Cleveland vs. Toronto Monday night at the park they used to call the Jake.

          Let's go to the video:

        It's the 14th unassisted triple play in big league history...it didn't help, though, as the Indians lost to the Blue Jays in the second gmae of a twin spin.    The same guy had a two run homer in the opener as Cleveland clipped Toronto.

        We talked about it...and here it is: LeBron James getting in his mom's grill after she came to his defense following a hard foul in Monday night's Cleveland/Boston NBA playoff game.

      In my never-ending quest to present all Kennedy assassination theories, both real and crackpot, comes the latest tome to add to the pile: "Programmed to Kill: Lee Harvey Oswald, the Soviet KGB and the Kennedy Assassination" by Ion Mahai Pacepa.     He's not just some guy launching a JFK Hail Mary--he's a former high ranking KGB official, one of the top guys ever to defect.  

      I haven't read it, but I found a review of it on the Internet.       It admits Pacepa offers no smoking guns that prove the Soviet intelligence community got its hands on the defector Oswald, wired him to do the unspeakable, gave him a Russian wife to seal the deal, then sent him off to the U.S. to pull the trigger.       But, the reviewer admits it's a fascinating read with solid info on how the KGB was wired.     And, here's a recent Q-and-A he did to support the book.

      It's a fact that Oswald defected after being bounced from the Marines.      It's a fact that he came back to the U.S. with wife Marina, with the conventional wisdom being that Oswald was disappointed with the brand of Communism being practiced by Moscow.     At least, that's what he told anyone who asked him.       He became a pro-Castro supporter, heading up a one-man "Fair Play For Cuba" committee while failing to recruit a single like-thinker.

       One of the biggest fears in the hours immediately following Kennedy's murder was that there'd somehow be a Kremlin link--freshly sworn in successor Lyndon Johnson worried about just that in his many post-assassination phone calls to the likes of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, among others.     What would he do, he wondered, if Moscow's fingerprints were on the Kennedy caper?      What could he possibly do to respond, he asked, without igniting World War III?

       I don't know if I'll buy this one--my bookcases are already bulging with all manner of assassination books, some very solid and others admittedly batty.       The one that sealed the deal for me, Gerald Posner's "Case Closed"  is my bible, categorically and scientifically proving the assassination to be the work of a lone, unprogrammed gunman, Lee Harvey Oswald.      Vincent Bugliosi's weighty tome, "Reclaiming History" , is another worthy, if incredibly thick, variation on the same theme.     Add to that the late Peter Jennings' final ABC documentary on the subject, "Beyond Conspiracy" which includes an incredible computer-generated picture of the murder from every conceivable angle, proving many of the Posner/Bugliosi/Warren Commission findings: one man, one gun. 

       Kennedy will be dead 45 years this November 22nd.     The conspiracy theories don't get much of an airing any more, but that doesn't seem to stop authors from trying to get them out in the open again.

         It still hurts, 12 years later.

        There isn't a day that passes that I don't think about my mom, Irene Mueller, who died in the fall of 1996.     It might be a favorite dish of hers that I suddenly get a hankering for (she didn't write down many of her recipes, so a lot of her kitchen secrets went to the grave with her).     It might be me, parroting one of her lines to my own children (almost always, it's something I swore that I would never repeat to my own offspring, but with age comes the realization that your mom was pretty damn smart).     

        And then there's that day when we all think of our moms--Mother's Day.

        What I'll remember this time around is something a friend just wrote me in an e-mail this week.     We were going back and forth about events of the day and trying to set up that get-together that too often gets blown off.       The subject was parents, and he told me that he'd always considered my late mom a role model because she taught him to respect the "everyman".      If there ever was an "everywoman", it was Irene.       "Common as horse s--t" was one of her favorite descriptions of herself.        She was beer, sheepshead, and home-cookin'.      Butter was in or on EVERYTHING.      She worked hard.    She played hard.      Her first-impressions of people were dead-on.       She was my harshest critic.       She was my biggest fan.

       Irene Mueller went through life with just eight grades of education, but had more wisdom than most people I've met since.     A product of the depression era, she wasted nothing and didn't take chances.      She worried herself sick when I quit college two years in, and with every job change that followed.      She'd back me up, but she couldn't help wondering if I'd made the right choices.      What parent doesn't?

