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   This is the second and final part of a look at some of the odd stuff from the recent National Convention in Chicago that caught my eye.    Some of the things that stop me are just fun and/or silly, but almost always nostalgia based. Dave & Adams, with a massive arrangement the size of a couple of boxcars, was offering a pile of cases from the Steve Myland Collection Find of last year, but one of the things I noticed is hardly as compelling as that.    Remember those “Bag O Cards”-like thingys from 25 years ago that featured about two dozen packs of, at the time, fairly recent Donruss cards, including their early 1980s golf issue? They were a pretty good bargain in 1983 or so at a whopping $1.29; I suspect they still provide a lot of fun at the  $25 price tag a quarter-century later.    Dave & Adam’s also was offering a “Show Special” of a slightly discounted Upper Deck Authenticated Aaron Rodgers signed Green Bay Packers jersey. I’m sure they were just being timely; I know those guys from Buffalo understand how wrenching the last several weeks have been for us Packer rooters. I could puke.    Veteran dealer Skip Hunter had a whole bunch of “bricks,” groups of 50-100 vintage cards that used to be such a staple of shows in the old days when using such items as a start on building a complete set wasn’t quite as daunting (read expensive) as it might be today.    Steve Hart initially had a couple of things I would have liked to see, but he sold them during the course of the show: full boxes of 1961 and 1962 Topps Cellos.    Still there in his showcase (and presumably at the end of the show) was a 1959 Topps Cello with Wes Covington on top. I couldn’t pull the trigger this time, but I’m eyeing it as perhaps something for my 60th birthday in two years. SCD readers may recall that eight years ago on my 50th birthday, I opened a 1960 Topps Cello. Now I am thinking of doing it again, though as each year passes it becomes ever more of an investing blunder to actually open unopened material. We’ll see.    As always, the artists knock me out, with my hectic swings around the 700 or so tables spotting the legendary Robert Stephen Simon hawking his Yankee Stadium (and many other) prints, or Robert Hurst , a damn fine artist (no letters, please: that’s his tag line), indeed, painting one of his originals at his booth. I also got to talk to Al Sorenson , who will be featured in a later issue of SCD, and another hobby figure of renown, Monte Sheldon , creator of remarkable hand-painted baseballs that are stunning collectibles.    Sheldon was encamped alongside Charles Mandel of Helmar Brewing, which made sense, since Sheldon is part of the stable of Helmar artists which produces the most gorgeous baseball cards you’ll ever see (www.helmarbrewing.com).    If you like coincidences, Heritage was offering the actual baseball that Gabby Street caught in 1908 after it was dropped from the Washington Monument, and only a few tables away, Sheldon had created original art for the Helmar series showing Street himself, with the Washington Monument ever so barely visible in the background. Baseball card collectors are quite often baseball historians, and the two pursuits never have a better arena than the National Convention.     Wayne Hitchens had something you don’t see every day: the 1961 Chemstrand Iron-ons. The Dagsboro, Del., dealer came across 159 of them, and had a number of them (at left) graded and on display at his table.    And I ran into another old friend, Paul Madden , and got to see some of his newest handiwork on the Sportkings Series B, which was featured at the Sport Kings booth. These are just as remarkable cards as the Helmars, and so evocative of the original Sport Kings series that you’ll just shake your head (www.sportkingsgum.com).    Steve Wolf is yet another sort of artisan, in this instance the creator of absolutely exquisite replicas of great ballparks. He was displaying a huge replica of Comiskey Park, complete with working stadium lights and a $17,500 price tag that you would likely describe as a bargain if you got to see this stuff (www.majorleaguemodels.com).    I noticed the price tag on Friday – the table was only a hoot and a holler away from the SCD booth – but by the next day the price tag was gone. The model had been purchased by Gary Cypress , whose museum in downtown Los Angeles houses what is easily one of the finest collections in the world of sports cards and memorabilia. He has purchased a number of the Wolf creations, and the Comiskey model is slated to make the move to Los Angeles with several others that have done the same thing, not even counting the real-life Dodgers and Giants.    Cypress’ museum was the featured Mastro event at the 2006 National, part of the auction house’s annual “treat” for dealers and hobby high rollers every year. Mastro chartered several buses at the 2006 Anaheim National to ferry the guests downtown to the museum; it did the same thing this year to bring everybody to the ESPN Zone for the live auction.    The trip from the Rosemont facility to downtown – I would guess 20-plus miles or so, took about an hour and 15 minutes going to it Friday evening. Not griping, just noting Chicago traffic. For the return, I boarded a bus when the driver said there was one seat left, and by the time I got to the back and found no vacancies, he was pulling away. No problem: I sat on the floor for the return, feeling like a dwarf in an NBA huddle.    I couldn’t see much of anybody – and couldn’t really converse with anyone, but I listened intently as an unidentified old-time dealer reminisced about attending shows in the 1970s and introducing youngsters Bill Mastro and Rob Lifson to the peculiar gastronomical delights of White Castle Sliders.    I could have gleefully listened for the whole stretch of another hour and 15-minute bus ride – even sitting on the hard bus floor – but the return trip to Rosemont only took about 20 minutes.

