I really do not spend much time devoted to television viewing. No, I am not one of those snarky snobs who claim the "tube" damages your mind and you should spend more time doing jumping-jacks in the backyard eliminating your obesity. I could easily settle into a life of channel surfing and mindless Breyers' all natural vanilla ice cream eating.
I am called to duty, writing a blog awaiting a read by 24 Ukrainian's.
Because of this I miss out on so much. I have to catch small glimpses of the nation's viewing habits as I stand in a supermarket line perusing over copies of this week's issue of the latest Kardashian/Brad-Angelina magazines.
This week, the 3 minutes of daily TV news I usually view had a story about a man who was asked his opinion about something, and some people did not like what they heard so fires were lit to begin the "heating of the tar". News organizations around the globe were alerted, a half-busload of sign toting activists rabble-rousers, and the nail-biting infamous politically correct crowd, were dispatched and strategically placed for maximum news coverage.
After all we all must agree, no one is able to have an opposing point of view especially when it runs counter clockwise to the collective.
I do not know anything about the show "Duck Dynasty". I have never watched the program but I see their image's everywhere.
ZZ Top in camouflage.
It appears that one of their members had been interviewed and gave his honest opinion. How dare he, had he not learned anything from poor Paula Dean?
Listen Duck Guy, we now dictate what you are permitted to think, do or say. Your opinion does not matter if it flies in the face of the Borg.
Play ball, or else!
Duck daddy needs a distraction. Can someone send in Miley Cyrus?
This week the headline blurb in the HuffPost, that great bastion of free thought, mentioned the Pew group surveyed Americans and almost half now say that Christmas is not a religious holiday. Jesus is out, or almost out, soon to be replaced by a new normal to be announced.
Merry Borg Day to you!
P.S. Remember to keep Christ in Christmas…at least for now.
I always heard that in Germany Christmas shopping was
relegated to two weeks prior to the holiday. This sounds so appealing and there
is no sense repeating what we all whine about as we stand in line, with
Christmas specials in hand, in September. I am also reminded that Germans still
hang real lit candles on their trees (Yikes!) and believe their engineering is
actually superior.I owned two
Volkswagens that can dispute that claim.
In recent years I have made it mandatory to complete all my
shopping on line.The era when major
department stores ushered in Santa during the Thanksgiving Day Parade, and
doors opened to display the wonderment of the season, has long since passed. It
ended just a few years after Ralphie received his Red Rider BB rifle.
By the time Cyber Monday arrived my shopping was done, or so
I thought.
I was using my wife’s old laptop to type my blog and email
while sitting on my lay-z-boy each evening.She was much more tech savvy with her windows 8 laptop and her Android
tablet and kept insisting that I should invest in a newer model, not the 15
pound hand-me-down prototype I came to love.She almost convinced me when she explained that on the newer models the
screen was in color and you could read the display.
I continued to hold out, my cheapness keeping me in check,
until the inevitable happened.My
laptop fell to the ground and shattered into pieces, on Cyber Monday, as if
choreographed by my wife using some kind of laptop voodoo doll with special
powers.
My choice was to now decide if I would continue on, writing
on a desktop, two stories up and sitting on my wooden desk chair, or relax
with elevated feet and dozing off between paragraphs.
Napping and comfort won out, but the big bargain day was
coming to a close with only minutes away to secure the best deal.
On line madness began, eager to find a great bargain,
scanning internet pages faster than an over-caffeinated Kenyan marathon runner.
And then it happened. The best deal, within my budget, was sold out on each and
every site I searched.
Oh Cyber Monday, you just can't trust that day!
I was doomed, choices to be made now as to whether or
not climb a mountain of steps and continue to produce a blog read by 24 people
in the Ukraine or scrap the project for a Yuengling and a little sloth.
To my amazement we no longer have just one “Cyber Monday”
but extensions have been made creating a new normal shopping bonanza.We had a special two-day after Monday event
that has extended into Cyber Week and now, 10 days later, became Cyber Month
enabling me to snag a great deal at my local Best Buy.
I can now continue to entertain the Ukrainians’ from the
comfort of a well-worn sofa cushion, right after this short nap.
Well it has been over two weeks since my last post. I have been so busy with the holidays that
time got away.
It is now the Saturday after Thanksgiving and I sit here
with a major crisis to distract me. What color is today?
Yesterday was black Friday, the day before was
Thanksgiving that’s kinda brown-orange-yellowish. The day before was Gray
Wednesday, and the day before that was Light Gray Tuesday. Monday was Dark-White Monday. Last Sunday
was White Sunday; Saturday was Opaque Day, Friday was Clear Friday.
I have finally assigned a color name all the way
back to March 17th’s”Kelly Green” St Patrick’s Day.
