Why Do We Anthropomorphize?

Giving human characteristics to animals, inanimate objects or natural phenomena is a human trait called “to anthropomorphize.”

Anthropomorphism carries many important implications. For example, thinking of a nonhuman entity in human ways renders it worthy of moral care and consideration. In addition, anthropomorphized entities become responsible for their own actions — that is, they become deserving of punishment and reward.

Although we like to anthropomorphize, we do not assign human qualities to each and every single object we encounter. What accounts for this selectivity? One factor is similarity. An entity is more likely to be anthropomorphized if it appears to have many traits similar to those of humans (for example, through human-like movements or physical features such as a face).

-Courtesy of Photojournalist Alice Kay

I don't see any face but it is easy to see that this poor, down on his luck OCHA is "riding the rails" (if the train ever comes!) ...Tossed from the saloon that featured Coors Light on tap because he had no money - he desperately wants to move on.

 Where will he go? What will become of him? Is he destined to be run over and flattened like many of his ilk?

I hate to tell him that his wait for "the train" might be a long one. Those rails, while they connect at a nearby junction to others that head north (to destinations as exotic as Niagara Falls) and south to old mountain towns like Wilkes-Barre and "Jim Thorpe" (founded as Mauch Chunk in 1818), have not been served by a train in some time (sad to say.)

Well I lay my head on the railroad track
Waiting on the Double E
But the train don`t run by here no more
Poor poor pitiful me

Poor poor pitiful me
Poor poor pitiful me
Oh these boys won`t let me be
Lord have mercy on me
Woe woe is me

Those rails whose very existence were fought for and doggedly repaired after being badly damaged, repeatedly, by flooding caused by bad storms have an uncertain future - a future as uncertain as that poor, down on his luck, Orange Cone Head Alien's.

The late, great Lehigh Valley Rail Road

Secret and Not Secret Penpal

Remember A Charlie Brown Valentine, a TV special where Charlie Brown goes to his mailbox each day to see if he has gotten a Valentine's Day card from the Little Red-Haired Girl? Some days, I can empathize with the poor guy. I mean, to quote Rodney Dangerfield, "if I wasn't born a boy I would of had nothing to play with."

But not anymore!! In the mailbox recently were three bits of "good mail"!

A beautiful postcard from Parsley, a long letter from Rita of SoulComfort, and a card from my secret penpal!

The wise old "knitted ones" gaze serenely at the scene...


Looking closely at those pictures, I thought to myself, that short little orange cone in the middle of the picture on the lower right looks really familiar. I pull out my magnifying glass and peered at her... and yes!! It is Miss Illinois! of the Miss Orange Conic America Pageant!

Thank you secret Penpal! You did it again...putting a smile on my face. Thank you Parsley and Rita for being such great friends!

Eureka! - I have found it!

eu·re·ka exclamation /yooˈrēkə/ /yə-/ 1. A cry of joy or satisfaction when one finds or discovers something.

Supposedly, shouted by ancient Greek philosopher Archimedes as he ran naked from his bath realizing just why heavy stuff floats...

Recently, I was sent a framed photograph of some beautiful farm land in "upstate" Pennsylvania by a dear friend and fellow blogger, Photojournalist Alice Kay. Slipped into the package was a most curious photograph of an orange traffic cone sitting in a hole. I looked at the photograph and thought to myself, "Silly OCHA*, sitting in a hole" and my mind turned to other things (like the farm land photograph).

*Orange Cone Head Alien

Early this morning while standing in the shower as the lukewarm water cascaded over my balding head I was thinking... (yes, dangerous business, I know...)


...about the curious photograph. Why would an Orange Cone stand (sit?) in a hole like that? And then it struck me! How could I've been so dense! I shouted "Eureka!" as I ran from my shower through the house naked dripping with water... (well not really).

Its blindingly simple!! It's not a hole, its a nest!! Mother OCHA is sitting on a nestful of OCHA eggs!! So that's where they all come from!!

I immediately ran outside (well, after I put some undies on) to the nearest nesting OCHA and looked into the nest and what I saw was...

...plain old ordinary gravel.

My excitement left me faster than withholding taxes on my salary (and that goes so fast I never see it!)... Plain old gravel. Hmmph...

My brain, once kicked (hard) out of its slumber, whirled, banged, rattled, and smoked...an old science film came to the surface of the usual claptrap and hokum. The smarmy-toned voice over said, "Hey kids! Some animals in the wild have this amazing ability to blend in with their surroundings. It's called camouflage."

