1. Toledo, Ohio is America’s Glass City and it has a Glass Pavilion in its Museum of Art. Unfortunately, it has a smudge on its image: the pavilion glass was imported from China. Up to 1990, the U.S. outproduced the oriental wonders, manufacturing about 4 million metric tons of glass per year to China’s 3 million tons. By 2005, China’s production climbed to 20 million metric tons while the U.S. production continued to hover at 4 million. Now, China has topped 25 million metric tons and the U.S. has fallen to 3 million tons. Ah, so.

2. A Lake Erie roadside attraction features fiberglass dinosaurs in its so-called Prehistoric Forest. No one goes there any more and the owners are looking to sell its sluggish dinosaurs. Why, indeed, would anybody look at stationary chunks of fiberglass when he can go see full-blooded dinosaurs in 3-D wooshing around in films such as Avatar?

3. Readers know how I love those in the medical industry (a.k.a. medical “profession”) I once wrote of a gentleman I met at a party who, seeing me struggle to get a bottle cap off, offered to help. “Why would you have better luck than I’m having?” I dull-wittedly asked. Astonished, he replied, “Why, I thought you know. I’m a doctor.” To rub it in, he quickly removed the doggone thing. Recently, another health care provider told me I should take a “baby” aspirin each day as protection for my heart. I said I preferred to take two of them but he said it was extravagant. I replied that I spend more money each week on movies and ice cream than I spend on aspirin in a year. His response was a quick-witted, “Oh.” How I love these guys.

4. Roger Clemens faces a possible 30-year sentence for once having told congressman that he doesn’t use performance-enhancing drugs. Those wonderful congressmen – how I love those guys. May they each have their baby aspirins taken away from them.

5. A distinguished Harvard economist wrote a guest editorial in the Wall Street Journal this week, pointing out that unemployment insurance is killing the poor. And he proved his point without once resorting to a differential equation. How I love these guys.

6. Since about 2003, about 125 Japanese teenagers have been killed while receiving judo instruction. In at least one case, a judo expert, in his frustration with a slow learner, choked the lad to death. There has not been a single inquiry into the any of the 125 deaths. You gotta love Japanese delicacy.

7. A gunman entered an Arizona home and killed 6 people but spared a 13-month old infant. Whoever said there is no honor among bloodthirsty lunatics?

8. In Chechnya, Russia, 17 people bit the bullet and died as law enforcement officers shot it out with 12 militants. My dictionary defines “militant” as forceful, fierce, combative, extreme. Okay, that’s pretty good as a description of the cops. And, now, what about the guys they gunned down?

I rather suppose that every day has historic events associated with it. I just happened to look up a few that took place today on August 28. Among the most significant was the abduction of Emmet Til in 1955 for his whistling at a white woman. Til was brutally beaten, shot, and dumped in Mississippi’s Tallahatchie River. It took only an hour for the all-white jury to acquit the murderers. One juror said that they took a soda-pop break during the deliberations to stretch them out and “make it look good.” With double-jeopardy protecting them from being retried, the two murderers later boasted about the murder in a Look magazine interview. For decades, the family of Til sought justice but today the case is closed for good because of a statute of limitations. It is one of the sorriest episodes in the American history of civil rights violations.

In 1963, Martin Luther King gave his justly celebrated “I have a dream” speech in Washington, D.C. Among the two hundred thousand in attendance was a handful of NYU graduate students in philosophy. I am still proud of the fact that I was among them. King was a man for the ages ad those who still try to demean him are a sorry, shameful lot.

10,000 anti-Vietnam demonstrators gathered at the Democratic National Convention of 1968 and were met head on by 23,000 policemen and members of the National Guard. The beatings visited upon the demonstrators had many causes, of course, but among Mayor Richard Daly’s excuses were that the protesters had not been granted permits to demonstrate and the crowd was on the verge of assassinating many important politicians, including Daly himself. Inside the Convention Hall, Abraham Ribicoff said, while giving his nominating speech for George McGovern, “with George McGovern we wouldn’t have Gestapo tactics on the streets of Chicago.” It is alleged that out of earshot of TV cameras, Daly replied, “Fuck you, you Jew son of a bitch! You lousy motherfucker! Go home!” Such are anecdotes and you may give it whatever weight you want.

