Rockin New Years Eve

Mammy has been pestering me; trying to get me to make plans for New Years Eve. She told me that we have to go out since there will be a blue moon. I always said that I go out on New Year’s Eve “only once in a blue moon.” She wants me to keep my promise and doesn’t want to sit at home watching Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year Eve.

Doesn’t she realize that the Pussycat Girls will be performing on the show this year?
Anyway, where would we go?
Mammy gave me an ultimatum. We go out or else.
I tried making reservations at “The Trolley Car,” a local bistro in Wadesville, where I squandered away so much of my youth. I got no answer. Not even a taped message or an answering machine. It would have been the perfect place for a romantic evening, high up on the mountain with a bird’s eye view of the blue moon and stripping pits.
The Trolley was noted for the friendliest bartenders in the greater St. Clair area and, more importantly, it was celebrated for its fine, eclectic menu of bar food – pickled eggs, beef jerky, and Lance crackers. If I am correct pistachio nuts were the signature mark of this mouthwatering bill of fare. Yes! Wadesville would be the perfect location to view the blue moon that would envelop Schuylkill County as we welcomed 2010.*
I remember many places from Schuylkill County’s past but I could not find any in the phone book. The Lame Goose. The SoHo. The Bur Ben Inn. The Gallery. The Con Ja Ka. Rokosz’s. All of these were now all closed.
“I want to dance,” Mammy bellowed repeatedly. I tried to find a place that had music. I remembered a great place in Llewellyn - the Rhinoceros Room. I could not find a listing on SuperPages and I found no website. Panic soon set in. Where would we go?

I then tried contacting the Liederkrantz on Norwegian Street in Pottsville. Apparently that place went out of business when the German music craze in the county petered out.

Fertig! Getan! Geschlossen!
Longo’s, the great Italian Restaurant on Route 61, had also hit the dust. I remember the hours I spent in front of their lobster tank licking my lips trying to decide which crustacean I would eventually devour while the Tony Karpee band played in the background.

There was also no sense in dusting off my old leisure suit as the Disco Alley was caput.
I called the Visitors Bureau and was told that dancing was not popular anymore around here. Young people are too busy on Facebook and MySpace to move their feet. It was recommended that I book a table at the Garfield Diner near a window and watch the Yuengling bottle rise to the top of the city monument at midnight and then hop aboard the Molly Trolley for a ride to the Schuylkill Medical Center to await the announcement of the new year bastard with about five thousand other people under the glow of the blue moon.
I preferred heading to Wilkes-Barre to watch the next government official drop.
All of these festivities are on the internet and we could watch them from the comfort of our trailer, but we finally compromised and decided that we would Hosey Hop. That is, go from firehouse bar to firehouse bar, basking in the blue moonlight along the way.

Just in case there was no music available I told Mammy to bring along her Ipod so that she could dance. I had just downloaded some bootleg Jordan Brothers tunes for her. While she danced with a fireman, I would sit at the bar eat, some pickled eggs (with some horseradish) and watch Dick Clark drool in the new year. The Pussycat Girls are on, you know. But at midnight I will give Mammy a kiss and tell her that she is the best noisemaker I ever had. She loves compliments. I will then retake my bar seat, light up a cigarette, and finish off some more pickled eggs.

Happy rockin’ new years.


*Please refer to the new year as Twenty ten, not Two Thousand and Ten. Make that your new year resolution. Thank you.

East Penn bus memories

Word was out that the pre-release Center would be coming to Pottsville. It would be a match made in heaven. You know, with the Intermodal Transportation Center being opened at the same time. I have to admit that I never quite knew what the word "intermodal” exactly meant. My dictionary defines the word as “Type of international freight system that permits trans-shipping among sea, highway, rail, and air modes of transportation.”
That seemed to clear things up; many thought it would be just a new bus station in the County Seat, trying to bring back the glory days of the old Pottsville Bus Station at the corner of Rt. 61 and Norwegian Street. The bus station featured a top notch restaurant, a photo booth, and a magazine stand. It was always busy. I am not just referring to its photo booth…. four pictures for fifty cents. I am talking about the bus station itself. It was not perfect though. Its biggest drawback was that the transportation there was only “Unimodal,” that is, only one means of transportation --- busses. The new Intermodal will cleverly combine busses with automobiles, SUVs, trains, pogo sticks, balloons, escalators, canal boats and the medivac helicopter.
My favorite busses of the past were certainly not the glamorous Trailways busses. No, sir. My favorites were those big green East Penn Bus Company busses that roamed the county and which reappear in my dreams periodically. They were infamous for the fumes emitted whenever a bus driver placed the key into the ignition. Yes, sir the county seat was surrounded by a big black cloud of diesel exhaust in the 1960s and early 1970s and I loved it. At times, when a bus would travel up Market Street, visibility would be about .o2%, with everyone within a radius of 250 square yards enveloped within the charcoal haze.
How thick was the smog emission? The smog was so thick that many people covered in could not even see the Guers Ice tea cartons they were drinking from and would spill their beverages all over themselves. I know this for a fact, as it happened to me on more than one occasion. If that was not so bad, then get a load of this: the only thing visible in Yorkville was the faint glow of the Burger King sign (which was actually erected with the smog in mind). It was also reported that more than a dozen people actually disappeared, never to be found again; all last seen walking through that crazy, hazy dark spot left behind by a sputtering East Penn bus. The disappearances were all blamed on alien abductions by the law officials. Alien interference always seems to be the excuse for anything unusual that happens around here. Finally, the resident scientists at the City Planetarium held that the pollution from these busses even surpassed the emissions from the last eruption of the county’s only active volcano, Mount Laffee. You all remember that eruption, don’t you? And that eruption was even ten times worse than the one at the Polish picnic's cabbage soup stand back in 1979.
I wonder what ever happened to those East Penn Busses?
I love the smell of diesel fuel in the morning. Don't you?
With the Intermodal Transportation Center in the heart of the historical district, perhaps the busses can be taken out of moth balls, called up to active duty, polished up with some turtle wax and given a new bus lease on life.
They could be to Pottsville as what the Duck bus tour is to Philadelphia.
I am running out of time now as I have to go and find a Christmas tree, Hannakah bush, Secularist shrub, Holiday hedge, or whatever one is supposed to refer to it now a day.

I never even got around to discussing the neat plan to fill Centre Street in Pottsville with prisoners. That will have to wait. I have a bus to catch.

gone, baby, gone...