Camouflage! Eggs that look like gravel? Could it be? I turned and ran back to the OCHA nest (as I had decided to call it...) and scooped up a handful of gravel and brought it to the office. Thinking furiously, "it needs a warm place" and remembering somethings about hatchings in nature - theorized that I've never seen an OCHA hatching because they must only hatch on the darkest of moonless nights... like turtles... (never mind that I got my facts a little out of sorts there.)

I covered the OCHA eggs with a warm blanket and a box and kept them warm and dark. It was only a short while later, I heard some strange "plopping" sounds. With blazing curiosity, I lifted the box off the eggs...


Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!! They were hatching!!


Awww.. so cute!! They are so wobbly they can hardly stand (sit?) up.

So now I understand why OCHA so often found standing in and around holes... This just "must be" why.

What Happened to Spring?

Twas the night before Summer, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The swimsuits were hung on the clothesline with care,
In hopes that SpongeBob SquarePants soon would be there.

The OCHAs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sweet taffy danced in their heads.
And ma in her ‘kini, and I in my speedo,
Had just settled our heads for a short afternoon nap.

When out on the beach there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains and threw up the sash.


Orange Cones Playing Chicken - one wearing a belt life preserver

The Coppertone girl's full moon set the sand a'glow
Gave the harsh glare of mid-day to objects below.
When, what I had to share via my blog and phone,
Was a miniature keg, and drunk, loud orange cones.

With his very odd laughter, and his fry cook job,
I knew in a moment it must be SpongeBob.
More rapid than eagles his groupies they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Simmons! now, Misses all! New York and Texas!
On, Georgia! Illinois! on Louis-ey and Connie***!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now splash away! Splash away! Splash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the groupies they flew,
With the keg full of beer, and SpongeBob SquarePants too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and hawing of each little goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney SpongeBob SquarePants came with a bound.

He was undressed all but pants, from his waist hung tinfoil,
And his skin was all glistened with sunscreen oil.
A six pack of beer he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.


Orange Cones Playing in the Water - Adults watching the wee ones

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose peelin' like scary!
His droll little chin was drawn up like a bow,
And the teeth in his mouth was as white as the snow.

His prized spatula he held tight in his teeth,
And his breath it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a big square belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a fishes of jelly!

He was sunny and bright, a right jolly old soul,
And I laughed when I saw him, quite out of control!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.


Orange Cones on the Beach - Hey! someone stole my swimsuit!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And refilled all the empties, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He drained the rest of the keg, while the cones whistled,
Then away they all went, chests puffed slick and chiseled!
And I heard Bob exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Summer to all, and to all a good-night!"

My apologies to whoever wrote "Twas the Night Before Christmas"...and my thanks to Queenie Jeannie for the Beauty Queens, Lady Styx for the left hand beach towel, ToriZ for the right hand beach towel and little clay cone, Alice Kay for Pooh and Party Cone, DeeDee for the big foam cone, Parsley for Prayer Cone and all of rest of you that put up with me.

:)

*** Gene Simmons, Miss Texas, Miss New York, Miss Illinois, Miss Georgia, Miss Louisiana, and Miss Confusion. I realize I'm a name short.

Kind of MIA

In response to my last entry, where you may recall, a rare Socky Head, possibly in the menancing presence of two Orange Traffic Safety Cones was "safely" standing on shore when we last saw him/her/it.


A Corgi in Southern California asked "How would we know if they were wearing life vests if the life vests were orange?" and that is a durn good question!

I thought about what I've seen in my many walks amongst the "orange folks" and could not distinctly recall a case where I ever saw an orange traffic safety cone actually swimming - wearing a lifevest or otherwise.

I recalled a case where I had seen some orange barrels "swimming with the fishes" (you can read about them here) but I did not know (and still do not know) if they were swimming, dead, or doing something else altogether.

And then, just as I was about to go outside and toss an orange cone into a large puddle (in the interest of furthering my knowledge and science in general, of course), I got this fabulous photograph in an e-mail from photojournalist Farside of Fifty who reports seeing this talented Socky Head taking a swim!


P.s., I'm still tempted to toss a cone - stay tuned. :)

I've leave you with this - something I saw/heard by accident, a song from "How I Met Your Mother" (video) that has been stuck in my head - yes... I think the noise in my head has gone from bad to worse...