I have decided to launch a diabolical plan to
stimulate the economy by assigning colors and names to each and every day
leading up to Christmas beginning on December 26th.
Just think of it, retailers will be so confused
they will have buyers camped out at their storefront each day for a 500 inch
flat screen or a girls-gone-wild Barbie.
Newspapers will deliver a daily 5-pound paper,
loaded with ads providing employment for the Printers union, delivery staff and
the Chiropractors who treat them. Advertising sales reps could move out of
their parents basements and earn a living.
Lawns will be perpetually adorned with balloon
Nativity Peanuts characters and Santa Scooby-Do's.
Inventory of canned pumpkin and cranberry sauce
would sell within their expiration dates, no longer found stuck in the “buy at
your own risk” aisle of the dollar store.
Malls and Big Box stores would always be crowded;
Manheim Steamroller tunes would dominate the airways, “It’s a Wonderful Life”
the only movie permitted to watch.
A marvelous plan if only everyone had a job to pay
for all of this.
It’s Thanksgiving week, be thankful if you do have
a job.
I avoid a personal Facebook page because I prefer not to
share with the planet my “like” for my Marie Ormond doll collection or that my
“favorite” television program was “Saturday Night Live with Howard Cosell”. No
one on this side of the Atlantic will understand my love for Pan flute Chinese
jazz. These revelations would produce a similar effect as when someone asks me
to play checkers and I want to turn the board over for backgammon. People just
back away very slowly.
I mention this because we all have developed many different
interests, and the reasons for such may be unknown but considered very strange
by others. Truthfully haven’t we all
viewed anothers' likes on a Facebook page and wondered “I really didn’t
know that about you…and it creeps me out”!
In all honesty, should we really care?
One of the benefits of aging is becoming more accepting and
less judgmental when it comes to just what tickles the fancy of those around
us. I may not agree with you
politically, spiritually or have any interest in what keeps you awake each day
but you are always welcome to sit down, open a Yuengling and tell me about it.
My father-in-law spent his entire career working for a major corporation that holds many technology patents and has received numerous defense, government & industrial contracts. He was directly involved in satellite launches and when someone asks, “does it take a rocket scientist to figure this out?” we defer the question to him. I won’t mention the name of the company but EVERYONE has heard of it. A few years ago he commented that the wireless technology in my little home router was similar to what was once used for early space & satellite transmissions. Think of it, we had men and women working in laboratories all across the globe communicating to the far reaches of outer space with something I can now pick up on Ebay for 5 bucks. Transmissions received from satellites hovering oodles of miles above the nosebleed rung on my aluminum ladder sends photos and videos of weather changes while allowing Google maps to view the location of my little backyard pear tree from orbiting craft. Voyager is still out there (God only knows where it resides in the heliosphere) and continues to send back data about unknown origins reminding us there is a whole lot of stuff we don’t know about.
http://voyager.jpl.nasa.gov/ At my little 3-story townhouse I too am equipped with some of the latest gadgets that Best Buy, Amazon, Ebay and Geeks-R-Us has to offer. There are computers, tablets, Internet radios and even a Roku, probably a minimal arsenal by most household standards, but nonetheless we try to stay somewhat current. All of this amazing science and yet Comcast cannot seem to get me a reasonable Internet connection! Why the heck not? We heard Neil Armstrong give his “one small step” speech from 225,000+ miles away and my Internet buffers while I am trying to watch cats cooking fish sticks on Youtube. Problems with technology has beset mankind ever since Clyde, the guy who invented the wheel came under fire for his square wheel prototype. All the other cave dwellers whined incessantly about the bumpy ride until Clyde realized a rounded piece of stone would provide a less painful experience. Wheels, fire and sharp tools were the technological order of the day.
Daily tech problems were not a serious concern during my youth. We may have had to share a phone with what was called a “party line”. My transistor radio required a frequent change of 9-volt batteries but late at night the airways were accessible and I could pick up a broadcast on my tiny AM radio all the way from Wheeling, West Virginia, from my bunk bed in Philly without interference. No buffering needed! Without a rooftop antenna, television reception sometimes demanded attaching wire hangers, aluminum foil or a family member had to hold the “rabbit ears” on top of the set while the others enjoyed the program. Whenever it was television day, we were all on our best behavior so as not to be the daily troublemaker whose penalty was relegated to antenna duty. There were a few blessings; with only three channels we had no Kardashians or afternoon Judge shows. The biggest problem we faced was trying to share one bathroom with eight people living in a three-bedroom city row house.