I stopped by St. George’s Church in Shenandoah the other week, before the ecclesiastical wrecking crew arrived. I was stunned by the magnificant gothic structure with its stone figurines looking down upon me. That it was going to be destroyed and leveled and left as a dirt lot was perplexing to me. The disemboweled church’s artistic and historic treasures --- the statues, the sacred vessels, the paintings, the antiques, the stained glass, the altar stone, etc. -- all paid for by the sweat and tears of mainly immigrant, anthracite coal miners -- were presumably being packed up and hauled away out of Schuylkill county. They may end up on Channel 44’s Antique Roadshow, Renninger's at Adamstown or on Ebay. Who knows?

Nothing is going to remain behind in Shenandoah as a reminder of this historical, ethnic and Catholic past. The higher-ups want no trace of the church’s existence to be left behind. Its treasury, together with its building improvement fund, has been long gone for some time. I guess that is a new twist on the Bishop’s Appeal Fund. I was also told by a reliable source that the plunder may also include the cemetery perpetual care funds, but I cannot verify that this, as there are no open discussions about what is going on or what the plans will be. I was told that there will be no keepsakes left behind. There was not even a small ceremony of deconsecration or farewell party held before the pillaging began.

I had thought it was Canon Law that a deconsecration service was required to be held, but I was wrong. There is no such requirement. Apparently the parishioners were simply told to get out and stay out. Someone told me that they were all given green plastic hats and instructed to march on over to the Annunciation Church and don't look back. The local historical societies were not given any invitation to copy any church records, or an opportunity to photograph or videotape the church’s interior for posterity.
The whole episode sort of reminds me of a combination of the Taliban in Afghanistan demolishing the Buddhist statues and the WWII Germans confiscating art work throughout Europe. At least the Russians did not raze the buildings when they closed the churches in eastern europe.
The United Nations has stated its recognition of the importance of the protection of cultural heritage and commits itself to fight against its intentional destruction in any form so that such cultural heritage may be transmitted to the succeeding generations. However this appreciation has fallen upon deaf ears around here. The oldest Lithuanian church in the United States is being obliterated. Just as the twin towers in New York came down, the twin towers of Shenandoah will be no more. The powers that be are similar to Stephen Girard and the other coal barons of the 19th century, extracting the wealth from the coal region to be used elsewhere. The powers that be were almost successful in annihilating every Lithuanian church in the county, but one got away - that one in Mahanoy City - and only because Mother Teresa inadvertently ruined their plans when she stopped by to purchase a take-out order of bleenies (limit six to a customer) and then decided to preach at that church. “Darn you, M T !” However the flattening of St. George’s and riddance of its existence makes up for “that one that got away.”
The church building was a cultural resource, a tangible link to Shenandoah’s past and Schuylkill County's past. The building provided information and knowledge in different areas such as art history, genealogy, and architecture. The building provided aesthetic value to that mining community, which will now probably be left with a vacant dirt lot, accumulating debris from the town’s Burger King customers. Lastly, the building could have been an economic resource if left to a viable cultural association.
It is somewhat contradictory that church-goers are taught to be respectful of worn-out, sacramental objects such as scapulars, bibles and rosary beads while at the same time the consecrated church building is being eradicated and leveled. The deconsecration process apparently consists of getting the proper permit from the borough and paying the haulers and demolition crews on time.
Isn’t it ironic that the decision to pulverize St. George’s was done on the watch of Bishop Edward Cullen? Assessment records of Avalon, Cape May County N.J., reveal that the ocean front property at 4660 Dune Dr. is deeded to an Edward P. Cullen (no title) with a value of $1.36 million. The tax bill had been sent to 2920 Chew St., Allentown, Pa., the residential address of the Bishop of the Diocese of Allentown, the Most Reverend Edward P. Cullen. The assessment records of Stone Harbor, Cape May County, N.J. reveal that Unit 201, Golden Shores Condominiums, 8001 Second Ave. is deeded to an Edward Cullen (no title) with a value of $600,000, and the tax bills were being sent to 4660 Dune Dr. Avalon. The assessment records of Lehigh County showed that a property at 3853 Larkspur Dr. Allentown, was deeded to a Most Reverend Edward P. Cullen, with a value of $390,000, and tax bills were being sent to P.O. Box F, Allentown, Pa., the address of the Chancery of the Diocese of Allentown. (information taken from the Allentown Morning Call).

Have you hugged your jury commissioner lately?

I scoured the paper from the front page to the classified section and found nothing besides finding out that it is easy to get a pet cat for free around here. However I was really talking about the recent jury commissioner election race.

Nothing. Nyet. Nada. Nix.

No wonder voter turnout dropped off this year. Not one mention of the candidates in the voter guide. But I cannot put all the blame on the newspapers. The official Schuylkill County Government Website lists all of the elected officials but not one mention of our elected Jury Commissioners. Yet the website still gives the long departed Judge Wilber Rubright a top billing.
Some complain that the jury commissioners are irrelevant in this day and age as they only stuff an envelope once or twice a year and get paid handsomely. Bucks County jury commissioners were pulling in about twenty grand a year for an hour or two of work. Not bad. Montgomery County pays their jury commissioners over thirty one grand a year plus over twenty grand in fringe benefits. I don’t know what they get paid in Schuylkill County since they have no real office and have no presence on the website. They retain a phantom-like existence around here.

I, for one, have always admired a jury commissioner and consider any attempt to abolish the office as an assault on our way of life. Yep, when I was in grade school, when others wanted to be a fireman, truck driver, or professional wrestler, I used to say that I wanted to be a jury commissioner. I wanted to wake up every morning and go out and do nothing.
Thankfully, jury commissioners still get a lot of respect in the coal region. Gerry Bonner, the Luzerne County Jury Commissioner, is under indictment by a federal grand jury for passing bribes; but that did not prevent him from getting re-elected with over 18,300 votes with the help of his party that campaigned for him despite the indictment. In Luzerne they get paid a paltry $10,000 per year plus benefits. Congratulations Gerry! You certainly can now use the salary to help pay for your defense costs.
It would be disgraceful for the position to be abolished and tossed aside like a like a no-longer-needed training bra or an eight-track player. What needs to be done is to get our jury commissioners some good public relations and get them out in the public doing something that at least has the illusion of productivity. Don’t hide them away any longer as if they were some of your embarrassing crazy relatives.
Yes, we all concede that they serve no real function. That is a given. However they are harmless, so why not let them free the county commissioners from pointless ceremonial affairs such as throwing out the first snowball at the Winter Carnival, kissing a burro at the Haven Burro Day, or marching in the annual Orthodox St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Let the jury commissioners act as a source of county and coal region pride.
I want you to write to the county webmaster and demand that these forgotten souls be listed as reigning county officials - and certainly ahead of any deceased public servants. If the webmaster refuses then demand that the Jury Commissioners get their own MySpace page – its free you know. Suggest a theme song so that the public can connect to them. Ask that they get special hats and uniforms with plenty of buttons and ribbons (that always makes the wearer look important). For crying out loud, give them an office somewhere. I think the courthouse clock tower would be perfect. If these suggestions were heeded, any costs would be repaid ten-fold by the tourists coming to the county to get a glimpse of the elusive jury commissioners, now treated as royalty as they wave out of the tower window to the crowds below.

polling results - we have a winner!