Hey, Beaver come on
When you feel alone
Just pick up that phone
And I’ll be there to share my ice cream cone
We’ll lick it side by side
And deep inside you’ll know
Before the day is done

Two beavers are better than one
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Two beavers are better than one
They’re twice the fun
Ask anyone
A second beaver can be
Second to none
Two beavers are better than one!

Da da da da da (You’re my favorite beaver)
Da da da da da (Space Teens are forever)
Da da da da da (Don’t forget to do your homework)
‘Cuz math’s cool!

We’ll share a root beer float
And learn aboot how friendship weighs
A metric ton

Two beavers are better than one
Da da da da da da da da da da da da
Two beavers are better than one
They’re twice the fun
Ask anyone
A second beaver can be
Second to none
Two beavers are better than one!

Two beavers are better than one!
Two beavers are better than one!
Two beavers are better than one! (Beautiful, beautiful beavers!)

Jerry Lewis or Pete Seeger?

I'm still a zombie.

I got this photograph from new photojournalist Farside of Fifty who reports seeing these two plain orange cones and a Socky Head (last seen in Fargo, North Dakota) getting ready for a swim.


The only thing in my empty head is this (over and over again):

One hen
Two ducks
Three squawking geese
Four Limerick oysters
Five corpulent porpoises
Six pairs of Don Alverso's tweezers
Seven thousand Macedonians in full dress battle array
Eight brass monkeys from the ancient sacred crypts of Egypt
Nine sympathetic apathetic diabetic old men, each with a marked propensity for procrastination and sloth.
Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who swim to and fro about the quo and the quay and the queasy at the very same time
Ten tipsy tailors timidly torturing a terrified tit-mouse.

or is it?

Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who haul, stall, crawl around the about the quai of the quay of the quivvy at the very same time?

...anyhooo...

Eleven corinthian columns careening cautiously, closely contiguous to the covered catacombs of a catholic convent.
Twelve turbulent tom-tits, twittering tumultuously in the top of a tall tamarac tree.
Thirteen thirsty thespians thriftily thumbing through thirty-thousand theological theses.

I've been wondering all morning if I heard Jerry Lewis saying this or Pete Seeger singing it...or heard it from somewhere else...and how to make it stop!

P.s., I like "verse 9" the best - what is your favorite?

Chain Gangs...

A chain gang is a group of prisoners chained together to perform menial or physically challenging work, such as mining or timber collecting, as a form of punishment. Such punishment might include building roads, digging ditches or chipping stone. This system existed primarily in the southern parts of the United States, and by 1955 had been phased out nationwide, with Georgia the last state to abandon the practice. Chain gangs were reintroduced by a few states during the "get tough on crime" 1990s, with Alabama being the first state to revive them in 1995. The experiment ended after about one year in all states except Arizona, where in Maricopa County inmates can still volunteer for a chain gang to earn credit toward a high school diploma or avoid disciplinary lockdowns for rule infractions.

From Wikipedia -

You naughty, naughty Orange Barrels!!!

Thanks to photojournalist Pamela of The Dust Will Wait who spotted these guys (gals?) doing the convict shuffle at a Burger King drive-in window of all places!

Orange Cone Museum

I huddled the Orange Cones around me this weekend and told them about Orange Cone Museum idea and got a mixed reaction.


One of the cones was worried about me sending them to a cold, creepy museum to be locked up all alone, far away from home while hundreds of (well maybe a half dozen?) strangers ogled at him. I reassured him (or her), the museum would be in my own home and that they would never be locked up - even if they were placed in a display case. I would always let them out to roam, play, and even party after "working hours."

Gene "The Tonguey Cone" Simmons got all upset and started hollering, "Did he look like an old museum piece?!?? Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones yeah! but me?!?" Ace Frehley and Peter Criss just looked mildly bemused at Gene's antics.

The Conas Brothers just looked at each other and mouthed, "What is a museum? Are there cute chicks there?"

The Beauty Queens were all for the idea - they said, "We look so fabulous, people will want to come for miles to see us!"

Cappy Cone wouldn't come out of the bathroom long enough to talk to me. Ever since he's become a teenager, he spends an inordinate amount of time in there doing gosh knows what, and it's not singing in the shower...

Reuben Kincone just squealed like a little kid. I think he was all for the idea if he could make a buck off of it.