For many years, I have been greedily devouring the real estate section in the weekend Wall Street Journal. There are always excellent bargains for those willing to do a bit of homework. Here is my favorite of the week.

4523northsawyerroad.com This beauty is on the east shore of Oconomowoc Lake in Wisconsin, has 445 feet of lake frontage and It encompasses 6.25 acres of lake front, woods and open area. Very near to Insterstate 94, 25 minutes from Milwaukee and 90 minutes from O’Hare Airport. A steal at $6 million. But I am duty bound to give you information of another property located on 5 acres of wooded terrain, having every imaginable variety of tree: walnut, spruce, elm, douglas fir, maple, oak, etc. The owner estimates a mimimum of 3000 trees on his land. This property also contains plenty of open ground. It is 500 feet from the mighty Huron River, and Swift Run, bisects the property before emptying out into the Huron. Wide-mouth bass are occasionally seen in Swift Run. The compound is accessed via a driveway 1000 feet long and has a lovely circular drive at its end. Like the $6 million dollar special of the week, it, too, is only minutes from Interstate 94, a mere 25 minutes from Detroit’s international airport, 45 minutes due west of Detroit and 50 minutes due north of Toledo. Secluded, yet only minutes from Eastern Michigan University and practically walking distance to the Ann Arbor golf course. An especially nice feature of the home is that halfway up the driveway, the owner has posted a sign that reads: BROOKLYN 636 miles and has an arrow pointing eastward. The elderly owners, with 146 years between them (and 6 college degrees to boot, if their counting can still be trusted) are willing to sacrifice for – GET THIS! – $2 million. Hurry, hurry, this will not last long.

SPECIAL OFFER! If the purchaser can speak with either a genuine Nebraska accent or do a good imitation of a Brownsville, Brooklyn accent, owners will knock $150,000 off the price. Otherwise:

FIRM!

JoEllen both speaks softly and carries a small stick. Therefore, I receive no lashes or beatings for my criticisms. My first offense is that I sometimes write about her, destroying her dream of anonymity.

She calls to me from 50 feet away and while I have water running. Hostilely, I scream out, “Never again speak to me as long as you live unless you want me to hear what you are saying!” Over the last 15 years I have made this stupid announcement 100 times. I refuse to enumerate my other lunacies vis-a-vis JoEllen.

I have been an Amanda Beard fan since 1995, not because she is one of the greatest swimmers of all time (but she certainly is that) but because I think she is more beautiful than any movie star. She has appeared on the cover of many magazines and has had the disgusting honor of being labeled one of the “hottest-looking” athletes in the world. Now, the mother of a 14 months old child, she is coming out of retirement in the hope of making the U.S. Olympic team for the fifth time in 2012. I am afraid her comeback will be a disaster and I am achingly hoping she will change her mind.

Tilda Swinton, arguable the best actor alive, is appearing in a movie called I am Love, a sure-fire non-success at the box office. It has received wonderful reviews and I am told the lady has lost much weight since she flashed her abundant love handles in Michael Clayton, opposite George Clooney. For her performance, not for her love handles, she won an Oscar. I am anticipating gorgeousness in addition to another award-winning performance. Go, Tilda.

Usain “LIghting” Bolt of Jamaica will meet America’s Tyson Gay in a much heralded match over 100 meters in Stockholm on August 6. Americans may not care much but for the rest of the world Track and Field is the number two sport behind soccer. In 2008, after the Olympics, an international panel of sports writers selected Bolt as athlete of the year in a close vote with swimmer Michael Phelps who finished second. The incident cost me my friendship with someone I thought was one of my closest and dearest friends. I had the effrontery to tell him I agreed with vote. He said I was ridiculous and I demanded to know why. His response? I should never talk to him or to write to him again. “Friendship, just the perfect friendship. When other friendships will be forgot, ours will still be rot.”

But here’s Judy G celebrating the perfect friendship. I won’t stop loving you, Tom.

“Don’t say ‘goodbye’; say ‘au revoir’.” I haven’t a clue as to why anybody ever gives that advice, so I’ll say neither “goodbye” nor “au revoir.”

This is my last post until August 1. Please don’t pass that along to any member of UBA [United Burglars Association].

As Arnold so coarsely put it, “I’ll be back.” As Douglas more eloquently put it, “I shall return.”