        Life with my dad wasn't easy, and it got no better when he died in 1970.        Left with practically nothing, we got by on what little he'd left us before Mom had to head out to work.        We got by on what she made working in the produce room at a Sheboygan grocery store.      Irene didn't drive, so she'd often walk the mile or so to work, at least at the start.      It wasn't long before co-workers started making sure she had a ride both ways--not just because they were good people, but because Mom was so damn likable.       While the job wasn't glamorous, it gave her something to do after my dad was gone and my sister and I had left the house.      The store became her new family.     I knew more about her co-workers than I did about the people I worked with.      It kept her young.     It no doubt kept her alive.

         The spunk and fire that had been so much a part of Irene faded when she retired.     Her health started to falter, and the woman who'd go to any Brewers game I could get her to started to beg off more and more, opting instead to be close to home.      My sister, saint that she is, took care of Mom down the stretch, doing her grocery shopping and checking in daily to make sure all was well.

         It wasn't a surprise when Irene died--lingering illnesses almost made it a relief that she wasn't suffering anymore--but that doesn't diminish the hurt or the sense of loss.      My brother in law put it best when he said, "When you lose you mom, you lose your home."     No matter where Irene lived after I left the house, it was always home, wherever she was.    That's gone.    Has been, for 12 years.

         The loss never goes away.     Nor do the memories.    Almost all are pleasant.     Most are hilarious.     The sadness returns when you realize there won't be new ones.

        So, you cling to the memories you have.    To those of you going through that first Mother's Day minus Mom, I feel you.    For those of you who have a Mom to visit or call, do it.      Savor every day.      If there's been a split, mend it.      One thing we should all cull from the day's headlines is that life is short, random, and occasionally very, very cold.       Make amends.      Step up.     

        Make it a Happy Mother's Day.

         As my XBox 360 undergoes surgery somewhere in Texas, I've been left to wonder why my fridge, stove and microwave are still chugging along well into their third decade of service while my high-tech hunk of Microsoft finery broke down less than two years into it's mission.

         In a prior blog, I mentioned my mom's refrigerator which lasted some 30 years before finally giving up the ghost.      My aforementioned Amana microwave is still going strong after more than 25 years of thawing, cooking, reheating and warming.     Appliances with THAT kind of loyalty become part of the family--they were there when the kids were born, when you were sick, when company dropped by, for holiday bashes.  

       Bonnie from Sheboygan lucked into just such a buy: "We are still using our original refrigerator from 1980 when we were married. (We bought it at Bitter-Neumann in good old Sheboygan!) I can't even tell you the name brand because the name plaque fell off the front door years ago!  The long plastic cover at the bottom of the refrigerator near the floor has been missing since it cracked when I dropped a jar of baby food on it. That was when our firstborn was an infant. He's now almost 24!  I have been hoping it would finally die so I can get one with a few more bells and whistles!  But now I might as well wait until we redo the whole kitchen...after the "baby" finishes college in 3 more years! Think it will last that long??"

      Maybe it's because old appliances were simpler...few bells, no whistles, none of the extra little doo-hickeys that can bust, break, rip, tear or snap.       Maybe they were just made better.       We sound like our parents when we say that, but then, maybe they were right.

      I'll keep you posted on the XBox 360, and I'd love to hear your stories about you brushes with the "Ring of Death", too, as well as any praises you want to sing for an especially durable appliance.       Send your stuff to mueller@620wtmj.com.

        Who doesn't love politcal t-v spots?

        Don't all raise your hands at once.

        I'm a history geek (and a self-aware one, at that) and I love old commercials.       That's why I'll spend some idle moments at "The Living Room Candidate"...it's history-as-it-happened, including the famous LBJ "Daisy" commercial from 1964 and others too numerous to mention.      These come from the era when campaigns were responsible for setting the tone, not special interest groups slinging slop while hiding under some bogus name.

       And now, you know why I spend my Friday nights alone.

         Six so far this week.

         Ten or more every seven days.

         I thought I'd be unique as a strolled into my neighborhood UPS store Tuesday night, busted XBox 360 neatly packed into the casket the fine folks at Microsoft had sent me.   

        Turns out I was just another mope with a busted piece of high-tech hardware.

        "Another one of those", the UPS woman said with more than a bit or disgust in her voice.     "We get at least ten of these a week.     We've gotten six here already."     

        Mind you, this isn't a major UPS facility, like the one in Brookfield or the one over by Mitchell International.     This is a UPS store tucked into an off-the-beaten track strip mall just off Highway 100.      You have to look to find it.     I had to use the Internet.    And Mapquest.      And, this little outpost is getting ten busted XBox 360's A WEEK.     I didn't think there were that many of the machines in the 53130 Zip Code, much less that many in need of repair.