However, I got a big assist from Multo-Cone who looked up some things in his Multipedia and said, "Iggy, you know, one of the informational placards for the museum could explain why us orange cones are the color we are." I asked him what he meant, and he produced this -

Safety orange is a hue. Its deeper, more saturated shade is known as international orange. Safety orange is used to set objects apart from their surroundings, particularly in complementary contrast to the azure color of the sky (azure is the complementary color of orange, and therefore there is a very strong contrast between the two colors). The color is commonly used for traffic cones (and their ugly, contemptible cousins, barrels).

Now to see if I can get a grant for the museum - even if it discriminates against barrels.

A Night at the Oscars!

Everyone is getting excited about the upcoming 83rd annual Academy Awards ceremony to take place on February 27, 2011! I know because I've spotted a number of invitations for my cone buddies come in the mail lately.


With the lovely Anne Hathaway hosting this year's show - I know I can watch it for hours and hours and hours... and root for my buddies to win!

Best Actor in a Leading Role: Mr. OCHA Sex

Best Actress in a Leading Role: Mrs. OCHA Sex

Best Animated Feature: OCHA Man

Best Animated Short Film: Cappy Says Hello!

Best Costume Design: There She Is, Miss America!

Best Foreign Language Film: Introducing Multo-Cone

Best Makeup: Kiss Cone Gene Simmons

Best Original Song: Cones, Glorious Cones!

Best Picture: The Birth of Little Iggy

Best Sound Mixing: Fat Bottomed Cones

Best Visual Effects: Cappy Says Hello!


Everybody is all abuzz about who will win an OsCHA award!

Merry Christmas - From Me to You

I've finally decorated my tree!

I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and the happiest of new years!

Why I Support Public TV

As many of you know, I'm a staunch supporter of Public Television. It's not just the British Comedies, Masterpiece Theater, Scientific explorations such as Nova, Nature shows, and the hours of cooking shows - its the thought-provoking broadcasts that make you think like nothing commercial television ever does.

Recently, Photojournalist Rita of Soul Comfort's Corner brought to my attention a new series I had missed, called "Independent Lens", an Emmy award-winning independent film series featuring documentaries and dramas -- a film festival in your living room. It is dedicated to an eclectic group of film makers exploring some fringe areas of the human condition. Or not-so-human condition.







Somehow, I think I've missed my calling - I should have been an Independent Film Maker - somehow though, I think my attempts to film orange cones fondly known as OCHAs such as this attempt (here) would have required me to err.. ah lets say, expose myself to a genre of music described as "porno music" when I laid in the sound track.

I don't think that would be PBS material...

Forty-Mile Desert - Nevada Historical Marker 26

About midway between the towns of Reno and Winnemucca Nevada, lies the Forty-Mile Desert.

Before the first transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869, the life-giving Humboldt River Basin of Churchill County was the last water to be seen by many people slowly heading west to California by covered wagon.

During the height of the gold rush, upwards to 30,000 people annually emigrated west via the "Overland Emigrant Trail" which separated from the Oregon Trail near Fort Hall in Idaho and headed across the empty plains of Nevada to the gold fields in Placer County, located high in the rugged Sierra Nevada mountains and onwards to settlements and cities of northern California.

One of the more northern branches of the California Trail, the Truckee River Route, was used by the ill-fated Donner party. The Forty-Mile Desert route was originally touted as "a better way, being a shortcut."


The sign reads, "The 40-Mile Desert, beginning here, is a barren stretch of waterless alkali wasteland. It was the most dreaded section of the California Emigrant Trail. If possible, it was traveled by night because of the great heat.

The route was first traveled by the Walker-Chiles party in 1843 with the first wagon train. Regardless of its horrors, it became the accepted route, as it split five miles southwest of here into the two main trails to California--the Carson River and the Truckee River Routes.

Starvation for men and animals stalked every mile. A survey made in 1850 showed these appalling statistics: 1,061 dead mules, almost 5,000 horses, 3,750 cattle and 953 graves. The then-value of personal property lost was set at $1,000,000.

The heaviest traffic came from 1849 to 1869. It was still used after completion of the Central Pacific Railroad in 1869."

Thanks to photojournalist Pamela of "The Dust Will Wait", we can see just who is still using the perilous dusty, hot, desert trail...


Pamela suggests that this straggler has become separated from an Orange Barrel Train, and is very thirsty. We will never know the fate of this particular ORBA, but that nasty dent to the head makes me think this one will become a statistic and join the 1,061 dead mules...

A glimpse of the desert behind the suffering barrel really makes me admire the stamina, pluck, and courage of our ancestors. The overland journey from the Mid-West to Oregon and California meant a six month trip across 2,000 miles of 'difficult' country, traveled mostly on foot.