The "thing on Mahantongo Street" was declared to be a shade tree and will receive all of the perks that come with that designation as bestowed by the Pottsville Shade Tree Commission. *
Yes, the votes cast were underwhelming, but a certified tabulation by the Schuylkill County League of Women Voters In Crisis (a recent merger of two organization precipitated by the recent Commonwealth budget crisis).
Although not one vote was cast for “shade tree,” a plurality of the votes cast apparently determined the thing to be a “son of a beech.”

“A beech is a shade tree!” ruled the League of Women Voters In Crisis, "so a son of beech must also be a shade tree." Although there was apparent confusion over how trees reproduce.

Pottsville’s betting parlors were in a frenzy after the decision was announced; as the odds-on winner was projected to be “Its part of the recent Skankification project.”

“Election fraud!” was echoed through out the county, even in Frackville which has no trees. “What is this, Afghanistan Tehran or Luzerne County!”
Some argued that it was the butterfly ballot which made it difficult for many to determine that a vote for the European beech was a vote for “shade tree.”
“No one voted for shade tree. How on earth can a vote for a beech tree be tabulated as a vote for a shade tree?
"This is a sign or evidence of widespread rigging."
"The Rest Haven votes were not counted as the patients did not know how to turn on the computers."

"The write-in votes for bamboo cast on etch-a-sketches, and not computers, were thrown out."

Apparently two votes were cast for “Venus fly trap” causing the outrage over election irregularities to escalate. Many argued that these votes were cast due to the so-called “dimple vote” – the voter was not pressing hard enough on one of the other options and fingers slipped onto the “son of a beech tree” selection. The two who voted for Venus fly trap were also compared to those who voted for Ralph Nader in the 2000 presidential election - wasting a vote on a spoiler with no chance of winning.
The Schuylkill Haven Call editorialized that “fraud was so pervasive that nearly a quarter of all votes should be thrown out. Mammy Trout has admitted to voting at least three times. How could anyone think that the 800 block of Mahantongo Streer is harboring a Venus fly trap large enough to devour a dog, an innocent child or even the typically-sized man that frequents Renninger's Market on a Sunday morning in order to purchase his sticky buns?”
Some complained that many of those who cast a vote were probably under the influence and their votes should not count. All fingers pointed to Mammy Trout.

To them I say “this is America and the vote of a drunk is just as important as the vote of someone sober.”

Just remember; there were not “many” votes to begin with, only eleven.
Despite this controversy, “the thing on Mahantongo Street” will be sworn in officially as a protected street shade tree on January 20th in a pompous ceremony featuring the City Code Enforcement Office, a handful of Vulcans, the Tree Commission and the Third Brigade Band (playing “Tie A Yellow Ribbon Around the Old Beech Tree”), a large group of tourists visiting Yuengling Brewery, street people, and a few dogs. Until the dedication, the "shade-tree elect" will recieve round-the-clock protection from Pottsville's finest street crossing guards.

There will be no run-off election! Na da! The Schuylkill County League of Women Voters In Crisis will now focus its attention on the upcoming Jury Commissioner race which is too close to call.

*perks include Miracle-Grow and water

Shade Tree or Weed?

Pottsville’s street trees are now showing off their majestic autumn colors!

I took a few photographs around town and this is my favorite. Someone argued with me over whether it is a street tree or not. He said it was a weed…a tall two story weed. I disagreed. I told him there is a weed ordinance in the city that prohibits weeds from being more than one story tall. Another passerby chimed in and told me that whatever it is, it was planted during a city Skankification project and therefore it is to be revered. If I wanted to, I was told I could take a leaf and show it to Porcupine Pat who could determine the species. I am now confused, so I will go out on a limb and leaf it up to you, the readers. let's see what the poplar vote tells us. Oakey-dokey.

What the heck is that thing growing on the 800 block of Mahantongo Street? VOTE ON THE POLL FOUND TO THE RIGHT OF THE BLOG. No dangling chads please! Read the voting instructions prior to casting your vote.

Here is the city ordinance prohibiting weeds from growing more than one story tall:

It shall be the duty of every person who shall hold title in any capacity to or have possession of or be responsible for the management or upkeep of any land or lot of ground upon which any noxious weeds, as herein defined, may be growing in excess of one story in height to cut or destroy the same and also to prevent such weeds from flowering or going to seed and the seed of the same from ripening.

[Amended 6-12-2006 by Ord. No. 734]
Noxious weeds include burdock, chicory, crabgrass, garlic or wild onion, goldenrod, horse nettle, milkweed, morning glory, mullen, perennial thistle (including Canada, Russian, sow, bull and other thistles), poison ivy, quack grass, ragweed, sumac, wild carrot, wild lettuce, wild mustard, wild parsnip and wild snapdragon, and all other weeds and growths not herein specifically mentioned.

We'll miss you Weight Watchers!

I went to the downtown of Pottsville the other day with a sense of loss and wonder... Actually I ended up with that sense of loss and wonder after I got downtown. It involves the City's plan to demolish the historic International Weight Watchers Building. I looked across the street at the building for perhaps the last time and that is how I ended up with that sense of loss. I understood that progress will be made and a fancy new bus depot will erected there and that is where I got my sense of wonder....wondering where the passengers will come from?
Weight Watchers had been a part of Pottsville’s history and now it will be forgotten. Apparently when the Tilt Silk Mill opened in the late 1800’s it gave employment to hundreds of women. Women’s fashion was becoming big business and management shrewdly noticed that outfits worn by heavy women used more silk than those of slender women, yet the outfits cost the same amount of money. Since this was the Victorian era, a hundred years before the acceptance of hot pants, management focused on getting women to slim down. Yes! there were larger profits in clothing sales if everyone wore smaller sizes.