“Don’t be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again.” – I don’t know who said that, but I like it.

Here’s the woman who almost singlehandedly won World War II, and here is how she did it. CLICK HERE, PLEASE.

If the link is defective, try this version, instead. CLICK HERE.

And here is Miss Loveliness singing it. The Queen of Joy herself. What she lacks compared to Vera’s intensity she makes up for in some other way – the guys who read this Journal will know what I mean. And how can you beat that crowd of geezers who escaped from Lawrence Welk’s Sing Along Asylum? CLICK HERE, PLEASE.

I am too frazzled to figure out instructions concerning how to reach Google by mail. I want to telephone the company. If anybody knows how I can do this, please call me immediately at 734 – 973-9012. Thank you.

Someone is Scotland has gotten hold of my e-mail database and is requesting money from friends.

At this moment, my e-mail facilities seem to be blocked and I cannot send out messages to the hundreds of people who are in my data base. DO NOT RESPOND TO ANY E-MAIL THAT SEEMS TO COME FROM ME BUT HAS A SUSPICIOUS ADDRESS.

The friend who notified me of this situation said he would send me a copy of the e-mail notice he got from the scammer but I am unable to receive e-mails. It is my intention to call the FBI as soon as post this message.

I am not sure how many people read my journal. About 100 persons are subscribers and that may be 1/4, 1/2 or all of those who occasionally peek at what I write. I wouldn’t mind if the subscribers were the only persons who peek if I knew that a good percentage of them did more than peek. For all I know, all but the handful who sometimes send in comments immediately delete the e-mail notices that automatically go out to them.

Such thoughts are discouraging, demoralizing, disheartening and downright depressing. By “depressing” I mean heartbreaking, causing gloom and joylessness. Such thoughts inhibit my mental processes – to the small extent that I have any – and worst of all, they put me in a mood to smoke and eat. Furthermore, keep in mind that without feedback, I may be doing that most disgusting of things – spitting in the wind. You don’t want to be responsible for my walking around with spittle on my chin and clothes.

Granted that every one of my postings are written off the top of my head rather than from within it, and too many of them may be so light as not to evoke any ideas in you. Even as they pour out from my keyboard, I know that. I never delete, never edit, never have second thoughts. Many of them are downright foolish. Even so, just a little “Hey, man, you are downright foolish” would cheer me up. On the other hand, some of my postings almost rise to the level of mediocrity and I actually am vain enough to imagine that if I worked on them, they’d be sophomoric. On those occasions your comments would really be appreciated.

So think about that. I NEED YOU.

Here’s the incomparable Julie. Will she inspire you?

Parties, as they occur in the academic world, are not even distant kin to parties as they occur in the lives of real people. I haven’t been to one of the latter in many decades but I have faint recollections of people dancing, listening to music, lots of laughter and some other things that can be put in the general rubric of FUN. One that I almost remember was on a Brooklyn College riverboat ride (on the Hudson, I think). I was there with my soon-to-be wife, Natalie, along with Al Silver and his date. Ah, those were the days, my friend, I always knew they were bound to end.

For many years, the Psychology Department at the institution of higher learning where I regularly assailed and frightened students, held annual Christmas “parties.” I often attended because good food was free and plentiful. We stood around and talked at one another, holding glasses of soda or wine in our hands. I recall only one in particular. A sage approached me.