        This tells me the problem with these machines is bigger than Microsoft is letting on.      Then again, the fact they're SENDING PRE-MADE BOXES complete with UPS labels, box tape and packing foam along with a printed form telling you how to send your defective machine to the high-tech hospital in Texas should've been a clue.     To the company's credit, they make it easy to hold up your end of the repair process.      They've already extended the warranties to cover XBox's like mine whose original one-year deal expired.    And, they toss in a free year of XBox Live.        Still, the streamlined process tells me this company knows the scope of it's failure.       It's trying to make things right, but if ten of these suckers are being shipped out of one little UPS store in Hales Corners any given week, how many of these things are Big Brown and Microsoft dealing with nationwide?

       And, my clerk's parting words sent a chill up my spine.

      "I've had some people come back here with their machines three or four times."

       Why to I get the feeling that I may be beating a path to this little store that I needed Mapquest to find tonight?

       I'm still collecting XBox "Ring of Death" stories.      Let me know how your experience worked out, good or bad, at mueller@620wtmj.com.

           The older we get, the more we sound like our parents.

           Phrases like, "When I was your age" creep into our parlance when talking to our kids.      Sessions with friends often begin with a litany of everyone's maladies--newly diagnosed diseases and brushes with death.      Then comes the recitation of the recently departed, usually preambled by, "Did you hear about (insert name here)?"      

          Another rant of the elders is the one about things not being made they way they used to be.      I remember my mother singing the praises of her Frigidaire refrigerator--a squat, Art-Deco juggernaut that predated my birth in 1957 and lasted well into the 1990's.       The praises of it's durability were sung each time a friend or relative made a new appliance buy. 

          I mentioned not to long ago the fact that my microwave continues to warm my coffee, pop my corn and reheat cold pizza even though it's a quarter-century old.      I remember it being a fairly new-fangled and high-tech invention when we got it, being in awe at it's ability to turn a can of Chef Boy Ar Dee ravioli into a warm feast in seconds, without having to mess up an extra pan.       I remember experimenting with it to see just how long it would take to get the kids' formula just the right temperature.      Teaching those same kids how long to cook things like hot dogs and Dinty Moore beef stew, in part to teach them a life skill but also to liberate me from kitchen duty (teach a man to fish...).      Using it to bring a frozen shipment of mom's world-class vegetable soup back to life.    Mom's gone, and so is the soup recipe, but the memory lingers.     

        As my wife and I get ready to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, I see a couple of our major kitchen purchases from those days will still be around to enjoy it with us.      We  have our original fridge--a spartan thing, minus the bells and whistles of today (no ice maker, no fancy racks or shelves) as well as our very first stove (a testament both to it's longevity and the fact we probably don't cook as much as we ought to).    

         And then, I think about my more recent purchases, including my still-balking XBox 360 which barely lasted two years before flashing me the "Ring of Death" (I'm still waiting for Microsoft to send me the official "casket" I need to use to get it to the repair station in Texas).         Maybe the old folks were right.     Maybe they don't build 'em like they used to.

         Exhibit A is the so-called "Livermore light bulb", featured last night on NBC Nightly News and in the L-A Times.

         It burns 24/7 at a fire station in Livermore, California--a silent tribute to fine workmanship and longevity.      The embodiment of industrial permanance.          It just turned 107 years old, a time during which I would burn through roughly 53 and a half XBox 360's at the present clip.

         Got something around your house that continues to serve you well, long past it's scheduled obsolescence?       Tell me about it (and, if it's really cool to look at, attach a picture as well) to mueller@620wtmj.com.

      I came to "Seinfeld" late in it's prime time run.

     I'd hear younger co-workers like John Jagler go over each new episode, line by line.     I'd wonder what all the buzz was about, then forget about it until the following week when there was a fresh 30 minutes for them to digest.

      I liked "Seinfeld" and some episodes qualify as downright brilliant.    Most were strong, and the fact that the cast was about to do four story arcs about nothing each episode is still quite an accomplishment.

      Ten years passed since the gang's prime time finale.    "Seinfeld" lives on in reruns, and Newsweek is asking the question: does it still hold up?

      Let me know what you think at mueller@620wtmj.com.

       You might've heard the story on Wisconsin's Morning News last week--the one about the girl who hit a home run in her college softball game, only to blow out a knee rounding first.

       Teammates couldn't help her round the bases--the rules say her homer would then become a single--so OPPOSITION PLAYERS picked her up and carried her around the diamond.

       As incredible as it sounds--here's what it looked like.