Weight Watchers was encouraged to open up a facility in Pottsville and the grand opening was sometime after the American Way Fair in 1892. It started off slowly with several women peeking in the door after work on payday, on their way to purchase their weekly supply of Mootz peanut rolls. It took several years for Weight Watchers to gain acceptance in the community a “large girth” was seen as a sign of affluence. After World War I thinness was whispered to be a codeword for creeping Bolshevism. “Better well fed than Red” was a slogan yelled by angry pickets along Centre Street as nervous chubby women wandered into the structure now known as the “International Weight Watchers Building” or IWW. Membership increased to the point that the District Attorney’s office was pressured to do something. Husbands demanded action as thin wives were less likely to be able to do the normal hours of household chores expected of them. The District Attorney had one his detectives - McParlan I believe - infiltrate the IWW; before long deportations were commenced, nearly breaking the back of the IWW.
The IWW building saw a decrease in activity during the depression as whenever one is depressed one tends to eat more. Yes, you heard me correctly….when people are depressed they tend to eat abnormally large amounts of food in a short period of time, even when not hungry. Thus, it was during this great depression that the citizenry tended to pack on the pounds as never before. Some say that Schuylkill County has never recovered from the Great Depression and that is why obesity is still a major concern.

In any event the group running the IWW Building began to relish (no pun intended) its image as a subversive organization. Soon the building’s façade underwent a transformation to its present stunning features. Some say the building reminds one of a giant sardine can with its subliminal message of promoting the consumption of fish. Yes, believe it or not, some people actually think that fish dinners are a healthier alternative to ring bologna and try to hoist this hoax upon the good people of the county. Other critics stated that the architecture of the new facade was pure Khrushchovka found only within the bowels of the Soviet Union during the 1950s. Now demands for more deportations flooded the district attorneys office but the county detectives reported back that nearly all of the women attending the IWW meetings were born in Schuylkill County. Deportations would be fruitless as the ensuing Charlie McCarthy hearings proved to the county.

Yes, I have a sense of loss now. The Tilt Silk Mill has been gone for decades with the local garment industry replaced by cheap labor in China, making cheap clothes for the cheap American women to wear 24/7. And now the IWW Building in downtown Pottsville will be knocked down leaving me only distant memories of the pretty chubby women who once graced the Centre Street premises, parading about in their made-in-America stylish silk garments. I will think of them and that sardine can building often as I try and ease my sense of loss over shots and beers at the Eagles Club.Please join me.

health care ideas

I did not let my daughter, Santana, go to school the other day. I did not want her to be subjected to listening to the President tell her that she should study hard and make something of herself. It none of his business what she does with her life. I don’t want my child brainwashed by anyone not affiliated with the music industry or the pop culture. No sir-ee. Instead of school we spent the day bonding together. Instead of getting up early to drive her to the bus stop, we drove to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast, then headed down to the check cashing store on Centre Street before purchasing some smokes across the street. We then headed home to watch the Sam Lasante Show. A much better use of her time than listening to some president talk about personal responsibility. However I was curious about Obama’s health care plan and whether it will cover acute bleenia, or only cover not so cute bleenia. There is a difference you know.

After the hour of watching Sam interview Jerry the car dealer, we packed up and headed to Knoebel’s Grove. Since it was a school day it was not overly crowded, just dozens of other kids being protected from exposure to the president (all Republicans), dozens of nerdy home schoolers (mostly all Republicans), and dozens of truants (mostly Democrats).

I hate to digress, but I did notice that there were an awful lot of acutely obese people at the park, or I should say not so cutely obese people. There is a difference you know. Neither one of us had an answer but the Comet Rollercoaster had a hard time going uphill.

While waiting for a ride, we discussed health plan alternatives. I suggested that airports passengers could get full x-rays - not just their luggage or pocket items. This could be much more cost effective. Santana then cried out, “Papa, this could also be done at the courthouse as well as all other government buildings that require security checks!”
I think we trouts were onto something really big. We stumbled upon a way to put a dent in our multi-trillion dollar deficit! Prostate and foot exams as well as mammograms –even singing mammograms - could be done by the security personnel at every airport and government building! It would require some re-training of the security personnel, but that is what stimulus money is for, isn’t it?
Think of the medical savings accomplished with this simple preventative measure, some people would be getting checked once, twice or three times a day, day in day out. The X-ray machine at the Joe Zerbey International Airport as well as the one at the County Courthouse are turned on 24/7. All of that energy will no longer be going to waste.
I needed to talk to someone with authority…. I did not who to call. Then it dawned on me. I would confide with the Pottsville Surgeon General, who is under a Hippocratic oath not to divulge anything discussed by a patient. My…our…idea is bigger than the both of us and the Surgeon General would keep it a secret for now. By the way, he is neither a surgeon, nor a General but that is besides the point.

I called the Eagles Bar on my blackberry and got a hold of the Surgeon General. A press conference at the Courthouse with the Pottsville TV station carrying live coverage of maybe dental or eye exams being given at the entrance was suggested to demonstrate the cost effectiveness of the proposal. He also suggested that a different exam could be given every day of the week and if you passed five exams in a row, you get free large coffee and tastee cake at the Canteen.
Now that is what I call a non-partisan approach to a compromise on such a controversial topic. All the exams will be done by government employees, yet any treatment would still be done by private doctors.

The public and private sectors working hand-in-hand.