More Wagon Trail information (here)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

...but some gentlemen aren't at all picky.

Photojournalist Deanna of My Loves, My Life sent me another photograph of that new species announced by the (easily excited) folks at Global Organization for Research of Alien Narcoleptic Gazing Entities (Glo-Orange) (here).

Deanna write, "These BOCHAs were standing at a street corner next to a very busy road. I think the blonde bombshell was being pimped by the other one." (Ed. note: BOCHAs are Bubba Orange Cone Head Aliens to you newbies...)

Well, given what little I know about OHCA sexual practices (summarized here), I suppose that is quite possible. On the otherhand...


The gentleman caller might be ready for some fun as he is already wrapped in saran wrap-like plastic for ummm... safety. Yeah, that's it... safety.

Come on y'all, chime in like Sergeant Schultz of Hogan's Heroes now - I know nothing, nothing! nothing!! about STD's of the "Orange" Kingdom. I want to keep it that way, thank you very much.

My brother just chimed in with his opinion... he thinks they are remaking a movie and those BOCHAs (to be honest he said "those other ones") across the street might be extras, film crew, or spectators.

Hmm, so which would you prefer?

A remake of "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" with Marilyn Monroe Bocha singing "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend?"

...or maybe "Blonde and Blonder" with Pamela Anderson Bocha and Denise Richards Bocha which was ... well, I guess basically "plotless"... dancing about.

...or "Legally Blonde" with Reese Witherspoon Bocha attending Harvard Law School?

:) Have a great weekend!

What Do You Say?

What do you say, when you post about a Goose styled from an orange cone and one of your friends takes the time to track down Michael Savona, the artist that created them, to find out if they are available?

It happened.

And what do you say, when one of your friends, crochets a couple really cute orange cones and you post a blog about them calling them the Conas Brothers...and that friend decides that since there are three guys in the band, she needs to make another one?

And while's she at it, she takes pictures, showing how they are made, step by step?

And what do you say when she makes a handmade orange cone card to send with the third cone - a card with three cones on it?

And what can you say, when Nick and Joe Conas meet their "lost" brother, Kevin, live and on stage?


Kevin, the once "missing" Conas Brother, is ready to crank it up on guitar!


I just wish I knew what to say. I want to say something like, "friendship is the best gift a person can have" and I treasure yours but I can't find the right words and the words I have aren't coming out right.

Thank you Lynn. I'm a lucky guy. :)

I've Gone (Completely) Insane

I read a number of blogs regularly, and I read some as a matter of random chance. I sometimes click on that "next blog" button that appears at the top of some blogs when I'm up for a something new.

Recently while looking at a "random to me" blog called The Architect's Newpaper I saw ... something that filled my long-empty, lonely heart with insatiable, burning, Jimmy Carter-like lust.

Oh, how I long to have the objects I found. I would give up donuts, ice cream, Mom's homemade pie, McDonald's French Fries, cheap internet broadband, and things I don't have to give up, like six pack abs, or a full head of hair... Oh heck, I'd even give up income tax refunds in order to possess them, such is how deep I yearn for them...


Michael Savona’s Goose Cones playfully reconfigures orange construction cones as a line of crossing geese.

I wonder what Abraham Maslow, Carl Rogers, Edward Thorndike, Alfred Kinsey, Noam Chomsky, Hermann Rorschach, Sigmund Freud, or even Linda Freeman (Jane Lynch) would make of this obsession... or is a fatal attraction?

Global Organization for Research of Alien Narcoleptic Gazing Entities News!

This news bulletin just in from the Global Organization for Research of Alien Narcoleptic Gazing Entities, better know by its acronym, Glo-Orange.

An intrepid photographer in Fargo, North Dakota has just discovered a wholly new alien species! The really tall skinny knobhead cones have never before been seen on this planet!

In honor of their discoverer, Rita of SoulComfort, the Glo-Orange has decided to name them SoulCOmfort KnobbY Heads, or SCOKY Heads for short.


A Glo-Orange investigative team is now on the way to the scene of all the excitement in Fargo, North Dakota in order to collect more information about these exciting new alien life forms.

I suspect they will use some common Orange Coneheads to cordon off the crowds for the new alien's safety.

-----------------------------------
A brave photojournalist from the Show Me State of Missouri has also discovered a new species of orange aliens! Deanna who uses the "nom de personne d'appareil-photo" of Punkn for her professional body of work has captured these intriguing "fellows" looking into a big hole at a gas station on digital film.