Rarely a day goes by that I don’t hear or read about some sort of major gripe concerning paypal. Whether it’s a chargeback or international shipping or a freeze on their funds…it’s always something. Yes, it’s still the easiest way to do business on eBay and it’s actually very difficult to buy and sell on eBay without relying on paypal, but lessons can be painful. While most concerns aren’t worth writing about, the most recent one is. Apparently, some people have been getting funds held for transactions that are almost a year old for no apparent reason. Why? Paypal claims it’s part of a routine screening process. The problem is that chargeback possibilities only last for 90 days so many sellers throw old delivery confirmation sheets at that point. In addition, the delivery confirmation numbers don’t work online after around 90 days. This means you are basically out the funds unless the buyer “decides” to pay you again. There is speculation on the PSA message board that this is a ploy to push people into using paypal’s online shipping and they are targeting accounts that don’t use it, but that’s someone educated guess. Either way, it’s very interesting to see how this mini-monopoloy continues to push people around.

Well, I’m heading back today after a day yesterday that got as de-railed as the Old ‘97. Jesco’s got a show in August though, and I’m going to try to be back up for that. Will be back in a few weeks either way, and you’ll without question find a great story about him at GratefulWeb.net in the near future. Along with the story, we’re going to be featuring a gallery of the artwork of Jeffrey Holland, (most recently of “Weird Kentucky”). He’s got a really cool series of paintings of Hasil Adkins, who we featured on our blog at GratefulWeb MySpace It just won’t be a story about hanging out with him & Mamie yesterday. Just as I was about to call to see what they were up to, enter Aunt Teal with friends from the Peace in the Valley Church in tow, (didn’t make that name up even). Apparantly my soul needed saving more than I needed to raise hell. She’d torn out of here yesterday morning like nobody’s business. Don’t care how pious she is, she drives like her Daddy ran moonshine. (Teal lives in a house built just a hair up the fork in the crossroads from this one.) Seemed like an odd way to go to church but not my place to say or question. She’s mad about the whiskey & guns and there’s also something of a family feud going on, (it is Hatfield & McCoy territory, after all). Anyway, we’re about to head out to a phone signal to call Jesco and/or Mamie when our path was blocked by Bible-thumping, elderly Appalachian women. They weren’t even bearing pies and lemonade or anything. They insisted we go back up to the porch and talk with them, (listen rather). Now, I was a religion major. I’ve got nothing in the world against Bible-thumping Appalachian women. In fact, I find the unique way religion has settled itself around here completely fascinating and would really like to check it out more than I have. I’ve done everything form read the Bible in Greek to visiting a snake handling church in NC. But it just wasn’t the time, you know? Well, I heard a long story on the family feud and then began to be subjected to an endless flow of Bible verses. That’s all well and good, but this habit of answering one Bible verse with another gets kind of old. I mean, the Bible is so vast it can really be used to support anything. Discussing the verses, now that might be insightful. But reciting something from memory doesn’t really show you know it. It went on so long I started reciting Bible verses in Greek and praying in Latin. “What is that, Spanish?” I was asked. I just kept on, (praying for real that I’d get out of there in time to call Jesco). “That Spanish girl sure is weird.” Another said. It went on for hours. By that time it was too late to possibly go to Madison. So next trip. But if he’s playing, well that’ll be even better. A fascinating trip was made, however, to the Exhibition Coal Mine, along with a treck up Great, Great, Great GREAT Big Ass Mountain and another to the New River. I’ve never seen so many butterflies. The ones here at the house are about as big as baby bats and the ones down by the river were as thick as flies. Let me walk right in the middle of them, never seen anything quite like it. Coal Mines coming soon. Guess it was something of a political trip after all. Mabye sociological is a better word.

