"Is That a G-G-G-Gun!

Whenever we want to disparage someone’s honesty, we compare them to a used car salesman. Stereotypes like these are not totally unfair because, like most stereotypes, there is some truth in them. Car dealers in general are looked upon with suspicion because of the way they do business; that whole mating dance when you’re negotiating a price on a new car, and the sales person running back and forth to the manager like they were trying their darndest to get you a better deal. Please.

While it’s true I’ve encountered some sales reps from hell like the little dweeb from the Auto Mall in New Jersey who pressed me insistently for my social security number before he had barely said hello. Later, while test driving the car, I asked to hear the radio and this idiot didn’t know how to turn it on. Generally though, I think most of the problems I’ve had have come after I buy the car. I’ve found that dealing with mechanics and service departments is a lot more frustrating than dealing with sales people. I’ve never understood this because while your decision to buy from a particular dealer is based largely on convenience, your decision to return to that dealer is based almost exclusively on how well they service the car. Duh.

An auto service operation is not just about how well they handle maintenance and repairs on the vehicle, but how well they treat you. In the days long ago, before arrogant American auto makers got their butts kicked by Japan, customer waiting rooms in car dealerships were the pits. Dingy surroundings, uncomfortable, mismatched chairs that looked like they were rescued from a dumpster, dog-eared magazines yellow with age, and nothing to eat or drink while you waited at their mercy to fix your car were the norm. Mechanics were surly, had no appreciation for the value of your time, and usually left a memento of your visit in the form of a grease stain on your mats or upholstery.

My worst experience with a mechanic happened during the 1960s. One morning, I dropped off my big-ass Olds ’88 at the local Shell station for an oil change. When I returned that evening looking for my car, I walked right past a total wreck parked in the same gas station. The station owner came out and sheepishly explained that the wreck I walked past WAS my car! It seems that when he was backing the car out after changing the oil, a speeding car ran the light at 86th Street and plowed into my car. He was totally apologetic, and said his insurance company would take care of the repair. What could I do; the damage was done so I told him to notify me when the car was repaired.

About a week later the station owner called me, said the car was ready, and gave me the address in Brooklyn of the body shop where I could pick it up. The body shop owner pulled the car around, and to my complete delight, the car looked like new! I thanked him for a great job, but as I moved to open the door to get in and drive off, he stepped in front of me. He explained that the Shell station owner’s insurance company had not yet agreed to pay for the damage, and that he was slapping a “mechanic’s lien” on the car to prevent me from taking it until he got his money.

At this point I was at the end of my patience. The body shop guy was a lot older and smaller than me, so I told him in my best “hard guy” voice that the insurance problem was between him and the Shell station owner, and that I was taking my car. He calmly stepped into his ratty office and came out with a snarling Doberman and holding the biggest revolver I had ever seen! Needless to say, no further arguments were made by me. (The dog would have been more than enough.) A couple of weeks later, I got my car and an apology from the body shop guy for his “Little Caesar” tactics. I stammered that it was perfectly understandable and, avoiding any sudden movements, slowly backed out.

Things have changed a lot now that car dealers are beginning to understand the relationship between treating customers decently and repeat sales. My current Toyota dealer in New Jersey has a service operation that makes me want to go back. They keep their appointment times, have a customer lounge with big screen TV and extensive reading materials, and will even give you a free voucher for breakfast or lunch that you can redeem in their on-site restaurant while you wait for your car to be serviced. When the car is ready, it takes me ten minutes to remove all the protective coverings they put over the seats and on the floor to prevent stains. And I’m happy to report that so far, nobody has pulled a gun on me.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Just Shut Up!

As you probably know by now, I am easily annoyed. The older I get the less patience I seem to have. I manage to conceal my irritation in situations where it would be imprudent to show it, but there are times when it is all I can do to keep from rolling up a magazine and hitting someone on the head! I think the fools that bring out the worst in me are the pretentious phonies. They are everywhere you look, for example, last night we went to the New York Historical Society on Central Park West to see the Civil War exhibit on Grant and Lincoln. The building also houses other interesting exhibits including some wonderful paintings.

