WAKA, WAKA, WAKA, WAKA, WAKA …

WAKA is the World Adult Kickball Association. WAKA organizes co-ed adult kickball leagues in various locales in the US and worldwide. That’s right — kickball.

When I was a kid, kickball was my favorite playground game. As an adult, I’ve wondered from time to time whether it would be fun to play again. (In 1991 or thereabouts, I actually did play kickball with other adults — for about five minutes. More on that in a bit.)

So when I became aware of WAKA about five years ago I became pretty excited. I got on their mailing list and waited patiently for a league to be organized in a convenient location. That happened last year when WAKA established the PA West Chester Division. They didn’t get enough signups to have a league last fall, but they now have a spring-summer league in progress. They play Friday evenings at Greenfield Park in the borough of West Chester, PA.

These are the teams in the spring-summer league:

• Chub Scouts
• Foul Balls
• Recess Rejects
• Weekend Warriors

There’s Gold in That There Bowl

So last night I was questioning a family member about my recent repeated discoveries of an unflushed toilet in the house. As I started the questioning I was pretty sure I knew I was talking to the culprit and suspected their reason for not flushing. I was correct on both counts.

The culprit defended their skipping of the flush step with that particular toilet (one of three in the house) as a water conservation measure. Don’t get me wrong; I do applaud the objective. Our toilets use 3-plus gallons per flush, the standard back in 1988 when the house was built. The standard these days is 1.6 gallons. I’m just not sure I want to be forced into viewing gold in that there bowl; it’s a bit of a gross-out. Plus I would prefer that family members implement new conservation measures in the home only after securing the approval of “the management”.

Anyway, the irony of the culprit’s defense, especially when coupled with my anticipation of their answer, made for a big laugh. And so I share the story.

Now here’s the irony: Mister Water Conserver (whoops; OK, the culprit is male) routinely takes 15 minute showers.

To end on a helpful note, a possible compromise would be to convert the toilets in the home to dual-flushing models — a separate handle for each of the two most popular forms of bodily waste. I wonder if the conversion kit comes with labels for the handles.

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Knock Yourself Out!

As the Jimmy Castor Bunch put it in their 1972 novelty hit “Troglodyte (Cave Man)”:

What we’re gonna do right here is go back, way back, back into time.

Before we do that I have to say this video for ‘Troglodyte’ is highly amusing. And speaking of the Jimmy Castor Bunch, two of my sons have been laughing for weeks about the JCB’s other hit, “The Bertha Butt Boogie”, the 1974 sequel of sorts to ‘Troglodyte,’ which the boys heard once on the radio.

Anyway … why do I feel I’ve gotten myself completely off the track?

OK, back on it.

Three times in recent weeks — in the Happy Harry’s drugstore in Fenwick Island, DE, the Wawa in Ocean City, MD, and the brand new Wawa near my house — I’ve heard a familiar yet unidentifiable “real oldie”, as the radio business now calls songs from the ’50s and early-to-mid ’60s. Three times. It’s not like I spend a lot of time hanging around Wawa. Maybe the head DJ was trying to tell me something. (Yeah, like “blog about this song”.)

Heath Barred

This morning I heard an NPR reporter mention in a reverent tone that The Dark Knight features Heath Ledger in his last acting role. To that I say, “Big deal!” I resent feeling like an idiot for not knowing who Heath Ledger was before he died.

In order to cope with this resentment in a mature manner, I will dis’ readers who would lionize the man. But first …

• I admit The Dark Knight sounds pretty cool. I’ll probably see it (although not necessarily on the big screen).
• I know it’s common courtesy when speaking in public about a dead person to employ a reverent tone. This goes double if said dead person was relatively young, like say 29 — and goes triple if the deceased shared a birthday with my son #1.
• I admit to often being out of it when it comes to certain aspects of popular culture. For example, I doubt I could name more than 20 recording artists who have achieved substantial commercial success post-1989. Steely Dan doesn’t count.
• I know the authorities established it’s not Ledger’s fault his acting career was abruptly shortened.
• I know he was nominated for an Oscar for his role as Ennis Del Mar in the Oscar winner for best picture of 2005, Brokeback Mountain.
• I know, ladies, that he is — er, was — a hunk and his trademark was his deep voice.

But c’mon, Heath freakin’ Ledger? Give me a break!

Our Main “Industry”

One of the cool things about Daily Kos (DK) and Scoop, the blog-on-steroids platform on which DK runs, is how one can flag and retrieve comments. For example, here is a strand of comments on kos’ post titled “Bowing” to Mr. 28%. Odds are I am the only user out of DK’s millions who has thus far requested a page with just this strand.

I was able to retrieve this strand easily because I had previously “recommended” two of the four comments. (If you are logged in to DK, a “Recommend” check box appears next to each comment. There is also a “Recommend” button for each post.)

Anyhoo, here are some money quotes from the comments I recommended that I think do much to explain how we in the US have come to have such a great view from our boats of the banks of Shit’s Creek. (In case you haven’t read Kos’ post yet, it’s about yesterday’s capitulation to Bush on FISA by the Democrats in Congress; “Mr. 28%” is Bush.)

Satan’s Table

The evening of July 1 I dined with Mrs. QC, and sons #2 and #3 at Nicola Pizza in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

The walls of the dining rooms are festooned with autographed pictures and drawings of celebrities who have dined there in the past or otherwise hobnobbed with the owners, Joan and Nick Caggiano.

We happened to be seated at Satan’s table. On the wall above our table were these cards signed by George H.W. Bush and his wife Barbara, the parents of the current White House resident.

My reaction when this wall decoration was pointed out by one of my dining companions: “AARRRRGH”!