The modest photographer asked, "Are you sure you want me naming anything orange?" and when assured that was the case by a representative of the Glo-Orange, went on to name the new species, BOCHAs.

Quickly explaining, she says, "You see, the dudes are a long, gangly, redneck variety from the sticks of Missouri, all named Bubba. Thus they are Bubba Orange Cone Head Aliens."

A second Glo-Orange investigative team is now on the way to the scene of all the excitement in Big Hole in Ground, Missouri in order to collect more information about these exciting new alien life forms.

I understand they want to find out if all the Bubba's have second names like Bob, Jim, and Mac. Imagine meeting Bubba Bob DeAlphacentauri.

Elephant Graveyard

An elephant graveyard is a place where, according to legend, older elephants instinctively direct themselves when they reach a certain age. They then die there alone, far from the group.

There are several theories about the term's origin. One theory revolves around people finding groups of elephant skeletons together, or observing old elephants and skeletons in the same habitat. Others suggest that the term may spring from group die-offs such as one excavated in Saxony-Anhalt which had 27 ancient pachyderm skeletons. Other theories focus on elephant behavior during lean times, suggesting that starving elephants gather in places where finding food is easier, and subsequently die there.

-------------------------
This past Sunday morning, the sun rose obscured by a gloomy, low hanging overcast with periods of spotty drizzle. The plans for the day, which entailed driving "deep in to" the neighboring state of Delaware were scrubbed since the weather was crummy and me and my traveling mate were both feeling a bit "iffy".

So we decided to hang close to home - and meet up in the afternoon at a newly opened museum much more local to us - in fact - the museum was almost exactly half way between our homes being situated in lower Bucks County, PA. I hope to write more about the museum as it was a really nifty place for me, who as a young boy who aspired to be an astronaut.

But that story will have to wait -

While I waiting for my Dad to arrive, I went to the newly opened Warminster County Park located right next to the museum to walk a bit. This park is rather unique in that it was cobbled together from land that once formed the Brewster Aircraft Works and later the Navy's NADC (Naval Air Development Center) and as such, within the park, there is the remaining part of the airport used to test pre-and-post WWII Navy planes. The walking trail consists of about 5,000 feet or so of runway and perimeter taxiing and service roads.

Immediately adjacent to the parking lot is Gilda Radner Way and a lovely 200 year old farmhouse that has been transformed into a Gilda Radner Club house for families dealing with cancer. I found myself reflecting on the amazing life of Gilda Radner who died on May 20, 1989 at the age of 42 years old, having her comedic career cut short by ovarian cancer. I just couldn't get over how its been over 20 years now - since I heard her sing that delightful, but dirty, ditty, "Lets Talk Dirty To The Animals" (Note: Rated R)

With Gilda's squeaky voice piping in my head, I began my walk.


This is the sight that greeted me as I walked up a short slope and onto the end of the runway. Barely visible in the gloomy far distance, down the runway is a flagpole with a huge American flag fluttering in the breeze. To the left is the "Bark Park," a place for dogs to run free as the day they were born (or something like that.)

I wasn't feeling "walk-ish", but I put my head down, gritted my teeth, and started down the runway.


My goal was to get close enough to the American flag "way out there" to get a picture of it.

So I plodded and plodded. The runway, once used by Brewster Buffaloes that went on to fight at Pearl Harbor and Midway, stretched out before me.


About half way down the runway, the flag suddenly popped out of the gloom for a few moments - and I luxuriated in the brightness where F4 Phantom IIs destined for Viet Nam once screeched on the pavement.

I noticed something orange in the glare... but it was still a long ways off - so I once more put my head down to watch for cracks in the weather beaten asphalt.


As I near the opposite end of the runway, the vista opens, and the orange glare resolves itself into...


An Orange Conehead Cemetery... a place where old orange cones go to die... or so legend has it.

Instant Broadway Classics...

Joan, over at Teaching isn't for wimps, and Alice Kay's daughter, Karen have both gotten a bad case of the orange cone shutterbugitis. It's like the common cold... there is no cure for it (yet) ... but after making you miserable for a little while, it goes away, maybe, well, sometimes...

Today, I was walking around Lake Nockamixon on some muddy trails in the warm, sticky humidity (I'm building up to "I was feverish") when an old memory came to my mind.

