Television . . .

Call me boring, but I like TV. Escapist TV, that is. I can't do the "slice of life" stuff that normally shows up on Lifetime. I see "life" every day. Extending it into my down time just doesn't work. So, costume dramas, mild science fiction, and adventure is what I look for.
Here on the east coast, TV is an hour later than my Midwestern mind can assimilate - particularly when I have to get up at 0500 every morning. So, thank you, electrical engineers, for cable and DVR.

There are two programs I have been recording lately. The first is a rather unusual extension of the Terminator movies - Terminator, the Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Probably the most interesting character in the series is Cameron (Summer Glau), a re-programmed terminator sent to protect John Connor. Her name is a paean to James Cameron, the director of the first two Terminator movies.

The photo below shows most of her. She previously appeared in "Firefly" and "Serenity." She has a rather odd appearance, but moves like a dancer - which she is. An extremely talented ballet dancer, which was exhibited in Monday's episode.




The other is The Tudors on Showtime. I religiously watched The Six Wives of Henry VIII, Elizabeth R, Elizabeth, Elizabeth - the Golden Years and a few others. I watch them again every time they pop up on TV or cable. English history is intriguing to me, since my g.grandfather and g.grandmother emigrated here from Coseley, Staffordshire. Also, Sir Leonard Halliday, a distant (too many greats to enumerate here) grandfather, was Lord Mayor of London in 1605.

This series begins its second season on 30 March. In spite of many odd twists of history - like Henry FitzRoy dying at the age of three, or Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk marrying Margaret Tudor (after she marries and kills the King of Portugal . . . huh?) - it has very good acting, great costuming and scenery and an interesting story line. Natalie Dormer, whom I had never seen before, is an excellent Anne Boleyn.

Sunday odds and ends . . .

Walmart: Unfortunately, we always seem to end up there around noon on Sunday - which appears to be the busiest time of the week. They were stocking shelves in the middle of the rush. Pallets and boxes were stacked everywhere. People were queued up about six deep at every checkout. Oh, and a little more than half of the thirty checkouts were closed. Old Sam must be spinning in his grave. He believed in customer service.

Boobage: Don't the rich and famous actresses at the Oscars own a mirror . . . or have a friend? Ladies, strapless gowns are great. But, they should fit. Little rolls of boobage over the front or under your armpits aren't attractive at all. If you want to know how to wear strapless, look at Jessica Alba.

Reege: How tall was the box you had to stand on in order to see eye-to-eye with Miley Cyrus?

Ryan Seacrest: Same question.

Gary Busey: Are you freakin' insane?

Jennifer Garner: I miss "Alias." Oh, and you need to know that Gary Busey is insane.

Songs: Is there a song nominated that I would buy? Nope. No way.

NASCAR: When the minutes of commercials exceed the miles in the race, it's time to reassess.

Monday: I have to fix a project that someone else hosed up, explain adjustments that I didn't make, and add back parts that a blue-ribbon (?) panel removed.

Friday: That's my day off, but I've been requested to attend a meeting.

Positive Note: Daughter and family intend to visit this summer. Yay!

Insane . . .

Sharia . . .

The Archbishop of Canterbury says the adoption of certain aspects of Sharia law in the UK "seems unavoidable".

Dr Rowan Williams told Radio 4's World at One that the UK has to "face up to the fact" that some of its citizens do not relate to the British legal system. He says Muslims should not have to choose between "the stark alternatives of cultural loyalty or state loyalty".

I think this guy generally makes more sense . . . .:

Than this guy:

We have a similar situation in the U.S. We call those who do not "relate to the American legal system" convicts.

Move along . . . move along . . . nothing to see here . . . nothing to see . . .

Where is the freakin cellphone?

I'm very careful with my cellphone, but, on the very rare occasion, I put it down somewhere without thinking. I'm sure no one else does that. I'm alone in my absentmindedness.

Anyhow, a few days ago, I went to pick up my phone, and it was not on the desk where I always, carefully, faithfully, without fail, place it. It was not there. I was a bit worried, because I once had one of those handy little holsters they give us broke, and my phone fell off in the street. Luckily, an honest passerby found it and I was able to retrieve it.

I pick up the landline in the kitchen and call my cell number, waiting for the ring. Sure enough, I hear the ring in the living room. I walk into the living room, looking for the sound, but no, now it sounds like it's in the bedroom. Into the bedroom. Nothing, and the phone stops ringing. It's waiting for a message.

