Musical keys unlock election advertising

At least the piano players are working in America.

The latest season of televised political attack ads feature the usual array of out-of-context charges, unflattering photos, loose attribution of facts, and general mudslinging.

I've noticed, however, that the palette of poppycock is often presented to voters over a soundtrack that features tidy work on the eighty-eights.

It's clear that political consultants have determined that tickling the ivories can help create an aura of authority and intellectualism for their candidates. Or dark, sinister Darth Vader-like notes for the opposition.

Major stars such as Elton John, Diana Krall, David Benoit and Billy Joel can still perform their piano magic as great entertainers. But anonymous players now toil in ads for everyone from county commissioner to U.S. Senator.

If their candidate doesn't get elected or if the newly minted office holder bungles the public trust, it may be time to drag out the old adage, "Don't shoot me, I'm only the piano player!"

Fantasy cooks use fantasy gear

There is no grit, grease, grime or gunk on cable TV's Food Network. It's clear its producers, directors and celebrity chefs like it that way.

Any close up of a LeCreuset full of braised chuck roast sliding into a 325-degree oven reveals a shining, flawless rack that looks like it just came from the foundry.

An overhead shot of olive oil basted, rosemary chicken slapped on a barbecue grill shows gleaming stainless-steel grates that have never before seen a Delmonico, cheeseburger, St. Louis ribs or any other brother fowl.

Check most any kitchen oven or outdoor grill in America and I'm sure you'll see the grease and grime ghosts of Thanksgiving dinners, exploding birthday cakes and dried-out sirloin tips of gatherings and parties past.

Even the most fastidious cook is more concerned with how the ham casserole looks to guests than whether the oven door is ready for its photo close-up.

Food Network hosts such as Ina Garten and Bobby Flay entertain us with their cooking skills. But I'm sure that without the technicians and helpers that are part of the production staff, they'd be stuck in the sink with Brillo pads at the ready just like the rest of us.

Oh, Canada, my Canada

Jumped into the car, cruised the freeway, crossed the bridge and cleared the border.

It's really that simple in these parts to go international at a moment's notice. A quick trip to Canada always provides a cultural paradigm shift that goes beyond stereotyping of fresh donuts, hockey sticks and health care happiness.

The two-lane backroads, and even the 401 and 402 freeways outside the major cities, offer an idyllic view of farms and rolling hills unobstructed by advertising billboards.

Mental gymnastics go into high gear as the American mind converts posted kilometers-per-hour into more familiar miles-per-hour. Look out, too, because the Ontario Provincial Police are always ready to give costly lessons for people with faulty math skills.

Even with the American economy in the tank, a U.S. greenback still yields anywhere from five to 10 percent premium over the Canadian dollar. And, as much as Americans complain about the price of gas at $2.75 a gallon, the prevailing rate across Ontario racked up at 90 cents a liter.

What a country, eh!

Baseball icon sews American cultural fabric

It was only a short wait, maybe 20 minutes or so.

People of all shapes, sizes and backgrounds patiently sauntered on the sun-kissed sidewalk. They chatted lovingly about a man who defined the fabric of baseball in American culture affected their lives, families and interests.

We were all there to pay respects to Ernie Harwell, a gentleman who described the nuances, skills and emotion of a wonderful game on radio for at least three generations of Michiganders, who died this week at age 92.

The sight of a great man in a wooden casket underneath a statue of himself inside a major-league baseball stadium was quite unusual and incongruous. But, in a wonderful way, it was as normal as grilled red hots, fragrant popcorn and crushed peanut shells on a lazy July afternoon.

We live our lives in the context of our interests and passions. Ernie lived his life in two stadiums during his career in Michigan to relay excitement, details and information to an audience he didn't see.

Yesterday his fans, friends and colleagues returned the favor.

There's an "app," even for kids' jobs

Years ago a young man could walk into the local pizza joint, look the crusty owner in the eye, flash a smile, and get a part-time job flipping pies.

No application. No human resources department. No experience.

Not any more.

My pizza order was late so I cooled my heels in the restaurant vestibule ready to read last year's Outdoor Life and last week's yellowed Free Press spread on a table. Seated next to me was the fuzzy-cheeked store manager interviewing an equally youthful would-be job applicant.

Apprently the new kid had made the cut. But the manager handed him a copy of the pizza company's employee handbook. The duo proceeded to read aloud every point in the dozen-page tome covering everything from punching in to food safety expectations. And, of course, the new hire had to sign a form than he and the manager had read and discussed the contents. Equal opportunity meets child labor law meets work relationships.

One side of me acknowledged it's good to have rules and expectations spelled out so thoroughly. But the other side thought that, only a decade ago, such a grilling would have been reserved for the executive director of a nuclear plant.

Centennial marks celebration of life

My father turned 100 on Sunday.

Well, at least I could celebrate the 100th anniversary of his birth above the sod.

Ben C. died 13 years ago after an outstanding career as father, post office worker, draftsman, and hardware salesman.

No, he didn't pedal monitors, component towers, keyboards or those pesky external drives.

He dealt with real hardware, stuff such as carriage bolts, hammers, light switches, drill bits, and allen wrenches, that real people used to keep their homes and businesses humming in top repair.

There was no one better at puttying a new glass window into a wooden sash or repairing an alumnium screen door -- services that are nearly impossible to find in a throw-it-away-and-just-buy-it-new culture.

Picasso had nothing on a guy who could free-hand paint a sign (Trash Cans: $2.98) that could stop traffic cold on Davison East. And, of course, he served customers cordially and faithfully with knowledgable advice while asking "Was there anything else today?"

Ben C. probably would have been an outstanding aeronautical engineer if only he could have finished his second two years of college instead of having to survive the First Great Depression of the early 1930s. But he chose to pilot a better course for all of us as Dad.

Long-term love affair continues unbridled

She's still wears a smart, designer, coffee-cream coat, likes a good party, maintains a great wine cellar, and welcomes family and friends with warmth and love.

She's my house. I celebrate my silver anniversary with her this week.

It does seem like only yesterday that my dear departed and I trampled in the cold to a savings-and-loan in a north Detroit suburb to sign the mortgage papers and close the deal. This imporant real estate transaction really felt good, underscored by the prospect of a recovering economy and a new job for me at the-company-formerly-known-as-The-General at world headquarters.

So, 25 years later, how has it turned out?

The high-curb-appeal beige ranch on the commons is still standing tall, continuing to earn raves from first-time visitors. It has provided an anchor for life and career ups-and-downs, celebrations of birthdays, anniversaries, Belgian visitors, and Stanley Cups, and barbequed burgers. The company, on the other hand, has died stone-cold through bankruptcy.

While the real estate market has tanked, my personal palace delivers peace and comfort that some folks in newer mini-mansions can't hope to enjoy...especially hampered by underwater, interest-fueled mortgages. I'll be looking for brand-new digs some day but, in the current environment, there's nothing like living with the one you love.