Highs and Lows

I just found out that the Mile High Club is a term applied to individuals who engaged in hanky panky while on board an airplane in flight. I thought it was an actual club, with dues to pay and a membership card to carry. Was I wrong! Mammy and I wanted to become members when we went to the Joe Zerbey International Airport to take the fall foliage tour over the county three years ago. We went on the cheaper flight which also featured dust cropping over the Hegins Valley. When we got off the plane we were so proud that we would become members of such a prestigious group, as we needed to have some club to be mentioned in our obituaries when the time came for that.
But we were flabbergasted that there was no ceremony for us when we alighted from the aircraft. No fan fare whatsoever, just yawns and strange looks. I remember getting a hole in one at Heisler’s golf course and receiving great adulation from the crowd, and everyone hooping and hollering, and me buying milk shakes for everyone. There was none of that getting off the plane; just the stewardess calling for some disinfectant spray. Later in the Joe Zerbey International Airport cocktail lounge, we found out that the Mile High Club is so passé, so utterly '70s. In fact nearly everyone on the fall foliage flight boasted of being members of the club -even those who flew alone.
I did some research and discovered that there is no formally constituted Mile High Club, so membership is in the eye of the beholder. It is not like the Moose, Elks, Masons, Eagles, Hibernians or Illuminati by any means. I know as I am a member of all of the foregoing. I remember joining the Pottsville Moose Lodge decades ago when it was located on South Centre Street. The building is now a bank located across the street from one of Pottsville’s finest parking lots. Yes, I remember the Grand High Exalted Bull Moose Leader blindfolding me and making me walk barefoot on egg shells before I could become a member. Afterwards I was given the official Moose double-breasted jacket and given the official club greeting which was a handshake involving touching elbows (first right, then left). None of that occurred with the Mile High Club. It was a real disappointment. Even when Mammy was initiated as a Vulcanette in the Pottsville Winter Carnival she got a nifty uniform and a button to wear.
Some people attribute the allure of the Mile High Club to the lower atmospheric pressure. Others boast that the vibration of the plane intensifies the experience. Still others the mystique is the thrill of doing something taboo and the risk of being discovered. I think it’s the latter; it is similar to leaving your cell phone turned on (with an obnoxious ringtone waiting to blast some insipid hip hop song) while standing in a county courtroom waiting to have your ARD approved. Or sneaking in line at the bleenie stand.
In any event Mammy and I heard rumors that there was a Mile Low Club at the Pioneer Tunnel in Ashland. So, once again we thought we would give it a try. We paid the nine dollar admission - despite our attempts to get it lowered by flashing our AARP and AAA cards. Again, we faced disappointment. No discounts for us. Once inside Mammy began complaining that the tunnel was too cold and the coal car too bumpy. I complained about all of the cub scouts and brownies that were traveling with us. I ended up giving her my double-breasted Moose jacket that I was wearing, just too keep her warm. When we left the tunnel, we headed to the Ashland High Uppers Park, and like a couple of kids we unfolded the Moose jacket and used it as a picnic blanket, sprawled out, and finished off a six pack of Pepper’s Ginger Ale and ate some ring bologna before heading home.

It was a great day to be alive, club or no club.

this is my 100th blog!

Altamont: The Ultimate Director's Cut

Three days of Peace and Love in the “Mountain City.” That was forty years ago. Yes 1969 - the year that Lance Armstrong performed the first moonwalk, Ted Kennedy had his car cruise over a Cape Cod bridge (with disastrous results), The New York Mets won the World Series and Led Zeppelin released its first album - all milestones in our shared history.
But many of us have forgotten the famed Altamont Free Festival that attracted tens of thousands from across the county to the town of Frackville, drawn together by the raw energy that only polka music could create. Schuylkill Living Magazine recently hailed the Festival as one of the 10 greatest moments in the County’s Entertainment History (tied for third place with the 1964 Spelling Bee).
The festival was proof to a skeptical world that a generation of boilo-filled, hedonistic people could handle themselves well.
Now, at last, the moguls at San-Son Productions have released “Altamont: The Ultimate Director’s Cut” (English, with Ukrainian Subtitles). The total time to watch this amazing movie takes seventeen hours, so plan to waste an entire weekend and cancel all other plans you may have.
This edition is much better than any previous versions released in the past (whether VHS, Beta or ViewMaster). The clarity of DVD and Blu-ray now makes it possible to examine every strand in Yak Tam Billy Urban’s haircut and you can actually see some saliva fall from the spit valves on the trombones of the Shenandoah High marching band; that is how crystal clear the images are.
You may have seen the original theatrical release when it premiered at the Ritz in St. Clair but this expanded and remastered Ultimate Director’s Cut includes fifteen hours of newly discovered material, some never-before-published in their entirety, from a number of artists. You get to see Happy Louie singing his ode to bleenies, “ I think I’m Fixing To Fry Rag” with the crowd yelling out in Dolby surround unison, “E” -“I”-“O”, “E”-“I”-“O.” You get the full performances of legendary performers - all the big names, the little names, the real names, the imaginary names- You get Jolly Jack Robel, new footage of the butt-kicking Lost Creek Polka Dots, Jolly Joe Timer, Stosh “Scrubby” Svreweryniak, The Lower Shaft Slovene Orchestra cranking out the “Hoop Dee Doo Polka,” “Fast” Eddie Blayonczyk, Marion Lush, Walt Jaworski doing his “Strip Mine Czardas,” Ted Maksymowicz, and even Mrs. T singing an a capella “Ho-Siup Oj Dana Polka” while the rains poured down on the mass of humanity sitting in the mud. Her performance was compared to Joplin's Monterey Pop set in terms of raw energy and raw onions.

This historic release also incorporates reflections from the musicians, local politicians and other giants on the cultural significance of Altamont Free Festival 40 years later. Were the infamous “brown bleenies” actually that bad for you? How many potatoes did it take to fill the Mosh potato pit? Was Route 61 actually closed down? Was the festival actually held on the site of the Ashland Drive-In? Why did the legendary Jimmy Sturr fail to appear? Did Lil Andy intentionally set his accordion on fire, during the ‘Fire, Fire Polka’ or was it an accident? Was County Controller Metro Litwak correct when he said ‘We must be in heaven, man’?' Was there real nudity or did some of the full-figured Minersville women just accidentally split their stretch pants?

This Ultimate Director’s Cut gives you Clarinetist “Jolly” John Hyzny performing his burning hot, seventeen minute long “Liechtensteiner Polka,” The Individuals doing a dynamite “She likes Kielbasa Better Than Beer,” Stanky and The CoalCrackers doing a furious “No Beer In Heaven,” followed by an even more furious “Ice Cubes and Beer,” and the improvisational skills of Sly Stone, who filled at the last minute for Gene Wysnkcavage & his Gilberton Push, performing the unbelievable “I Want to Have A Kaiers”.
As a musical purist, I was especially excited to hear the remastered “Johnny’s Knocking (Puka Jasiu),” another gem found in this set, performed by Big Barrel Emil, with its unforgettable opening clarinet riffs.
The box set includes not only six discs, but tons of extras, booklets, garment and bicycle tire patches, babushkas, galoshes, Alka Seltzer, air fresheners, a truss and halushkie recipes. Well worth the $79.99.