I just spoke to someone who is visiting my parents and the rest of my family in Arizona right now. She hadn’t seen them in many years. On the first visit, she sat in my parents’ living room and listened to everyone in the room talk about Barack Obama. They were saying, “We don’t need a nigger as president!” Holy shit. You know, I’m not quite sure why I’m surprised. My mother stood behind me when I was watching TV and they announced that Martin Luther King was dead and she said, “Good riddance, you communist bastard!” My family decided to call Jews by tree names (Oh, will you listen to that mighty oak over there! or Oh, will you look at the elm tree over there in the red hat.), so they can talk badly about them in public. I left Arizona, and America basically, to get away from this kind of bullshit. But in my silly little mind, I thought that people who think these kinds of thoughts and say these kinds of words, are just ignorant, low-class hillbillies. I guess my college-educated, wealthy family members are, uh, ignorant, low-class hillbillies. The person who is visiting my family right now told me that she sat there and didn’t say a word, didn’t show anything on her face. She thought, “Should I tell them that I have a black boyfriend?” Nah. Prolly not. I have been going to family get-togethers all my life and sitting there listening to the same horrible shit, saying nothing. Before That Guy and I moved to Paris (my mother tells the rest of the family, “Lisa’s living in Paris with all the rest of those loonies.”), we went to one of these joyful parties. It was during the 2004 presidential campaign. One of my nieces was saying, “Yeah, and the terrorists want Kerry to win!” From the mouths of babes, parroting their “betters” (or Faux News) without a shred of independent research or thinking. Not a shred. That Guy finally came over to me and said, “I have got to get out of here. I can’t take this anymore.” So, I took my Dad aside and said something like, “We’re going to take off now. It’s a little tough being the only Democrats in a room full of Republicans.” I think that was probably the nicest thing I could possibly have said. I guess I could have lied too. I could have said, “I’m not feeling well. I think we’re going to take off.” They would have talked and snickered about us after we left, no matter what I said. Or I could have said, “Excuse me, I have an announcement to make. You are all acting like ignorant hillbillies.” But nah. I told the closest thing to the truth that I could muster. Evidently, after we left, there was a lot of screaming and yelling that went down at my parents’ house. Everybody decided to HATE That Guy. That communist bastard. How dare he insult us! blah de blah de fucking blah. He hadn’t said a WORD. But evidently, they could READ HIS MIND! My mother has a large oil painting of a famous black New Orleans clarinet player hanging in a prominent place in her living room (just above the television, which is constantly turned on to Faux News). I guess it’s ok to have a nigger in your living room. Just not in the White House. Sad thing is, my mother hates John McCain with a passion. She’s hated him since the first moment he stepped into Arizona. “God damned carpetbagger! Flouncing into Arizona with his entourage! I hate people with entourages!” I suppose she won’t vote at all. But trust me, I’m not going to ask. I just don’t want to know. I have my eyes closed right now, my fingers in my ears, and I’m singing, “lalalalalalalahhhhh.”

If you think solar is still too expensive, here’s how to get more bang for your solar-cell buck. Take a small solar cell, and slice it into thin slivers. Wrap the slivers around the edges of a slab of glass. Paint the glass with a high-tech, but cheap, dye — which you bought online — and voilà! You have a new solar panel. It can collect much more energy than the pricey cell you started with, and it costs only a little more. If done right, making solar panels with a new generation of dyes complementing conventional photovoltaic cells would be cheaper and thus more competitive with other energy sources, Marc Baldo of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and his colleagues report in the July 11 Science. Already in the team’s lab demonstration, “it gives a tenfold increase in total power per unit area of conventional photovoltaic,” Baldo says. The team’s results show that the technology can potentially reduce the cost of solar panels, comments Sean Shaheen of the University of Denver. “Whether or not a tenfold cost reduction would be possible in a large-scale manufacturing effort is an open question.” The most efficient solar cells are made from crystals of a semiconductor such as silicon. Once installed, solar cells give out energy for free. But silicon crystals are expensive to produce, so solar cells can take decades to pay for themselves. One strategy to deal with this issue follows from the fact that solar cells become more efficient when concentrated light shines on them. Engineers are experimenting with parabolic mirrors to reflect light onto small, high-power cells. But to work well, such mirrors must point at the sun all the time, so they need sophisticated tracking mechanisms that keep turning them throughout the day. Baldo and his colleagues looked to dyes for a simpler approach: They gather light with dye on a glass surface and then concentrate it on the much smaller surface area of the glass’s edges. The dye, painted on the glass, absorbs sunlight and then gives it back via fluorescence. Photons come out of dye molecules in random directions, with some 80 percent shooting out horizontally or bouncing off the inner surface of the glass at an angle. That way, the glass keeps the photons from escaping, and guides them to its edges. There, slivers of conventional photovoltaic cells — placed vertically, rather than facing direct sunlight — gobble the photons up. This concept was first proposed in the 1970s, but early attempts were disappointing. The dyes themselves were absorbing too much of the light, making the panels inefficient. To prevent that, Baldo’s team mixed 1 percent of a phosphorescent dye with the fluorescent dye. The fluorescent dye absorbs photons of a specific energy. Each time a photon hits fluorescent dye molecule, the molecule swells with energy. Normally, the dye would then emit a new photon and its energy return to normal. Since the second photon has the same energy as the first, chances are it would soon be absorbed again by another dye molecule. (Just as dye molecules absorb photons coming from the sun, the dye molecules can absorb photons emitted by each other.) But ideally, to achieve greater efficiency, scientists would like the photon to be absorbed, released and then head straight to the photovoltaic panel to be turned into electricity. But in the new design, each fluorescent molecule will be neighbored (usually less than 1 nanometer away) by a molecule of the second dye, which will sense the energetic swelling of a fluorescent molecule, and steal away its extra energy. The second dye molecule will also soon emit a photon, but of a lower energy. That “wrong” energy will enable most of the photons to fly by the fluorescent molecules without being re-absorbed. Working with off-the-shelf materials, the MIT team was able to get 6.8 percent efficiency out of their panels — meaning to convert 6.8 percent of solar energy into electricity — but Baldo says developing new, specialized dyes for the purpose could probably double that figure. Dyes tend to absorb photons within a narrow range of wavelengths, but glass layers could be stacked, each containing a dye that picks up a different wavelength. Many experts say that low-cost panels should be at least 10 percent efficient to compete with standard photovoltaics, which can have efficiencies of more than 20 percent. By circumventing self-absorption, the team has overcome “what seemed like a fundamental problem,” says Stanford University electrical engineer Peter Peumans. “I think this work will renew interest in this type of solar collector.” Peumans says researchers will still have some work to do, and that making the technology competitive may also require developing specialized photovoltaics for the different layers, which would pick up photons of particular wavelengths. “People will pay attention again and look back at their cabinets, and the dyes they already have,” Peumans says.

