The total surface area of the United States is 3.794 million square miles, including all land and territorial waters. This means the United States comprises 1.9 percent of the Earth. It’s a big planet, but we can only live on a quarter of it. And, sometimes, when we try to traverse it by air, it eats you up and spits you out anyways. Intelligent design my forehead.

Second, we sure do think we’re hot goosepoop these days, with the Internet and GPS and satellites and the Google Glass and whatnot. But get humble, people. Get real, real humble.

Because we still lose airplanes.

Beth Scalet

I was 11 years old, I think, and I was staying with the family in southeast Kansas, and my Dad was to join us on Christmas morning. I remember waiting for him, and I remember him walking in the door and handing me a record album in Christmas wrapping. I unwrapped it.

The album was called “It’s a Living…” by Beth Scalet, with the artist’s plucky, smiling face ostensibly cruising down the road in a convertible. I think I thanked my Dad for the gift at the time, surely I must have; but I don’t remember at the time being much impressed.

As I grew older, I would, from time to time, put this collection on my turntable. Dad shared at some point this was a friend of his, which must have impressed me at some point to listen. The album grew with me, or I with it, through the years and was and is now one of my favorites ever of all time. It is a masterful, authentic, and lovely set of songs of which I have often been downright evangelistic about.

Beth was an independent artist based in the Kansas City area. Think Melissa Etheridge but without “I’m The Only One.” You know. Kinda. Among Beth’s last recording efforts was a mash note to Bob Dylan, “Beth Loves Bob.”

I am glad to have had an e-mail exchange with her a few years ago telling her this. I am glad she knew she counted me as a fan.

Sadly, this week, Beth Scalet stopped refusing to die.

Her music is on Amazon and CDBaby.

She was really something.

Blizzard to the Bones in Homes

Let It Snow

I have just accidentally watched my first 3 1/2 minutes of Duck Dynasty on the television while heating up my noodles in a box in the break room. Apparently, a young man is going to take the young daughter to a dance. The family elders are torn about the idea because they don’t want the young man smooching their daughter, but they take him out huntin’ and it turns out he’s a pretty good shot, so he must be okay. Although, I would say that if you blow your prey to smithereens leaving only a tail, it doesn’t seem to me that you might be a good shot, but you’re not actually a good * hunter *, but what do I know? So anyway, the girl’s daddys continue to vacillate. I don’t really want to like the kid, they’re saying, I mean, I want to put a balloon between them when they dance, no wait, I want to put four balloons, but I do like the kid, though, I mean, he can shoot a gun and all, and


Give me a bag. A brown paper bag. There’s things I want to put inside it, man.