Hang up. Back to the kitchen. Redial. Ringing in the living room again. Back to the living room. Now I have it figured out. Its in the loft next to my computer. Up the stairs. Nothing on the computer desk. The phone stops ringing. It's waiting for another message. I doubt that a message will do me much good.

Back to the kitchen. Redial. Ringing in the living room. I look under the couch cushions, on the floor, in my coat. Nothing. The phone stops ringing. Disgusted, I sit down.

Segue and cue the television. Have you seen the commercial with the woman holding the baby with the cellphone? Every time she turns around, the phone seems to be behind her.

Yep. When I got out of my car, my cell phone was pushed around behind me. The lump in my back when I sat on the couch gave me the final clue. No wonder it always seemed to be ringing from somwhere else. I guess this is the electronic version of searching for glasses while they're perched on the top of your head.

There's an old joke . . .

. . . about a lady worm in a cotton field. She was being romanced by two male worms. One commanded great territory in the field, but was arrogant and rude. The other had a much smaller wormdom, but was polite and kind. After much thought, naturally, the lady chose the lesser of the two weevils.

Which leads me to:

WASHINGTON, AP 02/20/07 - Democratic Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton must win 57 percent of the remaining primary and caucus delegates to erase Barack Obama's
lead, a daunting task requiring landslide-sized victories by a struggling presidential candidate.

How does this relate, you might ask? Well, it places my preferred candidate, John McCain, against the lesser of . . . well, you know. I simply cannot brook another eight years of Clintons in the white house. I just can't.

I fancy myself a centrist, although I'm probably a little right of center. My concern with Obama is that he's inexperienced, is running primarily on words as opposed to platforms, and that his voting record is too socialistic for me.

However, I do believe that he's an honest man who intends to do the right thing. Hillary, on the other hand, carries the rather soiled baggage of the Clinton years. Positions taken by reading the direction of the wind sock. Deploying vicious retribution against any naysayers. I truly believe that the Clintons (and you cannot separate them - they're a package) are in it for the power, and the power alone. I don't believe that Hillary is immoral, but rather that she is amoral, and lacking a guiding compass.

So, although I can't vote for Obama, I hope he becomes the nominee . . . and has the enormous good sense NOT to add Hillary to the ticket.

Your mileage may vary.

Nihanto . . .

. . . or what you would call a "Samurai sword."

My grandfather, John Osborne was an eclectic gentleman. Scoutmaster, Eagle Scout, church deacon, soldier, militaria collector, woodworker, gardner and fisherman. He was also diabetic, and died in 1957 at the age of 66. I was only fourteen.

He had a shed that he jokingly (I hope) called his "doghouse." Presumably for use when he and grandma . . . well, never mind. I remember that the doghouse had a small bunk bed, a gun rack and lots of other stuff. Grandma gave me quite a few items from the doghouse, and I still have them all. But I recently became interested in finding out more about a rather plain-looking sword that appeared to be a Japanese Nihonto.

All I knew about Samurai swords, I learned from the movies - which means that everything I knew was incorrect. Thank heaven for the internet.

I thought that the scabbard was very plain, because I was used to all the movie glitter. I found out that the sword was encased in a storage scabbard (shirasaya). The shirasaya protects the sword when it is not mounted for carry and use.

I learned that the information concerning the maker and dating of the sword was located on the tang (nagako). One side of the nagako usually has the date (nengo) and the other side has the smith's signature (mei).

Are you bored yet? There's more.

I was hoping against hope that this would be an ancient, valuable nihonto, weilded by a famous swordsman. OK, that's not likely, but one can always hope.

When I carefully removed the handle (tsuka), I found the expected inscriptions (kanji). The kanji are read from top to bottom. I rotated the pictures to cut down the length of the post - so if you read Japanese, I apologize for the crick in your neck.

This is the nengo or dating of the blade. It reads Showa jyu hachi nen san gatsu kichi jitsu, which means: "on a fortunate day in March in the 18th year of the reign of Emperor Hirohito, (March, 1944).

This is the mei or swordsmith's signature. It reads oiete toto hizen no kuni Tadamitsu tsukuru kore, which means: "at Tokyo, Tadamitsu of Hizen Province made this".

Regardless of whether or not this sword is worth any $$$$, it has great sentimental value to me - and I learned something. It's always a good day when you learn something.

Grandpa, I know you're watching from somewhere, and I want you to know that I still eat those salami sandwiches you used to make for me when we went fishing. Oh, and I can't pick a fresh tomato without thinking of your garden between the "doghouse" and the workshop.