Sage: Gendin, are you familiar with Skinner?
SG: I don’t know. I’m not sure what you mean.
Sage: Skinner, B.F. Skinner. Do you know anything of his work?
SG: A little bit, I suppose. He kept mice in a box and ran various experiments on them.
Sage: You know next to nothing about Skinner, I’m afraid. He is one of the most important behaviorists of the 20th century.
SG: How does he compare with behaviorists of other centuries?
Sage: Never mind that, Gendin. Skinner helped prove that mind was nothing more than behavior. It is not a thing.
SG: Interesting. Why are you telling me this?
Sage: Well, you regularly come to our parties as a free-loader. I feel I am entitled to know what your credentials are.
SG: In some sense of the word, I am a colleague of yours and didn’t suppose anybody would mind my being here. Do you mind?
Sage: I’d feel better about you if I thought you knew a little about psychology. I understand that a couple of months ago you went to a talk given by one of our graduate students and, in the discussion period, gave her a hard time and ridiculed her.
SG: Do you know the difference between ridiculing a person and that person’s revealing herself to be ridiculous?
Sage: I’m not sure. What do you mean?
SG: Well, suppose I had never been born. That student would have been ridiculous even had I not been born and, as you think I did, ridiculed her.
Sage: You are playing with words. A common deficiency in your profession.
SG: Perhaps. Maybe it is just a common practice in my profession rather than a deficiency.
Sage: I heard she was quite upset and complained about you. You really ought not to have been there.
SG: I am not sure anybody should have been there, including the young woman herself. But is that the reason you question me about Skinner?
Sage: Yes. If you don’t know much about Skinner then I am not sure you should be here eating our food. The members of this department kicked in good money for the food you are devouring in such outlandish quantities.
SG: I come every year and I always eat more than anyone else does. If I bone up on Skinner between now and next Christmas, will you be more approving of my attendance?
Sage: Will you continue to ridicule students who are trying to give papers? That’s the real issue, you know.
SG: Do you know the difference between ridiculing a person and that person’s revealing herself to be ridiculous?
Sage: We’ve been through that. You are weird, Gendin.
SG: And I have many other positive traits, too. Would you like to explore them with me? Over a large platter of food, of course.
Sage: I think not. [And with that, like Descartes, he disappeared. Non-cogito, ergo non-sum.]

I wended my way toward another table and, without a trace of embarrassment, greedily gobbled up everything on a certain platter. I love parties.

I don’t care much for the title of this post. I considered others but none seems quite right: The Inferior Man; A Superiority Complex; In a wishing-well; etc. Finally, I gave up and pulled one title out of the bag, knowing it fits or it doesn’t and nobody gives a damn.

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One day John heard a learned philosopher declaim that all men have equal, inherent worth. The philosopher said each person values his own life as much as anybody values his own, that all of us are entitled to respect, that nobody is better in the deepest sense than anybody else. There was more of this but it all came down to the same thing, as far as John could tell – and he left the lecture a happy man.

The truth about John’s worth is otherwise, however. For one thing, John is a person of uncommon ugliness. No one would think he places in the upper 95%. John is incurably stupid; he can never remember whether the president or the vice-president holds higher office. When no one is watching, John steals candy from babies and takes joy in their crying. John has tried various forms of amusement such as TV, movies, reading, listening to music, and a dozen others but they leave him cold and, for the most part, they are incomprehensible to him. John never returns “Good morning” when a neighbor says that to him. John would not dream of helping a blind man to cross a street. John’s one pleasure is imagining that other people suffer. John has never held a job but the $million he inherited is beginning to run out and he will soon have to stop being a glutton. John, who stands 5′ 11″ will be obliged to reduce his weight to 300 pounds.

Recently, John saw a neighbor accidentally drop his wallet on the sidewalk. He sprung into action (insofar as John can be said to spring) and found it contained $2000. So now John used the money to go to a Health Care Provider. “Am I okay, Mr. Provider?” he asked. The HCP gave him as thorough an exam as $2000 could buy. his heart and lungs checked out fine. A brain scan revealed no anomalies, reflexes were surprisingly normal. The HCP said, “Let’s take a look at your islets of langherhans.” John was alarmed. “What! Can you do that and still bring the total bill in at under $2000?” “Yes,” said the HCP, “I am in a very expansive mood and will toss that checkup in free of charge.” So it was done, and it turned out that John’s islets were fine, indeed. To conclude, HCP conducted a DNA test, just to be sure that John was not descended from the Jukes family. He turned out to be free of that congenital disorder.

At the end of the long examination, HCP said, “John, it seems that you suffer only from being an INFERIOR MAN. Don’t believe anyone who says you have an inferiority complex. In fact, insofar as you think you have worth equal to other people’s, you have a SUPERIORITY COMPLEX. You have no reason to think you are the equal of any other person on this planet. You are simply rotten to the core but for no reason whatsoever. Forget what the philosopher told you.”

John, however, did not accept the HCP’s final judgment. Reassured that all was well, John left the HCP’s office, found a baby outside in a carriage, and stole some candy. He went home, put on his “Life is good” T-shirt and settled down to daydreams of other people being miserable.