Give the man the respect he so well deserves

It is fitting that during his final "Tonight" show, Jay Leno showed clips from Rodney Dangerfield, whose famous line was "I don't get no respect." In a sense, neither does Leno. Even as he crushed David Letterman in the late-night ratings, many critics continued to swoon over Letterman and, at best, make snide remarks about Leno's success. But Jay has a way of connecting with people that Letterman does not, and I, for one,  respect that. I'll be looking forward to Leno's new show in the fall at a time when I will be fully awake to watch it.

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During my last week at work before retiring nearly four years ago, I was sick as a swine yet I came to work every day. I was alternately sweating and cold, and felt extremely weak.   I often wonder why I still came to work. It certainly wasn't because I was expecting a farewell party; I had made it clear that I wanted none. Maybe it was the work ethic that has been part of me since I had my first job at age 10. Or maybe I feared that people would think I really wasn't sick and was just goofing off in my final week. (Why I should care what they thought is another question.) Maybe I thought I wasn't really sick and this was just an emotional last-week thing. In any event, it wasn't till I was through with the job that my problem was diagnosed: I had Lyme Disease. Fortunately, it wasn't contagious or I would have been the one giving my colleagues a farewell "gift."

Sing, sing a song ... sing it loud, sing it long

Sometimes I find myself wondering about the damnedest things. This morning, for instance, I started thinking about how singing started. Did some caveman one day start melodiously saying, "Zorg, zorg, zorg,  zorg, ZORG" and enjoy the sound of it? Or did some prehistoric person create an instrument and decide to imitate the sound with his voice? I, of course, will never know. But I do know that life would be so much drabber and drearier without the sound of music.

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And speaking of music, I think the most non-sequitur lyrics in modern music are contained in Gordon Lightfoot's "Carefree Highway": "Pickin' up the pieces of my sweet shattered dream/
I wonder how the old folks are tonight."

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Back in the day when many people kept St. Christopher medals or statuettes in their cars, my brother mounted a plastic toad on his dashboard. When people asked about it, he would explain, "Why, that's St. Toad of the Road."

Time flies -- in this case literally

"Do not open the back of this watch. Only a professional jeweler should," said the instructions that came with one of my digital watches, which uses solar power but nonetheless needs a special battery evey 10 years or so. "Hah," said I. "I'll change the battery myself." So after spending many minutes removing screws that are smaller than atomic particles," I got the back of the watch open. The battery, however, was clasped in place, and in attempting to unclasp it I sent the entire inside of the watch flying across the table. "No matter," thought I. I retrieved the core of the watch, replaced the battery, and screwed everything back together. It was then that I noticed that a couple of parts were left over. But, aha, it was showing the time. Just one problem: It was nowhere near the correct time and the buttons used to set the watch no longer function. So as long as I don't mind the displayed time being seven hours and 18 minutes earlier than it actually is, and the date being Saturday, Jan. 1, the watch is as good as new!

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Good thing I've got 199 other watches to choose from. Well, not 199 that actually work.

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I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with my timepiece obsession ("You appear concerned about the passing of time, Richard"). Ah, but what do they know.

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With Newsweek's redesign, I can't always tell the stories from the ads.

Over hill, over dale ... and out of sight

For years, one of the highlights of the televised Memorial Day concert in Washington, D.C., was seeing and hearing actor Charles Durning spare no emotion as he talked about World War II, the conflict he valiantly fought in, and was wounded in, and was honored for. Then last year he was introduced but looked old and ill and only waved to the crowd. This year, although a brief clip of one of Durning's past speeches was played,  the 86-year-old was not even present. Time marches on and the Greatest Generation rapidly fades from our sight.

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Answer to Sunday's bizarre puzzlement: H. Ross Perot was the 1992 presidential candidate with the biggest ears.

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A Memorial Day meal with my wife and kids consisting of steamed clams, lobster and a bottle of Amstel Light -- it doesn't get a whole lot better than that.

Butterflies and frogs and trees, oh my

The other day I wondered whether anything could be more comical than a baseball game played by 5-year-olds. Today I wonder if anything could be cuter and sweeter than a play staged by preschoolers. The plot was a woodsman-spare-that-tree kind of thing, and my grandson had the challenging role of pointing to the tree. Kiddies dresssed as butterflies flapped their "wings," while others in frog disguise hopped across the stage. When the next Tony awards are handed out, this play should definitely be in contention.

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Here's a puzzlement for those with long memories: Which U.S. presidential candidate in 1992 had the biggest ears? (Answer will be given when we next post.)

It's only words -- lots and lots of them

I have so many unread books in my library that I would need two lifetimes to finish reading them. So what do I do? That's right, I go out and buy more books.

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Instead of reading those books, I could spend the rest of my days trying to decipher the lyrics of "Tin Man," as recorded by the group America. For example: "And Cause never was the reason for the evening/Or the tropic of Sir Galahad."

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You know what's really painful: when they give you a senior discount without your asking. Then again, I saved 9 cents on my latest purchase.

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One reason my wife and I have gotten along these past 42 years is because we tell each other, "Do what you want. You will, anyway."

He squeaked and squeaked for three decades

Can it be anything but a sad day when the man who did the voice of Mickey Mouse for three decades passes on? RIP, Wayne Allwine.

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The only drawback to a vacation is that everything -- and I do mean everything -- you didn't do while away is sitting there just waiting for your return. 

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I would have sworn that the great song in the AT&T TV ads (the one that begins, "I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you") came from the movie "Juno." But my swearing would have been in vain. The song is "Falling in Love in a Coffee Shop," from an album by by Landon Pigg (a great name).