(sandy) beach memories

Dear Mr. Trout,
Do you ever go to the beach in the summer?

Wondering

Dear Wondering,

Going to the beach used to be a summer ritual for me. I remember those trips so well. I remember the salt air, the white caps of the waves, and the thunderous surf. I would pack up the station wagon with beach umbrellas, boogie boards, lounge chairs, snorkels and my trusty metal detector and head up north on Route 61 to the beach, weaving in and out of the traffic. I would arrange the beach weekend to coincide with my visitation times, picking up some of the young ones along the way. Driving from Pine Grove to Shenandoah Heights seemed like an eternity especially with those stops along the way. To pass the time we would count out-of-state license plates and sing. My favorite stop along the way was picking up my daughter Santana at the police station; the station was the exchange location under the PFA restraining order placed against me by her mother. I remember taking photographs of Santana and the chief of police with my Brownie camera. We took photographs often at that exchange point. Santana now has neat photo album as the PFA generally got renewed every eighteen months. I told her that it is important to keep these memories close to her heart. And, you know, she still keeps in touch with that old chief of police at Christmas time. Now whenever she sees a police officer, she says she always thinks of me.

For those of you that are geographically challenged, Sandy Beach was located on the top of the Locust Mountain, near Shenandoah Heights. We used to go to the Greenie but later we became hooked on Sandy Beach. Yes, The Heights had one of the best beaches on the east coast; the sand was amazingly soft-powdery-white and very wide with plenty of room. I used to tell the kids that we were going to a topless beach, as all of the women would remove their babushkas before getting in the water.
Once we got to the beach we would look for the “perfect spot” to put down our blanket. Once we claimed a spot Mammy would sit down and coat herself with a mixture of baby oil and iodine. If there was any oil left over the kids got to put some on and play Indian warriors. Then she would find WMBT on the transistor radio so she could listen to the polkas while we opened up the picnic basket and passed the food around. Lots of baked kielbassa).

I was never one of those people who worried about cramps if you ate before swimming. Que sera, sera. I think eating before swimming actually gives a swimmer much more energy. Mammy would worry about cramps and rarely got in the water even if she brought her Midol with her. She would sit on her blanket with that aluminum tray under her chin to pull in the summer rays while we would swim. After our dip, while the kids built sand castles, I would walk around with the metal detector but I never would find anything other than some old Columbia beer bottle caps.

We were so crazy about Sandy Beach I purchased a time share in Shenandoah. We still have it. Lucky for us our week coincides with Heritage Day and it is along the parade route. Alas, the beach is now closed, some say apparently a victim of its own success. Others say it was due to medical waste washing ashore from the Locust Mountain Hospital. Still others said it closed because the fickle spring breakers went elsewhere. I dunno. It is just closed. Not even open anymore for the Polar Bear Plunge on New Year’s Day. We also stopped going to Pottsville's JFK Pool after the City, under pressure from PETA, outlawed the diving horse show and removed "The Tower." So to answer your question, I no longer go to the beach and my swimming is now done virtually - courtesy of the Wii in the comfort of my living room on my 50 inch plasma television.

school district blues

Last month I read about the upheaval in the North Schuylkill School District. It sort of reminded me of the reality tv show Survivor with only one person is left. I soon put my paper down and fell asleep in my easy chair...I began to dream that I was the only director of the school district...and I was holding my first meeting......what a dream....

After the pledge of allegiance and the roll call, I called the meeting to order. I immediately moved to rename the high school after myself. I seconded the motion and it passed unanimously. I then moved to invite Arlen Spector to the gala dedication ceremony with the High School band playing only Metallica music. After I seconded, the motion was approved.

Then it came to the fiscal business. I immediately tackled the budget and motioned to allocate a large amount of money to be spent, I mean invested, at Mohegan Sun. Since gambling is off- limits to minors, which includes nearly all of the students not red-shirted, I graciously volunteered to play the slot machines in hopes of raising needed revenue without increasing taxes on the hard working property owners. My gesture of goodwill was accepted by the board without any objection.

Then there was the controversial issue of sex education. Should there be an increase in sex education or should that be left alone, to be figured out behind the bleachers after a big game? I moved that the matter be tabled until after the football season. The matter was so tabled.

Being sensitive to recent court rulings on "church and state" I moved that all textbooks be reviewed to remove any reference to a diety. In its place more references to Klingons and their language would be added, welcomed also by the Linguistics Department. Also, as Pluto had been cast out of the Solar System, as if it was some school board director, the time spent on teaching about the solar system (now in disarray) would be better spent on discussing Planet Hollywood. I then moved to approve a sub-lease of the Cafeteria with Planet Hollywood. After a spirited debate, the motion was approved unanimously.

I then moved that the science curriculum be revamped to teach the theory of Unintelligent Design and feature photographic evidence taken at Renninger's Market and the Pottsville American Way Fair. This would certainly scare the bejeezus out of the creationists and convince them once and for all that mankind is still evolving from the swamp. After lengthy debate, the motion failed as I had to abstain from voting due to a conflict of interest. Apparently I was caught in the photographs taken at Renninger's Market purchasing a watermelon and six sticky buns. Another photograph depicted Mammy and I eating funnel cake at the last American Way Fair. I had lots of powered sugar on my face in that one!

The press then pushed me on my position with the rebels in Ringtown who were clamoring for self-determination. I responded that I would not hesitate to declare a state of Murphy's Law and call out every patrol boy and crossing guard in the district to quell any disturbance in that break-away municipality. But as a token of goodwill I stressed that I would push for peace talks with the rebels, to be held in a neutral arena, such as Mohegan Suns Slots Parlor, in the law abiding neighboring Luzerne County. I would personally attend such a summit and stay as long as it takes to have "peace with honor."

I then set a date for the next meeting and placed on the agenda the need to consider changing the nickname of the school from the ethnically-offensive Spartans which I consider stereotypically degrading to our Greek-American citizens, most of whom are peaceful restaurant proprietors....I finally moved to adjourn the meeting, I then seconded my motion and the meeting was adjourned.....zzz....zzzz....zzz.....zzzz

Jackson Street (part 3)

There are numerous lessons to be learned from the shut down of Jackson Street. You know, when the street was closed after the untimely passing of the King of Pop by the crowds that held round-the-clock vigils.