My older brother was in a school production of Oliver Twist when he was a youngster. Each day, he would rehearse his song as one of the poor orphans starving away in the sweatshop in the opening scene. Just before dinner time, he would bring the serving bowls with food to the table singing, "Food! Glorious Food!" I remember the school production was a smash hit, it was so well done, people talked about it for weeks and both my brothers and I sang it at dinner time for months. Someday, I'll ask my Mom what she thought of that.

Anyway, I started humming the song...thinking about Karen's pictures...


The main and nearly only road Karen's neighborhood is being widened - causing 20 minute trips to take 40 or more minutes.

Is it worth the waiting for?
If we live 'til eighty four
All we ever get are bar...rels!
Ev'ry day we say our prayer --
Will they change the orange glare?
Still we get the same old bar...rels!
There is not a stripe, not a rim can we find,
Can we beg, can we borrow, or cadge,
But there's nothing to stop us from getting a thrill
When we all close our eyes and imag...ine...

Karen tells me she thinks this orange cone dude is off the side of the road urinating. I think she has a workable hypothesis. :)

Cones, glorious cones!
Hot asphalt and road blocks!
While we're full of moans
Cold, smelly old sweatsocks!
Deep holes and rough pavement joys!
What next is the question?
Highway drivers have it, boys --
Road con-gestion!

Cones, glorious cones!
We're anxious to film them.
Three snapshots a day --
Our favorite mayhem!

Sleeping on the job? Falling over drunk? A workcone's compensation case? We will never know...

Just picture a great tall stack --
Green, blackened or orange
Oh, cones,
Wonderful cones,
Marvelous cones,
Glorious cones...

Cones, glorious cones!
What is there more handsome?
Scraped, mangled or flattened --
Still worth a king's ransom
What is it we dream about?
What brings on a sigh?
Piled conies with stripes, about
Six feet high!

Karen thinks this cone got a lawnmower haircut. I hated to tell her it was a conetip lobotomy.

Cones, glorious cones!
Neat stripes glow from headlights…
Just set up your flash
Do take pictures at nights
Strengthen the shutter finger!
In this interlude --
The cones,
Once again, cones
Fabulous cones,
Glorious cones...

Cones, glorious cones!
Don't care what they look like --
Burned!
Bent over!
Faded!
Get out the motor bike…
Just seeing our conic tat --
Our senses go reeling
One moment of knowing that
Or-ange feeling!


Karen says these dudes were waiting for a basketball - and that she should have got the backboard and net in the shot. I had to forgive her. As a newbie cone photographer, I'm sure she was simply too excited to properly frame the shot.

Cones, glorious cones!
What wouldn't we give for
That extra bit more --
That's all that we live for
Why should we be fated to
Do nothing but drone
On cones,
Magical cones,
Wonderful cones!
Marvelous cones!
Fabulous cones!
Beautiful cones,
Glor-reee-ous… cones!
Thank you, photojournalist Karen for all of these pictures!

Everyone was looking at... (SBE or NIBE)

Walking as much as I do, I usually try to find new places to walk now and then as I either get bored with the scenery or the regular folks mad at me and my insisting on hogging the right-of-way as a pedestrian.

The bikers soon get tired of me watching them run off the path when I won't get over. But with Spring once again here, I have this urge to re-visit some of my favorite places to walk - just to check things out and to make sure things are still where I left them when the dark cold winter months came.

And so it was yesterday I was walking the other way on the Schuylkill River Trail, from Betzwood toward Norristown, eager to see how some of my favorite little buddies had survived a rather hard winter.


When I encountered these Orange ConeHead Aliens (OCHAs) trying to stand on the other's shoulders to get a better view, I had to chuckle... being cone-shaped means needing about a dozen fellow cones to cooperate in order to get a better view, and the ones down below can't see anything at all!

It didn't really occur to me to check and see what the silly OCHAs were looking at - I mean, from past experience, I know that they like looking into holes in the ground and into car tailpipes.


But then I saw these Orange Round Barrel Aliens (ORBAs) trying to get a better view by standing on each other's shoulder too. Hmmm, something was definitely afoot. I slowly turned and peered around, looking for what it was that held their attention, and saw...


...a very rare and very hungry quintet of Plutoian Orange Black-Mouthed Suckers (POBS) waving in the breeze, trying to attract some unsuspecting prey into their mouths. They too were looking around. I heard one say, "Num, num, num, I like my orange juice freshly squeezed and pulpy."