As we proceeded through the wing of paintings thoroughly enjoying each one and admiring the talented artists who created them, my B.S. alarm suddenly went off. We had come up in the elevator with an older man and a younger woman, thin, blonde and PRETENTIOUS. She was having one of those loud, "look at me, aren't I smart" elevator conversations that make me cringe. The B.S. meter was entering the danger zone, and this was only on the ride up to the fourth floor!

I purposely walked the other way when we got off the elevator, hoping to avoid hearing that obnoxious voice again. We did OK for a while, passing through rooms of period furniture and everyday household items that I remember well growing up. (I guess since they are now considered collectible antiques, that probably makes me an antique too.) As we moved on to the art gallery and down a narrow corridor, I suddenly heard "the voice." It entered my brain like a knitting needle through my ear: "Look at their deportment Charles, they could come from the movie: Streets of New York." And sure enough, down the corridor was this hateful woman. As she droned on, we took off in full flight, needing to be anywhere she wasn't.

I wish I could remember when I developed such an aversion to pretentious people. It's probably the cumulative effect of individual incidents over the years rather than one single defining moment when I went from tolerance of these a**holes to pure malevolence toward them. Not to get too Freudian here, but it may have begun when I saw how certain people treated my mother. She was the very soul of tolerance, and always turned the other cheek when people took advantage or talked down to her. She would simply accept their rudeness and go on with business. For a while growing up, I was this way too. It just seemed like an easy way to get through life with no conflict.

At some point things changed. I began to rankle when I heard that superior tone in people's voices that implied they knew all there was to know. These people are at their worst in public places where they have an audience. You know them in a second...their voices rise above all others as they assert their superiority. My child is so special that they are head and shoulders above the other children in their class; If you had only converted your portfolio to cash when I told you this recession wouldn't have hit you so hard; I wouldn't drive anything but a Mercedez...I don't know why you don't get rid of that Buick.

Their habitats are elevators, restaurants, waiting rooms, anywhere there are other people to impress with how much better they are. Cell phones are their latest weapon; even if they are alone they can have these loud conversations proclaiming how great things are going. I think society should recognize what public nuisances these S.O.B.s are, and declare it perfectly acceptable conduct to approach them, tap them on the shoulder and say: "You know what, shut the f*ck up!" How great would that feel? People would give you a standing ovation. I feel better just thinking about it.

Sure, I can go into therapy, but it's much more fun being crazy.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Last Meal

You may have noticed the "Blimp Watch" at the bottom of these posts. I'm doing OK, but losing weight is hard for me, mainly because I really love to eat. I could eat five or six meals a day, especially in the cold, dark days of winter when that comfort food beckons. I have a sweet tooth for all things chocolate, ice cream, cookies and pastry so you can see my problem. I was blessed with a wife who can really cook (besides being beautiful and intelligent) so I don't get any bad dinners at home. Also, we eat out maybe once a week at one of the many good restaurants in our area. All these things combine to make losing weight an uphill battle.

When I'm not actually eating, I'm thinking about food. I saw a show on Nova last night that featured new research on compulsive eaters. I have my problems, but these folks were morbidly obese; they stuff themselves until they feel physically ill, and then drown in guilt and depression. The lead researcher believes that something like one in a hundred overweight people have a defective gene receptor that causes them to eat way past the point where people without this problem will feel full and stop. I don't understand how this works, but maybe there's more to overeating than a simple lack of willpower. I guess I want to be told it's not my fault. Anyhow, since I am thinking of food, I decided to write down my dream dinner. It involves travel to several restaurants, so let's get going.

For appetizers, we need go no farther than a local favorite, Gennaro's Restaurant on Staten Island. They serve two appetizers that are equally good: one is a couple of dozen fat Mussels with strips of roasted red peppers and onions in a garlicky white wine sauce; the other is grilled zucchini, eggplant and onions served atop a warm pannini-style bread. If you finish one of these appetizers, you can just have them doggie-bag your entree because you'll be too full to eat it. A nice Pinot Grigio goes well with either of these.