Guillermo, I’ve never questioned you in the past. When you optioned Hellboy , I was like “yeah, duh, he’s the goddamned devil.” When you and I got sloshed over a pitcher of sangria and you said you just had to make a movie with a guy who had eyes on his hands, I was like “whatever floats your boat, dude.” But as your friend and paid life coach, I’ve got to tell you, your recent proclamation that extra roles in The Hobbit films will be filled by fans of the movies may be the worst idea anyone’s ever had. And to prove it to you, I invented time travel, went into the future, and brought back a review of the movie. Yes, that’s what a good fucking friend I am. Then I destroyed the time travel device. Why? Because it’s function had been served . So take heed, Lermo. THIS is where you’re headed if you don’t wise up. Del Toro’s The Hobbit Should Have Gone There…And Not Come Back Again The first of two proposed movies based on Tolkien’s The Hobbit was released this week, and by now it’s a fair assumption that Director Guillermo Del Toro has fled to Spain to escape the bloodthirsty mobs that roam the streets, calling for his blood. All this reviewer can say to those who would kill the man simply for making such an awful movie is: I own a boat. What makes The Hobbit so uniquely terrible? Perhaps it is that it defames such a beloved work of literature. When a scene as classic as the Elven picnic is interrupted by the background elves continuously jostling one another in order to get close enough to steal pieces of Lembas bread, your movie’s in trouble. I’d warn of spoilers, but it seems to me that one can’t really spoil a big plate of shit. In Part I of The Hobbit , the “acting” work, almost exclusively in group scenes, contains a number of filmic atrocities the likes of which I’ve never witnessed. Rampant, unjustified departures from the original story included: A goblin warrior referring to his sword as “+1.” A giant spider pausing mid-lunge in order to request an autograph from a captured Dwarf. The complete disregarding of Bilbo’s supposed invisibility by a Lake Town local who proceeds to snap photos of him on an iPhone. A number of goblins marveling aloud at the fact that Gollum is just a tennis ball on a stick. Two trolls agreeing that “this is so awesome” while chasing the dwarven party through the woods. And worst of all, a total breach of character on the part of Bilbo when, instead of eloquently preaching against war to the Five Armies, he simply screams to the attendant multitudes: “Shut up! Just shut up! Will you nerds just please shut the fuck up ?!” In the end, Mr. Del Toro appears to have had so little control over his set, one wonders if he’s ever even heard of poisonous gas. The Hobbit ? More like The Bobbitt . By which I mean this film was so bad that it cut my dick off and flung it into the street. In a parallel timestream, Michael is still head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up By Brendan Fraser, Age 8 When I grow up, I want to be a movie actor. I know that a lot of kids say that, but I know that I will succeed, because I am not unrealistic about it like Tiffany, who says she wants to be as famous as Madonna. I don’t think Madonna’s even going to be famous that much longer anyway; not after that naughty Sex book my Dad bought and hides under his mattress. The reason I think I can be an actor is because I have normal expectations. I don’t want to be a big dramatic actor, or even a big action star. All I want is to be that guy that people know his face, and some people know his name, but most people just go “oh, yeah, that guy.” This is my dream. And instead of being in any serious movies, I just want to be in the kinds of movies that parents take their kids to the matinées of because they think it will be fun and have some action, but not be too violent. Like movies where there is some punching, but not lots, and all the shooting misses. I would like to fight Mummies. In real life, but if that is not possible, at least in a movie. Mummies are not that scary; they move slow and they are wrapped in toilet paper. So as an actor in the movie I could make a lot of jokes like “boy, you are slow,” and “you know what else is in toilet paper?” But then before I could say “poop” the ground would break or something and I’d fall and yell real goofy. The kids would like that, because it’s goofy, and the parents could laugh because they knew I was talking about poop. Maybe Disney could produce my action movies. I think that would make sure my head never got too big, or I got to thinking I was a real movie hero. I just want to be regular. Instead of going to bars and clubs in Hollywood, I will go to the Applebee’s in Long Beach. And when I date ladies, they will be pretty, but not so pretty that the media makes a name out of both of our names to represent the couple. In my movies, I will always have kids with me. That will keep me from swears. Also in my movies, I will always dress kind of the same: a khaki vest and stuff like Indiana Jones, but not as nice. That way, people will remember that I was in other movies that they saw. When I do interviews, I will seem like I am not having a very good time, but just saying what the interviewer wants to hear. This will make me seem like I am smarter and more talented than the movies I am in, but that I just never get a fair shot. That way no one will really know how good I am (which is just okay). This will work at first, until later in my career when my interviews will just be painful to watch. In my movies, the final answer to the riddle will always be friendship. This will teach families that friendship is the best thing. Other best things I would like in my movies: Jungles. Army guys (but not scary ones…Canadian ones). Cavemen. Cartoons (I will be in the movie with the cartoons, acting with them). Sock monkeys. I think these things will make enough good movies that people will like me, but enough really bad movies that no one will really like me. That way, I can be nice to my fans that speak to me on the street, because I will be lonely. After a long time, I will take a break from making these movies, because I may be sad that everyone always sees me and says “yeah, that guy. I kind of like him.” I will do some TV show appearances and maybe a dramatic art film where I am gay. This will surprise everyone, and prove that I have acting skill, because in real life I am not gay. Or am I? No one will care enough to find out. But after a few years, I want to then go back to movies. I don’t think I will be able to be in great scripts, because I will already be known as the guy that does okay family action movies, and no studios will want to take a chance on me as a big star. But to make my comeback big, I will have to do something interesting, like maybe making TWO movies instead of one like usual. Maybe one will be in 3-D. That will make people kind of like me even more than they did before. And at the movie premieres I will wear suits that are nice, but not too nice, and only a few cameras will be there. But still, I will smile, because deep inside I will know that all along, this was my dream. When not being prescient, Brendan Fraser has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with sketch comedy troupe Those Aren’t Muskets!