First of all we realize the importance of Jackson Street as a vital city thoroughfare. Never again will it be taken for granted. This Street has often been compared to Paris' rue Notre Dame des Champs; it had been the center of intellectual and cultural life when the city had such life. In fact, during the 1950s and 1960s Mickey's Fountainette, on the corner of Jackson and Norwegian Streets, was the gathering place of young teens who flocked to the city; these youngsters were known as une generation perdue ( or 'the baby booming lost generation').

It was a great time to be young and alive in the City of Light beer.

At Mickey's Fountainette, the idealistic, gawky young people ate hamburgers, drank Slushies, smoked cigarettes, read comic books, chewed gum, laughed and loved (not necessarily in that order) while being seranaded by the music of Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs which bellowed from the corner juke box....

"Matty told Hatty about a thing she saw.

Had two big horns and a wooly jaw... Wooly bully, wooly bully...."

Hemingway was probably correct when he wrote, "there is never ever an ending to Pottsville, and the memory of each person who lived there differs from that of every other."

Pottsville in the early and mid-20th century was indeed a grand locale. It was full of euphoria, youth and enthusiasm (not necessarily in that order).

For that reason alone it is imperative that we keep Jackson Street open at all times. Anyone blocking the street should be dealt with swiftly and harshly. I suggest horsewhipping.

Secondly, the city officials must be commended for performing superbly under extreme pressure by launching the flawless "Operation Vittles," with helicopters from the 14th Street Heliport joining the aircraft from Zerbey International Airport to deliver boxes of pizza and hoagies (some hot, but mainly plain; some without onions) to the citizens of Greenwood Hill, dropping the foodstuff by handkerchief parachutes. Lest we forget, Bohorad's Store must be commended for donating the needed hankerchiefs. This certainly boosted moral of the Greenies, who felt isolated, depressed and abandoned (not necessarily in that order); not knowing if they would have to spend a weekend watching the Phillies on television without any of their favorite fast foods. Television is shallow and empty without lots of food to eat, especially if you are watching a baseball game. These resilient people could not break through the hysterical crowd of humanity that closed off Jackson Street from one end to the other. Pizza and hoagies were beyond their grasp.

I was told that discussions are already underway to commemorate this unique East Side airlift with a modest monument to be located at the Greenwood Hill playground. That is a good thing. As a closing side note, one of the hoagies that landed in Greenwood Hill was recently donated to the county Historical Society. I understand it is a small Italian, with oil and hot peppers and extra cheese (not necessarily in that order). It will be placed on public display for the next 30 days.

Jackson Street (part 2)

The City has now declared Jackson Street off-limits to any person intending to hold vigils for the King of Pop. Moonwalking is now to be confined to Joulwan Park's skateboard arena due to large number of injuries. The Warne Clinic public relations administrator stated that its emergency triage was being overwelmed with overweight people complaining of sprains, bruises and contusions which resulted from failed moonwalk attempts on the hilly Jackson Street.

The number of people that filled Jackson Street on Friday night was believed to be in the hundreds. It was reported to be the largest crowd in Pottsville since last Cruise Night or maybe even since the last "cheddar cheese" give-away at the Salvation Army. East Side historians rivaled the number of people to the day the East Side swimming pool closed and everyone walked over to the JFK Pool blocking Route 61 for four hours. Anyone interested in further reading on that historical exodus can read an earlier blog on this site, "Let My People Swim."
Lastly, from the Eagles Club, the Pottsville's Surgeon General, interrupting his normal Friday night routine, tweeted a medical alert on his blackberry. He warned that any continued vigil and moonwalking could be catastrophic to the metropolitan area as the normal flow of police cars, fire trucks, ambulances, and Domino deliveries is jeopardized, bringing gridlock to the vast area east of the Boulevard.
Another of his tweets indicated he needed an olive for his martini if anyone was passing by Second Street. Green, not black.

Jackson Street

The City Street Department has issued the following public announcement:

It is understandable that hundreds of fans are flocking to Jackson Street on the City's east side, placing flowers and holding up lit candles in honor of the late King of Pop, but the hilly street must be kept open at all times. It is recommended that people stay off of that street and remain on the sidewalks. The city curfew will be strictly enforced.

People should be aware that Jackson Street was never named in honor of Michael Jackson, nor LaToya, nor even our beloved Janet. According to the consensus of researchers at the Historical Society, the street was named in honor of the late major league baseball player, Shoeless Joe Jackson (although one researcher was adament that the street was named in honor of American Idol Judge Randy Jackson). Shoeless was obviously honored due to the deep love and affection the citizenry of the city had, and still has, for illegal sports betting.

If you do plan to spend anytime on Jackson Street in memory of Michael, or you are there just to hang out, please remember that the City Ordinance banning outdoor fires will be strictly enforced. It is recommended that you bring a flashlight (or a jar of fire flies) to hold up rather than a candle. I repeat that this street must remain open to all vehicular traffic, especially ambulances, police cars and Domino pizza deliveries.

Lastly, "Moonwalking" could pose a serious and potentially life-threatening hazard if done on any hilly surface, especially if one is overweight. The Pottsville's Surgeon General is strongly urging that all moonwalking be done one flat surfaces such as the site of the former (Shoeless Joe) Jackson Street School, located at the corner of East Norwegian and (Shoeless Joe) Jackson Street- or, better yet, in the middle of Claude Lord Boulevard. Very flat...flatest part of Pottsville....The city moonwalking ordinance will be strictly enforced.

polka: the final insult

I nearly fell off my roof the other day. Not the roof at my primary home but my summer home in Gilberton. Well, not really my summer home... but my time share. I was up there trying to get my antenna ready for the big day, June 12 th; the day when television reception signals were scrambled. I don’t know about you, but I recommend having the large Australian rabbit ear antenna on the roof. It helps with getting clearer reception for Baywatch.
I had always been reluctant to sign up for cable tv even though cable television was created in Mahanoy City, not far from my summer time share. I refuse to pay for something that I can get for free. It doesn’t matter if it involves television or my love life. It must be my upbringing.
Don’t think that I was never tempted to hook-up with cable television or a satellite dish. I often thought about it. I am envious of cable subscribers who can watch the bulletin board on Comcast Channel 7 or Pottsville Station Channel 15 throughout the day. But luckily through the kindness of friends I have amassed a great bulletin board video library.
I nearly fell off of the roof that day because Mammy yelled up and told me that the Grammy Award Show has stripped Polka of its recognition as music. It was a shock I will never forget. No more awards to a polka band! To add insult to injury, all past polka recipients must return their awards accompanied by a written apology. It was the saddest day of my life since Pluto was stripped of its status as a planet. It brought back memories of the day Jim Thorpe had to return his Olympics medals and then face banishment in Mauch Chunk.
The Polka Industry should have listened to me. I tried to warn them. I was a voice crying out in the wilderness. I told them that the music needed to become hip and relevant. I suggested that twenty per cent of all future polka albums use such terms as ‘ho,’ ‘bizzle,’ ‘big behind,’ 'pimp’ and ‘gettin' jiggy.’ If the vocalists were too prudish to use such terms in english, then they could slip them in songs using Polish or Russian slang. Crude word usage such as 'cichodajka,' 'bljad', and 'dupek' may have helped save the grammy recognition.