Next, a salad to cleanse the pallette. Caesar salad is my favorite, but there are a few rules that need to be followed. First, the anchovies must be used sparingly, just to flavor the dressing, not overpower it. Next, the lettuce must be crisp Romaine; I've actually had places serve me Caesar Salad with iceburg lettuce....please. The toasted croutons should be on the large size so they don't get lost, and finally the Parmigiano Reggiano cheese must be generously shredded on top. Drink a California Pinot Noir with the salad. Rosie O'Grady's in Manhattan and Arturo's at Bally's in Atlantic City both do a great Caesar salad.

I wrestled with the entree because there are so many dishes I love. With apologies to my Italian ancestors, if I was ordering my last meal on earth, it would have to be a juicy, sizzling steak. I don't eat steak that often these days, so when I do, it has to be good. Most premium steak houses earned their reputations for a reason: my favorites are Ruth's Chris, Morton's, Sparks and, if you can tolerate the service, Peter Luger's. Tier two places include Sammy's in Mendham, New Jersey and Embers in Brooklyn. Sides should include large onion rings and an Idaho baked potato with sour cream. For a companion wine, any decent full-bodied California Cabernet Sauvignon will be perfect. Angioplasty anyone?

Got room for dessert? Of course. Again, tough choice to top off my last meal on earth. To refresh the tastebuds, start with a bottle of cold Prosecco. Then, if you like fancy, Ruth's Chris makes a chocolate lava cake that is so rich it requires CPR in-between bites. Bananas Foster is also a very special treat. Other choices might be Junior's Cheescake (from downtown Brooklyn) or a crisp sfoglitelle from any good Brooklyn bakery. Of course, a big pot of real espresso (screw the decaf) to wash it down. Take a ten-minute walk around the block to give your stomach a rest. Then come back for a nice Cognac and, since I don't really like cigars that much, a few Marlboros to relax.

What's that...the Warden and the Padre are coming? I guess my time is up. That last meal made it all worthwhile. Do I have any last words before walking that green mile? Yes, does anybody have a piece of chocolate for the trip?

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Scarlet Letter

In The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, adulteress Hester Prynne must wear a scarlet "A" pinned to her dress to mark her shame, and to warn decent folk that a sinner was approaching. They were pretty tough on adulterers in those days; they certainly didn't get to their country's highest office. But enough about Bill Clinton. Ba da bum bum. As we became more tolerant of adultery, the need for scarlet "A"s diminished. I wonder if there's a warehouse full of them somewhere in New England, because if there is, I think I have a use for them.

As you know if you have any contact at all with the outside world, our society is plagued by a**holes. The problem is we usually don't know when an a**hole is approaching until they engage us, and by then it's too late. (Can you see where I'm going with this?) Wouldn't it be nice if these people could be identified through their behavior, and forced to wear the scarlet letter "A" to designate their status? We could set up a hotline, I'd suggest 1-800-A**HOLE, so that those of us who encounter them might be able to report in. After three hotline calls identifying you as an a**hole, guess what: Here's your "A".

What if the a**holes don't want to wear their "A"; after all, they're a**holes! Don't fret, I have a backup plan. Up until now, without the scarlet letter to tell us, we are hard pressed to distinguish an a**hole from a normal person. They often pass for one of us until they open their mouths or do something stupid. In the interest of helping humankind recognize the a**holes among us, I have drawn on years experience as an observer (and endurer) of a**holes, and have compiled a list of telltale signs that tend to give them away. There are exceptions to be sure, but be on your guard if you see any of the following:

Baseball cap on backwards, especially on persons over the age of 40. This is someone unsure of their "coolness" and desperate to be seen as a happenin' dude. Unless the individual is a baseball catcher or a naval officer peering into a submarine periscope, beware.

Guys who drive Hummers or Cadillac Escalades. Ah, ah, don't fight me on this one. Any guy who needs to drive a vehicle the size of a small building has issues with other "small" things, if you get my meaning. There may be rare exceptions, but I haven't found one yet.