Here’s a quick glance at what’s happening around the National League Central. A year after a surprising World Series run, the Rockies are primed to be sellers before the July 31 non-waiver trade deadline, and the Cardinals reportedly have their sights set on outfielder Matt Holliday and left-handed reliever Brian Fuentes, who would be a nice fit in the Cubs’ bullpen. Meanwhile, Mark Mulder’s comeback featured some ninth-inning duty out of the bullpen. Old pal Buster Olney at ESPN says the Brewers are the frontrunners in the C.C. Sabathia sweepstakes, which made general manager Doug Melvin smile. But Melvin figures to be active before the deadline, saying: ‘‘We lost the division by two games last year. One player could make the difference in two or three games.’’ The Astros have been a remarkable second-half team in recent seasons and some in Houston believe they are primed for another late run. Their victory Monday came at the expense of an injury scare with ace Roy Oswalt. Check back later for updates.

I’ve now officially had it. Custodial parents who are paid support through the often un-reliable DCFS are now being charged a $25 annual fee in many states: let’s take money from those who need it most why don’t we sure, it’s not a massive amount of money, but it sure adds up for the federal gov’t, who receives most of the proceeds from the money the states collect. Millions of dollars to offset the debt run up over this assinine war, not to mention the doubtless high cost of torturing and spying on citizens. Why does this make me so mad? For one, the system is already milking single parents by holding on to the money as long as they can quite often. I, very fortunately, have somehow managed to avoid having to resort to having child support paid through DCFS, however, my child’s father likes to make my life as complicated as possible by, among other things, waiting until the 5th of the month, (after all bills are due, of course), to pay. When he gets really passive aggressive, he waits until later. (Unless he’s planning on taking me to court for something, then he pays on time, presumably to eliminate things that would reflect badly on him). This has resulted in thousands of dollars in late fees over the years that I’d love little more than to sue him for, along with the fact that he contributed nothing to the exorbetant cost of initial equipment and other infant needs but doubt I have legal recourse. What are my options? Surely I can do something about that, right? Wrong. The only thing I can do about it is have the court order he pay through DCFS, which would, theoretically, guarantee payment on the first. However, everyone I’ve talked to who receives support in this way says sometimes months go by with no payment at all. They just hold on to the money and can get away with it. Now if that happened, I’d likely be homeless, thousands of dollars in late fees would be the least of my problems. And now this obviously corrupt system, clearly out for it’s own interests, not those of the people they’re supposedly set up to serve or everyone would be paid every month on time, is going to charge for their flawed services. No other service industry is allowed to do this. Can waiters and bartenders charge an automatic 20% tip whether they do a good job or not? No, though I’d argue they should be able to. SO why can the government? Being a single parent is difficult enough, believe me. Even people with strong family support systems, in-state fathers and jobs and/or homes that haven’t (yet) been hit by our fast falling into a Dickenson-like economy say so. Nevermind what those who do not have some or all of the above go through. Attend the tale of your host and see if you think we should be charging for the few crappy services that do exist or creating new ones/improving those we have: I was 29 when I discovered I was pregnant. The father lived a block away, I had a large 2 bedroom apartment and a great support system of friends, many with children, who I’d known for years. I was working as a paralegal with great health insurance at a firm that was talking about sending me to law school and was also making money as a writer part-time. In the event of some sort of job emergency, which I didn’t anticipate, I had a lot of experience as a bartender/waitress and in retail too. I’ve also been to college and was an honor student to boot. The father owns his home and rents part of it as an apartment and is a PhD with a job that fits the title. It seemed, considering all of these factors, that it would be irresponsible not to have the child. I fairly immediately knew something was wrong with the pregnancy but my doctor didn’t believe me. Consequently, my employer didn’t believe me when I said I was perpetually extremely ill. Ultimately, they pushed me out of my job, (it was a civil rights firm, they were too intelligent to fire me), and I found myself literally deathly ill, 7 months pregnant and jobless. The father was helpful with going with me to doctors appointments (that ignored what was going on) but offerred no help with the situation. I had no choice but to move from my great apartment and support system back to my hometown, where I hadn’t lived in 11 years. The doctor there didn’t pay attention to my complaints either and I discovered that the cost of living was radically different to boot - I paid more for a barely 2 room apartment than I’d been paying for a huge, Victorian 2 bedroom. Somehow I managed to keep both apartments, hoping and expecting that I would return soon after the birth of my child. I didn’t know anyone. All of my friends here had been in high school. Both of my parents are physically disabled and my brother needed help himself at the time. Needless to say, my support system was extremely limited. Oh, forgot to mention I also didn’t drive - and had left a town with pretty good public transportation for one with crappy public transportation. Well, then I almost died. I had been right all along, I had toxemia. If I