I also told them that their dress had to be modernized. I said, “…get more gold chains…. let your underwear show…and for God’s sake,get your noses and eyebrows pierced…” Maybe they should appear in public only wearing their socks, just like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I told them to dump the upbeat melodies and focus more on pain, despair and death. I told them to get rid of the E-I-E-I-Os and introduce guttural roars, grunts, snarls, and low gurgles. I also told them to get some woman onstage during the next Pierogi Bowl, maybe Mrs. T herself, and have a "wardrobe malfunction," like Janet Jackson had at the Superbowl several years ago. But no one listened to me, not Happy Louie, not Joe Stanky, not even Little Andy himself. Even though this is what the public wants, the polka industry refused to change course, and now the polka industry is finished, worthless as my unused tickets for the Lakewood Roller Coaster.

I carefully got down from the roof and went into the parlor to wait for the government to scramble my television reception from analog into digital. Mammy was scared; she remembered what had happened to our computer when the millennium started. “Will the remote control now adversely affect her pacemaker?” “Will the Prince of Belair still remain fresh?” “Will the same old crap still be on?” We held each other tight and shared a cigarette; waiting for the moment to arrive. “Would the NBC Peacock begin molting, shedding its feathers?” “Would Law and Order have too much Order and not enough Law?” “Will Morley be any Safer?”

All the while my mind drifted back to the shabby treatment given the Polka. I swore that day that if my tv set still worked I would never watch the Grammies ever again. Instead I would watch some of my old analog tapes of the Community Bulletin Board.

When the big day came the government mandated change-over was actually easier than back in the late 1970s,when everyone was forced to convert from eight-track to cassette.

thoughts on swine flu & bleenia

The self-proclaimed Pottsville Surgeon General had a press conference on Comcast Channel 15 the other day. He discussed the prevention of swine flu, the things we can do to minimize its severity, as well as other ideas to help us through this crisis.

Here is a summary of his suggestions:

*Don’t get friendly with any unfamiliar pigs.
*If your sneezes sound more like "oink" than "achoo"

you probably are infected.
*When dining out, Frank's hot sauce generally will kill bacteria. Use it liberally.
*Cigarette smoke can kill any airborne bacteria that are aiming right at you.
*Avoid Kevin Bacon movies.
*Fill your piñatas only with Sudafed.
*When departing from the Zerbe Airport, wear your hazmat suit.
*Avoid crowded areas; shop at the Schuylkill Mall.
*If infected, just calmly tell others you have a mild case of monkeypox.
*Boilo!

I appreciated these helpful hints so much that I went downtown to thank him personally at his office at the old Warne Clinic which is (sort of) at Second and Mahantongo Streets. I say “sort of” as the doctor works out of an old Chrysler in the parking structure.
He still is distraught that the old downtown hospital has been knocked down. Yes, the Warne Clinic used to be at that corner but it was razed to make room for parking.
If you go to find him, you can spot him as he generally is wearing his stethoscope, a “Nurses Call the Shots” button; he also has a pack of Camels rolled up in his sleeve and is holding a defibrillator.

If he is not there, you can wait for his return in his car and read magazines or else try tracking him down at the Eagles Club.

I remember the last medical uproar which caught the county without warning. That was the great Bleenia Scare of the late 1970s. That was when many of the counties best and brightest youngsters developed an overwhelming craving for bleenies, and suffering all of the dire consequences. A generation truly at risk of being hooked on potato pancakes. This also put a strain on both the county potato crop, onion crop, not to mention our fledgling sour cream industry.
Yes, the surgeon general warned that too many bleenies could be hazardous to one’s health - but no one listened to him. No one believed that bleenies could be addictive. His warnings of the pending “frying pandemic” went unheeded. He was laughed at and scorned. But soon the local out-patient dispensaries were overflowing with hundreds of young people complaining about stomach cramps brought on by this overeating of these greasy potato cakes, as well as a noticable increase in acne.
The uncelebrated surgeon general had been a prophet way ahead of his time; crying out to everyone at all the local block parties; attempting to stop the madness of overconsumption of bleenies.
Now, thankfully, all bleenie stands must have the Surgeon General’s Warnings posted boldly in both English and Cyrillic. You know those bright yellow signs that warn against consuming six or more bleenies before swimming, and warn against squeezing the paper plate for its oil and then trying to use it as a tanning lotion.
Like we are so stupid that we need these warnings.

To fight the pandemic Channel 15 soon broadcasted a live telethon from the Pottsville parking lot along Route 61, featuring top notch county singers, polka dancers and dog acts, who despite professional jealousies, worked together to raise research funds needed to eradicate the scourge of the dreaded bleenia before another young person got hooked and gorged himself silly.
All in all, $427.00 was raised by the end of the show.

Actually before the show’s last act, the total was over $600, but then people started to call in cancelling their pledges. The disgruntled donors thought the money was going to fight bulimia, not bleenia, and they wanted their money back. I was one of them.

Within days a vaccine was released to the public. Now every middle-school child is immunized against bleenia. One rarely hears about bleenia anymore.

When was the last time you heard about any outbreak of bleenia west of Minsk? But one never knows. Hopefully you are up to date with your booster shot.

There are now more important ailments to fight such as the Swine Flu, obviously, but also Sniffles, Scabies, Hickies, Cell Phone Elbow, Disco Fever, Winter Carnival Depression, Irritable Wife Disorder, Foot in Mouth Disease, Restless Buttocks Syndrome (a/k/a The Hippy Hippy Shakes), Semicolonitis, Compulsive Twittering, the Heebie Jeebies and so many others.

Watch the telethons to fight these epidemics (err..pandemics) on Channel 15 this summer.