People whose time is so much more valuable than yours,,,you know the ones. They make their own exit lanes on the highway when the normal one is backed up; they walk to the head of the line at the store to ask the clerk "just one quick question"; or they get in the express check out lane with two wagon-loads of stuff.

People who are incredibly stupid and unaware, yet who have the exact opposite opinion of themselves. The condition is exacerbated by the fact that they are often loud, pushy, and never wrong. They never pick up on hints from others that their behavior is offensive, and honestly, I just want to bash their heads in! Sorry, but I do.

Don't say you haven't been warned. A**holes are everywhere and you need to be on the lookout or suffer the consequences. I am thinking of carrying around a pocketful of scarlet "A's" so that when I encounter one of these morons, as a non-violent way of coping, I can simply smile and say: Here's your "A".

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Gospel According to Barack

I thought the quotation: "As ye sow, so shall ye reap" was from the Bible. So much for my Biblical scholarship. Turns out this is not a direct quote from the Bible (I looked it up) but the idea appears in two places: "They that plow iniquity, and sow wickedness, reap the same" (Job 4:8, kjv). and "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap" (Gal. 6:7, kjv). By the way, my smart wife knew that the abbreviation "kjv" referenced above stands for "King James Version"; I had no clue. You get the idea of the quote though... what you do in life comes back to you. Now that I've seen the Obama bailout plan, I think we need to revise the quote as follows: "As they sow, so shall you reap!"

This misguided plan punishes the prudent citizens of the country, who denied themselves luxuries they couldn't afford, who saved for a rainy day, and who used credit wisely, only to have to pay for the mistakes of those citizens who lived extravagant lifestyles they could never afford! This flies in the face of every concept of fairness I ever heard. It's one thing to extend a helping hand to families who were legitimately victimized by the collapse of the economy, those who lived within their means and still got hit with the risk of foreclosure. I am OK with some of my tax dollars going into a fund to help them keep their homes. But this bailout plan is Socialism; wealth redistribution plain and simple.

The wholesale bailout of every person who took out mortgages way beyond what their incomes could reasonably justify makes me furious. Do the banks share in the blame? Yes, but how much pressure was put on banks by liberal politicians to make loans well beyond the bounds of financial responsibility? The federal mortgage backers Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac decided to get into the dream business. Instead of underwriting prudent mortgage loans, they peddled the warm and fuzzy (but wrong-headed) notion that every family is entitled to the American dream. Lovely idea, but pure fiction. You are entitled to what your income can support, period.

The credit card companies are also at fault. Time was when you needed a good credit record to get a credit card, after all, credit is nothing more than deferred debt. Handing out credit cards with limits of five or ten grand to people with no demonstrated ability to pay back what they charge is like leaving a suicidal man in a room with a bottle of Vodka and a loaded gun. Especially reprehensible was the practice of collecting minimum payments while interest piled up at rates worse than those charged by the mob. These financial neophytes were strung along like heroin addicts, thinking all along that they were OK since they were making minimum payments, while in reality they were on the fast track to bankruptcy.

Someone tell me how a thief like Bernie Madoff steals $50 BILLION with no regulators getting wind of his scheme? He never invested a dollar of client monies in any securities, but instead paid off early investors from money paid in eagerly by newer investors; a classic Ponzi scheme. Where the hell were the regulators! Were no audits ever done in all the years he was screwing people out of their life savings? And what about all the smart people who gave good old Bernie their millions? Did their monumental greed keep them from wondering how Bernie was paying such ridiculously high returns while markets everywhere were in free fall?

This debacle has many villains. The rock solid brokerage houses who created investments so complicated and gossamer-like that even the most sophisticated regulators did not understand them. The insurance companies like AIG whose executives attended outrageously expensive "business outings" to party while their companies tanked. The auto industry led by some of the most incompetent, short-sighted executives in the history of American business, aided and abetted by greedy unions whose benefits were obscenely out of touch with reality.