I had first pictured in my mind, given the ill-orange blood between the OCHAs and the ORBAs, some gang of ORBAs had cornered a solitary cone and was heckling and kicking it while they had superior numbers. Those nasty ORBAs are such cowards! But this wasn't the case - this time.


Of course, those disgusting ORBAs must know better than pick on an OCHA. Some of those OCHAs are really, really strong and powerful, like this one that I once saw, able to hold back an automobile simply by leaning on it.

I decided to cross the street to see if I could get a better look of what the stacked OCHAs and ORBAs were looking at. Under my feet I saw some...


...very strange markings. Two white arrows pointing to a half closed, all-seeing eye surrounded by fresh OCHA blood... Was this the scene of a ritual offering to the OCHA gods? Or was it a crime scene waiting for Horatio to arrive in his Hummer? I tried to read the lettering, u-w-d-1? The longer I looked at it, the more I decided reading Mayan glyphs was easier.

My head was about to explode as my two surviving brain cells overheated and started smoking from the deciphering effort. Don't laugh...


...it's happened before, see? This poor OCHA stands next to the remains of its long time mate who's brains have exploded. Or perhaps the destroyed OCHA was the victim of this...


A Quadra-headed Ray of Light Beam Alien (QHROLBA, trust me, you need to speak Klingon to pronounce this one). You may have seen one of these before, remember the movie, War of the Worlds? H. G. Wells (or even Tom Cruise) might be able to tell us if the dead, shredded OCHA was killed by a QHROLBA, but my feeble powers observation and deduction were stymied.

And then I saw what everyone was looking at...


...out in the green meadow, surrounded by flowers, basking in the warm sunshine, were my rusty balls... Oh my.

All photographs except the last one supplied by Photojournalist, LadyStyx.

There is a new boy band in town!

Last night when I got home from work, I found a little white box stuffed in my mailbox. I pulled it out and looked at the mailing label and a big smile lit up my face. It was a package from Lynn, the Ramblin' Southern Woman. She has sent me an e-mail saying, "Keep an eye open for a package" but steadfastly refused to say what she was sending. Such a tease. :)

I've known Lynn for a quite awhile - she and I used to talk from time to time - and I've always loved her paintings. Then, I lost touch with her but during that time, that last several years, her "Bemused Clown" (the one on the right) was the wallpaper on my laptop. I had only to fire up the laptop to feel reconnected with her and that bemused, smirky smile always made me smile back at it.

So, I tossed the junk mail into the trash can next to my mailbox and sat on the curb and eagerly opened the white box. It contained a nice wad bubble wrap - so I knew I was going to be in for a good time popping the bubbles. I'm sorry, I just can't help myself. There is nothing like the snap-pop-rattling bangs of a good bubble wrap popping session.

Unnoticed by me, a couple of friendly neighbors were making their way up the street on the sidewalk, being pulled along by their two dogs, Hermann and Peewee. I still can't believe they named them what they did.

I still hear them yelling, "Come here Peewee! Hermann!!" the one night they charged up to me when I had the audacity to walk on the sidewalk in front of their house. Afterall, it's their sidewalk!

I read the enclosed note and smiled - and pulled the contents from the bubble wrap.


They are just too stinking cute! Handkitted Orange ConeHead Aliens! Such perky, smiles too! I sat there on the curb laughing. If you had heard it, you might of been reminded of Arnold Horshack's wheezing Haaaaa-haaaaaaa-ha from 'Welcome Back Kotter'. Oh well, at least I no long sound like Steve Urkel.

It was just that moment I suddenly got the back of my neck washed by Hermann accompanied by some hot, slobbering, panting while Peewee wormed his way under my arm to give the white box and its contents a thorough investigatory sniffing.


Move over Jonas Brothers, there is a new boy band in town! Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the Conas Brothers! Ready for some music! Listen up to their hit song, "Burnin' Up"!
I'm hot
You're cold
You go around
Like you know
Who I am
But you don't
You've got me flat-sided

I'm slipping into fresh asphalt
And I'm tryin' to keep from going under
Baby, who turned the temperature hotter?
'Cause I'm burning up, burning up
For you baby...

I fell (I fell)
So fast (so fast)
Can't hold myself
Back
Flat Base (Flat Base)
White Stripe (White Stripe)
So bright orange, gotta catch my breath...

Stand by the road
All I can see is you
You're staring me down
I know you feel it too...


I think I'll name them Nick and Joe Conas. If you want one or more of these cute lil' guys, the knitting pattern is available (here).

Thank you Lynn! I think they are wonderful!!