So just why is it so difficult to get faster and more consistent Internet from thirty vertical feet away? An even more puzzling question is “What is my hurry?” I can think way back to the origins of the Internet when you could take the family on a vacation to Disney World while waiting to download and print a few photos and we were excited in anticipation. Has increased net speed and “up-to-the-nanosecond CNN gotta have it first news” changed our behavior in such a way that we can’t even wait for the microwave to boil a cup of water without first causing our own patience to bubble over? In my neighborhood there is a traffic light that tests the sanity of all who approach. Residents submit letters to the editor about it in our local paper. The borough building has set up a special “hot-line” to take the complaint calls. Police dispatch teams in riot gear to the location to send angry townsfolk with torches and pitchforks home to calm down. I actually took a stopwatch to check out the great offender. The light takes a whole 38 seconds to change! The nerve of our municipality to expect us to endure this hardship. My impatience is certainly not a solo journey as I am in a huge majority; actually I observed that nowadays the “easy-does-it take-your-time crowd” is a minority so small they could demand constitutional rights. The rest of us honk horns, butt in line and run on high-octane caffeine.
I don’t know exactly how many fears exist, I am certain that
any book professing a complete listing has yet to meet everyone on the planet.
If you do a search for such a list you will probably chuckle
at some, shake your head in disbelief at others and possibly have compassion on
people who may be paralyzed by things you and I wouldn’t consider an issue.
I have often read that one of the top fears is public
speaking, ahead of spiders, Teflon and even death.
I have my own personal nail biters but being the center of
attention is not one of them, especially if fueled by a Yuengling lager. Bring on the lampshades.
I will reveal my all time greatest fear, entering a roomful
of only-women. No I do not fear women, my life overflows with them. Wife, daughter,daughter-in-law, mother-in-law, sisters, sister-in-laws, granddaughters, nieces, friends, neighbors and coworkers you name it they are
all around me and I love them all.
The gender itself is not the issue it’s when they all get
together in a room and a man enters, any man, and you can actually hear
something click in their mind and it goes like this: “a man just entered a
room, we are all having fun, we need to give him something to do”!
The equation is this:
Women having fun + man enters room = man works.
I am certain if George Clooney enters a roomful of women
they all say, “Wow, he’s really hot, now give him a tool belt and send him on
his way”.
Eventually they will say that.
In the 1980’s a new term, Courlophobia, was termed to
address an issue that many people had, namely the abnormal fear of clowns. I don’t understand why it took so long to
find a name for something that causes uneasiness in many people, after all
clowns have been around for a long time.
When I was a kid clowns were everywhere. I do not know why
it took a whole generation or two to decide that they were not good for
us. Clowns were to be loved. They did magic tricks, pratfalls, climbed
into tiny cars, had squirty flowers, they juggled, rode unicycles and had faces
painted with big red smiles, almost as much color as Aunt Esther’s lipstick.
Clowns had some really bad press in the past few
decades. Serial killers were party
clowns, killer clowns were the subjects of horror movies, and even Ronald
McDonald was getting a bad rap for promoting happy meals that contributed to
obesity in children.
My mother was a fan of the clown. She often told me that one of her favorite comedians, Red
Skelton, painted clowns. While still in
the womb my mother decided a paint-by-number clown picture would be just
perfect to adorn my nursery room.
Here it is for you to see.
I never thought it was harmful, he appeared so benign and
friendly but a family priest refused to enter my room without 1st
sprinkling with holy water and Sandy, the family mutt, my best friend and
protector, would cower and whimper next to my crib each night.
My wife convinced me to get rid of it after she swore she
saw his lips moving. I tried everything
but nothing seems to destroy it.
It is buried; face down, in a trunk in the backyard. It does
keep stray cats from digging in our garden.
I am not convinced that I suffer from Courlophobia, but
recently I was about to enter a local convenience store and was stopped short
of entering because of this sign:
Unicycles-Yikes!
There may be clowns in here.
I didn’t bring any holy water so I left.
BTW-Here is probably the 1st McDonald's commercial featuring future weatherman Willard Scott as Ronald.
This is the current, up to the second world population when I began the blog you are reading.The count is live and actively updating as I write. My humor is usually self-effacing.I often find this type of humor preferable over lampooning the foibles of others. The following is a code of humor that I strive to strictly follow:
·I am a moron and deserve to expose my idiocy to the world.
·There are 7,185,258,719 others on the planet who are just as dumb.
·If anyone does not realize they are equally as goofy, especially those in authority, or members of the Royal class, it will become my duty to inform them.
I normally do not like to comment on political correctness gone amok, especially while the latest blurb is the hot news item of the moment, but the nanny state police at the Weber Middle School in Port Washington, Long Island New York truly deserve an award for the most dumb*** decision of the year, possibly beating out any made by the King of Nonsensical, the nanny of New York City, the almost ex-mayor Bloomberg. That is a feat very hard to topple but they may have accomplished the task.