To come full circle in this little rant, the biggest villains of all are the "I want it now" credit junkies, who never let a little thing like having no money stand in the way of buying fancy houses, gas-guzzling SUVs, plasma TVs and lavish vacations. THEY AND THEY ALONE fed the credit frenzy that emboldened the credit card pimps, that overextended the banks, that eventually toppled the crazy house of cards that the American economy has become. But, you say, as bad as all this is, these out-of-control spenders will now have to reap what they sowed, and hopefully learn a hard lesson in the process. Think again bunky. The "Obama Magical Bailout Bandwagon" is coming to town, and now YOU, the poor schmuck who watched his pennies and did all the right things, will be presented with the tab for this fiasco!!! I promised myself when he was elected that I would try to support our new President, but he is off to one hell of a bad start.

"As they sow, so shall you reap." (The Gospel according to Barack.)




SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Danger, Curves Ahead

I walk every day at our local mall with all the other senior citizens. It's nice that they open early so that we can still get our exercise in the cold weather. Anyhow, I have all the store windows memorized by now, and one thing strikes me: who are they kidding with the mannequins they use to represent the human figure? Have they looked around at their prospective customers? Nobody looks like those stick figures in the windows!

Another thing that strikes me is the way they pose these stick figures. The human body is not built to contort into these positions without risking serious injury. They all seem to be having just a hilarious time, no matter what they are doing. I guess there are no real problems in Mannequinworld. The posed male mannequins are especially interesting. If any guy stood on the corner with hands on hips and pelvis thrust forward the way these mannequins do, it would look like he was waiting for the fleet to come in!

Whether we like it or not, people are bigger today than they used to be. A less physical lifestyle, the discretionary income (at least until recently) to eat out in restaurants more, and the proliferation of fast food joints whose menus are not compatible with slimmer profiles are all contributors to the hard fact that there is definitely more of us to love than ever before in our history. Obesity is a national problem that will not go away any time soon. I'm not going to lecture here on being overweight, I only mean to point out that the stores where we buy our clothes need to recognize that their clientele is getting bigger.

Have you ever approached that sale rack looking for a bargain? It's the end of the season and there are some snazzy looking winter jackets for half-price. Sorry, the only sizes left are small and extra small. The fact that these sizes are the only ones always left over should tell the store's dimwit buyer something...buy more big sizes for crying out loud. I think manufactures need to understand this as well. Some of the sizes labeled small would be tight on Lara Flynn Boyle. And another thing, how about standardizing sizes so that large means large regardless of who made the item.

There was a time when the ideal figure for a man or woman might be described as pleasingly plump. The Gibson Girl was the personification of the feminine ideal as portrayed in the satirical pen and ink illustrated stories created by illustrator Charles Dana Gibson during a twenty year period spanning the late nineteenth and early twentieth century in the United States. The Gibson Girl was tall, slender yet with ample bosom, hips and bottom in the S-curve torso shape achieved by wearing a corset. In today's thin-obsessed fashion terminology, she would be described as full-figured.

Personally, I like to see some curves on a woman. The starving waifs that strut down the runways these days look like they need a corned beef sandwich. The bombshells from the old Hollywood days are right up my alley. Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, Raquel Welch...hubba hubba! I put it to you gentlemen, you're on death row, (the real one in Texas where they actually off murderers), and they offer you one conjugal visit from one of the ladies shown at left. Who you gonna pick? I rest my case.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Someone Please Hand Me the Remote

For most of us, as we get older, our comfort zones get smaller, and sadly, the spark of adventure is soon extinguished. We are reminded of this when we read about the exploits of others who are still willing to take risks for whatever reason drives them. For some it is a passion for knowledge, for others the sheer thrill of doing something dangerous, or at least outside their comfort zones. I'm not suggesting that you have to be jumping out of airplanes to prove your courage; many do it in a quiet way by standing up to the challenges life puts before them. I have seen great courage in my own family in people who previously had given no sign that they were possessed of such strength.

