Odds & Ends

Apologies for the long delay between postings. The site was closed for cerebral reconstruction, and more work was required than anticipated. As one expert said,"By Freud, you're fried!" But we are now back in what may be business, with a handful of observations.

First, PD sports analyst Slap Maxwell wants to know if it's more often defence than offence that's winning CFL games this season.

Our cultural affairs correspondent notes a new term has been coined for disc jockey: turntablist.

And finally, our all-female, mad as hell, not going to take it any more editorial board has suggested reading for wives of Republican senators: "Lysistrata."

Hercule Poirot and The Case of the Unsigned Op-Ed

As White House officials scrambled to unveil the identity of the person who penned the notorious New York Times op-ed, and the President muttered he could now trust only his children (Oh? Have you read "King Lear"?) someone suggested there might not have been a single writer of the piece. It might, they said, have been a group of perpetrators, as in "Murder on the Orient Express."

Puzzled by this, President Trump was told that "Murder on the Orient Express" was a case solved by Hercule Poirot.

"Okay, then," barked Trump. "Get me Poirot!"

"Sir," the aide said, "Hercule Poirot is fictitious."

"I don't care what nationality he is," Trump bellowed. "Get him anyway!"

Note to Nike

The move of sportswear giant Nike to continue featuring Colin Kaepernick in its marketing (great line, by the way--"Believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything.") has so angered followers of the guy Spike Lee has dubbed Agent Orange that they have taken to various ways of destroying their Nike products. People are cutting the Nike swoosh out of their socks, burning their Nike runners.

This is, of course, dumb, but there is an opportunity here for both the offended Nike wearers and the Nike p.r. department: suggest that those fervent Trumpsters who want to abandon their Nike gear not destroy it, but turn it over to less fortunate folk who cannot afford that expensive stuff.

Take all those shoes and trail jackets and running tights, those hoodies and backpacks, those tanks and crews and tees to a charity that will distribute them to people in need.

Whaddya think?  We think a win all 'round. We think Kaepernick would agree.

So Longo, Mr. Bongo

Perhaps little noticed in the rush of recent obituaries were the few written for Jack Costanzo.

Jack Costanzo was dubbed "Mr. Bongo," and while he didn't play on Charlie Parker's "Bongo-Beep," he did play with Stan Kenton and jammed, on bongos and congas, with Marlon Brando.

But he is best remembered for his work with the Nat "King" Cole trio, which, after he joined it, became a quartet. Most memorable, for a number of reasons, is their recording of "Lush Life," perhaps the first and certainly the best waxing (as old deejays used to say) of the Billy Strayhorn song ("I used to go to all of the very gay places, those come what may places, where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life to get the feel of life and jazz and cocktails"--cue the bongos).

It was an unusual arrangement--written by Pete Rugulo, another Kenton alumnus--with the Nat Cole group backed by a string orchestra, and the use of bongo drums on what is really a lament. But it all worked. And still does.

Are any of those people still around? Maybe not so you can see them. Fortunately, we can still hear them.

So longo, Mr. Bongo.