had known that my mother had it too, I could have given the medical history to my doctor and would have avoided the entire nightmare described above. But, because she is disabled and had me in the 70s in then medically backward North Carolina, doctors assumed her complications were due to her disability and never screened her/told her she had it. So it only came out when my pregnancy went way over the due date, (my doctor here moved it up almost a month, undoubtedly worsening the situation), and I was seeing spots and having acute shoulder pain. I had flu at the time too. Fortunately, I’d done a lot of medical malpractice work and recognized the symptoms as blood pressure or I may not be here writing now. (Should have turned all that legal experience on to the doctor and law firm but oh well - to tell the truth, after goign through all that, and as a new parent, good luck finding the time or energy, let alone affording the lawyer.) But I didn’t die so there I was with a wonderful, healthy baby boy in spite of the medical community, (they tell you not to drink or smoke at all while pregnant but it’s apparantly fine to pump you full of something that shuts down your central nervous system for 2 weeks - yep, 2 weeks. The nurses were appalled and telling me I could insist on a c-section, that the doctor was going way too far and in the old days they put you in a dark room with barbituates to keep you calm for several months. Instead I’d been battling family members, dealing with an out of state move and all the while trying to help my brother for several months. Not to mention the stress of the extreme unemployability of a 7 month pregnant, critically ill person. Again, my family didn’t believe that I was ill either so boy did I catch an ungodly amount of shit and met with almost no help. There is a very unhealthy mindset in this country that pregnant people aren’t supposed to feel good. I’m not kidding about that. So, you’d imagine I’d be able to go right back to the paralegal thing after having maybe a few rough months right? Or that the apparantly responsible father, especially after seeing that I truly was ill and had no choice but to move or seirously risk my life and the life of the child, helped move us back, right? Wrong. The father refused to help with moving and agreed to pay 1/2 of what the state would order for child support. Enter the problem of finding/paying for a lawyer. Sure, the court is set up so you don’t have ot have one for such proceedings and that may be well and good if you’re up against someone in the same financial position as yourself, as people often are. But good luck with it when the other party has the money for the crookedest of attorneys and is also incredibally shrewd. So I ended up naievley believing an even more crooked attorney who claimed he would help for free, blackmailed me, then hooked the father up with an extremely unethical attorney and pulled out of my case before it went to court. Fortunately, my legal background helped me avoid getting totally screwed, but belive me, I still got screwed and went through such an extreme amount of stress it’s unimaginable. It destroyed several relationships, (combine all that going on with a serious case of undiagnosed post-partum). Oh but why didn’t I have it togehter? I had years of experience in a specialized, well-paying job. What the hell was wrong with me? Well, for one, law is state specific and most of my experience being out of state was a serious setback. I eventually did find a job but it was very low paying. It took years before I was able to return to a ‘normal’ paralegal salary, (though the father’s attorney tried to assign it to me when calculating support). And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I think I applied to every firm in town. Actually, I tried to find a job doing absolutely everything I was qualified for, which hits a broad spectrum, and again and again met only with frustration. Why? I return to the lack of a support system, (now, recall I had a great one when I made the decision to have my child) and the impossible child care situation in this country. As I said, for several years I was only able to find low paying legal jobs and/or restaurant work. The restaurant work was more money but good luck finding a sitter for the hours required. Now, I did manage to do that, but it was almost impossible to work until 3, then be up until 4 or 5 because, as anyone who works in a restaurant will tell you, you’re wide awake when you’re done, and then get up at 6 or so with an infant. Try that for a few days and see if you don’t start hallucinating. And I was still not making a living wage. I tried to get subsidized child care, but no such thing for those kind of hours and when I was working in law offices I was told, in spite of the fact that after paying for the least expensive child care I could find I’d literally take home $50, that I made too much to qualify. I hear they’ve raised the bar even higher now. Ultimately, like I said, I did return to a ‘normal’ paralegal salary, (but at twice the cost of living that I’d had before my move, that’s without adding the cost of raising a child). Then my car got totalled and I could no longer get to said job all the time. This caused problems. I couldn’t get a loan for another car because I hadn’t been at the job long enough. In retrospect, I should have just gotten a $500 car, (why no bus? I return you to the lovely state of public transportation in this fair city). However, at the time I didn’t even know such a thing existed. Incredible until you take the fact that I’d only been driving for a couple of years into account. That, along with a few other political reasons, (the same firm fired a good friend of mine for being ‘too intelligant), cost me the job. I worked it out again for a time, using my strong theater and writing background for a career change in education that rapidly worked out to the same amount of money, albiet without benefits. The schedule made childcare much, much easier- (not so difficult to find someone or initially expensive when what you need is a few hours at a time, which is how it worked). By that time I did have a slightly better support system, but good luck building a really strong one in a new town without the childcare to go out and network. Good old catch 22. Then the school I was working with closed, my Dad became critically ill and I added full time care of him to full time care of a still not in school child and the stress of it all culminated in a near fatal accident that took over a year to really recover from. So, back to the drawing board. I did, however, save my Dad’s life. And I’ve managed to have my wonderful child in very good pre-schools & be very involved in his starting Kindergarten, have had room-mates who are strong role models and now am living in a fantastic neighborhood/house that finally doesn’t make me rue the day I ever left that Victorian - basically, somehow I’ve worked it out. But, as you see, I think anyway, it’s been almost impossible. In fact, at times it has been impossible. Friends and family, (sadly, more often family), have far more often carried on about how untogether I am rather than sit and seriously take a look at what would solve the underlying problems, which has definitely made it harder. I think not being around me for 11 years, or in the case of my friends not knowing me for most of my adult life, makes it easier to fall into that. ‘So many people do this all the time’ they say, ‘they don’t have this much of a problem.’ Sure they don’t. Try google and see if the hundreds of postings by single parents and non-government social service agencies about what it’s like to ‘get it together’ without a support network and see how long the theory holds up. Probably about 5 seconds. Or, better yet, try googling support services for single parents in your area and see how ‘easy’ it is. I’m not trying to have a pity party here - I’m simply telling my story the way it really is and suggesting that, should you be so callous as to join the cast and crew of those who relentlessly have given me crap over the years, (usually people who don’t have children or who had them in a 2 parent family and now they’re grown - never mind the fact that the occurrrence of 2 disabled grandparents, especially coupled with an out of state father, is probably unheard of) - anyway, should you be tempted to do that, seriously, Google as I suggested before you do so. And keep in mind, by all outward logic, I did not ‘choose’ to have such a difficult situation. Rather, I had a great job, a nearby father and a lot of support. But the unexpected happened. Over and over again. It seems to me that these are the sorts of situations society should most have some sort of safety net in place for - but no go. Instead, the very agency that claims to exist to help single parents is now charging them a fee to not pay them on time. Just what we need. And like I said, it’s not that it’s that much money, though the amount of money the government ultimatey makes off of it is appalling. It’s rather reflective of the attitude of the country towards single parents - So, what’s my point here? Is it just to tell you my sad tale? No. It’s that many people are without the neccessary support systems to manage single parenthood. This is a problem that is even more ignored than the at least intermittently acknowledged national child care crisis, and undoubtedly feeds it. It is assumed that because the majority of single parents have parents who help with childcare everyone does. Clearly not the case if you Google as suggested. Social service agencies don’t quite know what to do in these situations either, non-federal/state ones that is. The federal/state agencies just say tough luck if you make $10 an hour or so apparantly. Privately funded ones at least try to help and, per the posts on-line, often find themselves at a total loss. And somehow it’s logical to cut or add fees to the services that exist because why? While at the same time carrying on about family values and all that. Whatever. Single parents are already screwed in this country- or, rather, the children are. And that’s really, really sad. The lovely government and much of the population is not only anti-abortion but anti-child if you ask me. Is it the governments responsibilty to pick up all this slack ad infinitum? Hell no. I don’t think any self-respecting person would want them to, or want parents and friends to for that matter. But in situations like that described above or any number of other ones, people who make responsible decisions and then have catastrophic events have no recourse if they can’t figure it out on their own. And, clearly, sometimes this really is impossible. I have a hard time seeing how even those who are proponents of hands-off government would advocate the above-described circumstance. Why not start a fund that helps new single parents obtain good legal help, (legal aid services do not help in chid custody/support proceedings outside of DCFS helping you get child support and we see what a concerned social service agency that is)? If I had had that in the beginning, I would undoubtedly have gotten a lot more help from my child’s father, (and this is coming from a very strong legal background). That’s who should be helping, especially in this instance where his income is such that he can well afford it. But no, no such service. And family just railed about how I needed to ‘get it together’. Ulitimately, they lent or gave me far, far more than a lawyer would have cost to begin with. And social services do the same. Now, this may not work in every case. Some parents don’t have the income to really do but so much. But I imagine I’m not the only person in the country in something like this situation. In fact, I know some people who have dealt with even more ridiculousness from the father of their children/their families etc. Again, no, it’s not the responsibility of my or anyone else’s family, certainly not friends, to pick up all this slack. But something, somewhere has to give or the situation will just perpetuate itself. There’s no way around it. And again, this is from someone who is qualified to make $45,000.00 or more with the other parent making even more than that, (who knows how much, he won’t say and is meanwhile trying to get support reduced and refusing visitation, which would at least allow me to work without paying childcare for a few weeks, go on job interviews as needed rather than as I am able, not to mention giving me a break for the first time in what has now been 6 years without more than a week or so at a time in the aforementioned child-care free universe. Forget going out, or playing regular gigs or anything like that. Though that’s surely at the bottom of the priority totem pole.) I hate to imagine what people who have the odds stacked even more heavily against them are going through. And now agencies are going to do less as the economy gets worse, as friends and family have less to give as a result — what is going to happen? “Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?” As Scrooge said. Guess the workhouses will return. They’ll probably charge a fee for those too. Takes a lot to get me going but when I do I sure don’t shut up do I?