Let's look back at how this timidity got hold of us. The founding fathers of our country were bold, hardy souls. Travel was by wagon or horseback over non-existent roads. Peril was everywhere, whether it was from Indian attacks, disease, or starvation. Americans moved from the comfort zone of the original thirteen colonies steadily westward. Knowing little of the country and its hazards, they formed wagon trains and traveled impossible distances, reckoning by compass or the stars. They hunted and gathered their food, built settlements along the way, and eventually made it all the way to the west coast. They had no navigational devices telling them where to turn, no Red Roof Inns to rest their weary bones, and no McDonald's Happy Meals to quiet their cranky kids.

By the turn of the twentieth century, things were much more comfortable for Americans. Electricity powered lights and machinery, railroads crisscrossed the land, agriculture and family farms were booming, the automobile was making its appearance on back roads and in cities alike, and advances in medicine extended the life span of the average citizen. The Captains of Industry (or robber barons depending on your point of view), men like Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, Astor and Ford, were building a national economy the like of which had never been seen before in the world. Waves of immigrants hit our shores, were absorbed into the country, and worked hard to make lives for their families. Despite these amazing changes, Americans were still lovers of adventure. New inventions were overwhelming the U.S. Patent Office, young men hid infirmities to get into World War I and go "over there" to whip the Kaiser, and women were fighting for full equality, including the right to vote.

The stock market crash in 1929 and the Great Depression in the 1930's brought America to its knees. We are in the midst of a deep recession today, but it's nothing compared to then. There was no welfare system, no food stamps, no homeless shelters...some people were lucky to get one meal a day. Men who were willing to work could find none; there were no welfare or Social Security checks to tide them over. And yet the spirit of adventure was alive as people moved west in search of better lives. When Germany marched across Europe and Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, America jumped into World War II with both feet. Men (and this time women too) hurried to enlist before the war was over. The aviation industry was born, and science and technology grew by leaps and bounds.

After WWII and through the Korean War, American life began to grow very comfortable. There were fewer physical frontiers to conquer, technology brought unparalleled convenience into American homes and farms, and women in numbers began to swell the workforce. Leisure boomed as the 40-hour work week became standard. Sports like golf and tennis, previously reserved for the country club set became more available to blue collar workers. Advances in home entertainment including the immensely popular "hi-fi" system and color television kept people indoors more. We began to be a nation of spectators living vicariously through the exploits of those who still sought adventure.

The post Viet Nam era in America saw the transformation from adventurers to side liners continue. Young men no longer rushed to enlist in what they perceived was an unjust war. Rising crime caused parents to drive their kids everywhere, and we no longer saw kids going off on their own to explore. The era of the couch potato had officially arrived. Local gun laws made it hard for people to own weapons for hunting, at least in the New York area. Fear crept into our lives, heightened by terrorist attacks that we seemed defenseless to stop. People now carry cell phones and laptop computers so they can never get enough time away from the job to have an adventure. AAA comes to change our flat tires, the gardener cuts the grass, the weatherman talks to us about two inches of snow like we should be getting our affairs in order, and we go nowhere without our Garmin Navigation Systems on the dashboard.

I just finished a book about two New Jersey deep-sea wreck divers who spent years of their lives performing countless dangerous dives down to an unidentified sunken German U-boat off Brielle, on the Jersey shore. They didn't do it for treasure, but to gain closure for the families of the men who died on this boat. Their meticulous research on both sides of the Atlantic also proved the history books wrong in that existing Navy records showed that this particular U-boat had been sunk off Gibraltar. One of them then contacted all the families of the crewmen that he could locate. He then traveled to Germany to tell them what he had learned about the ship's last days, and to present them with hard-gained artifacts from the boat that would have brought serious money from collectors. They were worth far more to the families as mementos of the final resting place of their loved ones.

I can only marvel at the passion these men feel for their work. When asked by the book's author why they repeatedly risked their lives diving to identify a wreck that history had already written off, one of them quoted a famous German U-boat commander who said: "Life is a matter of luck, and the chances for success are not enhanced by extreme caution." This is the philosophy by which they lead their lives, and in doing so, remind us about the days when adventures were not something we read about, but lived.

SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: SPALDEEN DREAMS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association