   I ran across this cool signed photograph of one Rudolf Wanderone , aka Minnesota Fats. He is arguably the most famous pool player in the world, a point that severely aggravated a number of his contemporaries and left couuntless others at least mildly bemused.    Irving Crane , whom I have written about in other columns, would belong in the former column; Willie Mosconi , whom Fats played in campy television matches in the 1970s, I would characteriz e as in the mildly bemused column. Thirty years ago when I spent the better part of four months mostly racking balls for Crane during practices sessions (her mercifully allowed me to shoot on the rare occasions when he missed) near his home in Rochester, N.Y.    Hard as it is for me to imagine now, I was the young whippersnapper then, still under the dreaded age of 30, and Crane was all of 65. Short of questions directly related to the practice session at hand, decisions about idle conversation surrounding the afternoon were in his hands, but I was always particularly delighted when he would reminisce a bit about his storied history in the game.    It was pretty rare when he talked much at all, since he took practice more seriously than anyone I’ve ever known, even though he was competing sparingly by then and would retire from the pro tour a couple of years later. He told me stories about Ralph Greenleaf , whom he admired but was also appalled by Greenleaf’s alcoholism; he also talked occasionally about Mosconi, and even more rarely about Fats.    Mostly what I remember about Fats’ name coming up was Crane’s insistence that despite the flashy nickname and legendary self-promotion, Minnesota Fats couldn’t have competed with any of the top players at straight pool, which was Crane’s favored game. Fats was a nine-ball player, or more likely banks or one-pocket games that lent themselves to the gambling end of things. It was part of Crane’s mystique that he didn’t even care for gambling, which could be a real handicap for a guy trying to make a living in a “profession” so exquisitely involved with wagering.    I only met Willie Mosconi on one occasion, I would guess around the mid-1980s when I got lucky and wound up having lunch with him at an billiards exhibition at a restaurant in the Philadelphia suburbs. The place, Williamsons Restaurant, is a local institution in Horsham, Pa., for old-time collectors just a couple of miles up the road from the site of the Eastern Pennsylvania Sports Collectors Club (EPSCC) shows in Willow Grove.    I was clearly unworthy of sitting at the same table for lunch with Mosconi and the man he was playing against, fellow Billiards Congress of  America Hall of Famer Jimmy Caras , who lived in nearby Wilmington, Del., and their wives, but simply hustled a bit (the generic use of the term) to snag the seat. I was with an old friend, a poolroom operator from Delaware who had played high school basketball with Dick Groat , and we simply figured out where we thought the guest(s) of honor would be planted and just plopped down in the other seats at the table. The worst that could happened is that we would be politely asked to move to another table.    Instead, Mosconi and Caras just sat down and apparently assumed that the two reprobates at the table had some divine right to be there. Needless to say, we were thrilled. While we largely left the choice of table discussion topics to the actual dignitaries, I did mention to Mosconi that I had spent a good deal of time with his old archrival Irving Crane.    While Willie didn’t precisely use the quote attributed to him in this autobiography about “Irving Crane wouldn’t take a shot unless his grandmother could make it,” he did confirm the conventional wisdom that Crane had been perhaps the most careful player he had ever encountered.    And about Fats he was a bit more diplomatic than Crane had been a half-dozen or so years earlier, noting simply that while Fats hadn’t truly been one of the top players on tour – or even actually playing in the major tournaments – he had been an incredible ambassador for the game. He did tell us, however, that he would go to great pains to find ways to tune out the legendary Minnesota Fats shtick and nonstop banter, which even in exhibition matches could prove to be a problem for pool players more accustomed to relative serenity and quiet while shooting, two words that wouldn’t even show up in Fats’ vocabulary.    But a couple of words that did allegedly pass from Rudolph’s lips always tickled me, whether he actually said them or not. “Irv Crane would have been the only guy to notice the horse under Lady Godiva.”    Of such witty gems are legends forged.