For those among us who do not follow the CNN news of the nano-second, the aforementioned school administration has decided to ban all but Nerf balls from the campus recess.
The web was all goosebumpy about the news. Political pundits could not lampoon the school administration enough.Parents of little children panicked wondering if this ban may cause a tsunami of new rules causing their little ones to become less active and more obese.
Lets face it; having a catch with a Nerf ball necessitates standing 4 inches apart.For crying out loud you can just hand the thing to one another.How fun is that?
People were calling the radio stations, Tweeting, Blogging, and E-mailing Congress. WHAT KIND OF STUPIDITY IS THIS?
Well gang, it appears the ban is only temporary.There is construction underway at the campus and there are safety and damage concerns.The ban will be lifted when construction is completed. But what about the children, what will they do?
We are talking middle school age kids here, 12 to 14 year olds, the “age of know-it-all brilliance” for youth and Purgatory for teachers until they can get a better assignment or win a lottery and escape the torture.
I was once a middle school kid at St. Attica’s, and so were my friends.I still recall those glory days and our own bad behavior.
Sorry Weber Middle School in Port Washington, Long Island New York. You did not qualify to overtake the mayor of New York for the most dumb*** decision of the year. Old Bloomy reigns supreme.
And your building is secure, for now.
While I blogged 11,437 new morons joined the planet.
Batman, the Caped
Crusader, the Dark Knight, yes I am a fan!
The fascination
began in early childhood.Friends read
Superman, Daredevil, Spider-man but not me, I was always loyal to the Bat.
It was not just
that Bruce Wayne was a disturbed wealthy vigilante fighting crime without any
real superpowers; it was all those gadgets and machines he owned. These really
reach deep into the psyche of all guys.We love toys and never grow out of it.Women don’t always understand this, but it is really true. Sorry ladies,
you will need to love us in spite of this flaw. We will always be just older
versions of our younger selves.
Our adult
playthings may develop into tools, cars, airplanes and various collections or
hobbies.
When I was a kid I
recall going bowling with my father and as we were leaving he gave me money to
make my own dinosaur in a machine called a Mold-A-Rama. For a small fee I could
select and produce a chosen creature and watch as it was being created in an
injection molding vending machine. (See link)
A few years’ ago I
watched a video about an upcoming technology, the 3D Printer. I am hooked but
it is out of my financial reach.Just today, while awaiting an eye appointment, I was interested in a
Readers Digest article about the possible future applications of 3D printing.
Yes making plastic parts and toys made sense, clothing and medical limbs were a little
unusual, but creating food seemed too futuristic.Printed edibles may make sense on the day we become cyborgs.
In the early days
of the cell phone, I had a sister who made a call from my driveway announcing
her arrival.The technology was the
size of a human thighbone with a battery pack as big as a steamer trunk.The 15-second phone call probably cost
about 11 bucks but it was new and attention getting.
I can only imagine
that the current price of a 3D burger would run around $400.
I’ll wait till I am
a cyborg.
Here is a video on 3D
technology.Go max out a credit card.
The Fisherman’s Tale. (Author Unknown) There
was a businessman who stood at the pier of a small coastal village in Mexico. A
fisherman docked his small boat, where he had several yellow fin tuna. The
businessman complimented him on the quality of his catch. “How long did it take
you to catch them?” he asked. “Only a little while,” the fisherman replied. “Why
don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” the businessman asked. The
fisherman said, “Well, I’ve caught enough to support my family’s needs for
today.” “So
what do you do with the rest of your time?” asked the businessman, slightly
incredulous. The fisherman said, “Hmm… I sleep in, fish a little, play with my
children, take a siesta with my wife, and then in the evening, we stroll into
the village to sip wine, play guitar, and spend time with our amigos.” The
savvy businessman scoffed. “I have an MBA, so let me help you. If you spent
more time fishing, you could buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the
bigger boat, you could buy several boats, and eventually you’d have a fleet.
And then, instead of selling to a middleman, you could sell directly to a
processor and eventually open your own cannery and brand. You’d then control
the product, so you’d need to leave this little village and move to Mexico
City, then on to Los Angeles, then eventually New York City, where you’d run
your enterprise.” The
fisherman quietly listened for a bit, paused, and then asked, “How long will
all this take?” “Fifteen to twenty years,” replied the businessman. “Starting
and growing a business takes time and dedication.” “Then
what?” the fisherman asked. “Then you’d retire,” answered the businessman. “You
could sleep in, fish a little, play with your grandchildren, take siestas with
your wife, and in the evenings stroll into the village to sip wine, play
guitar, and spend time with your amigos.” “But
aren’t I doing that already?” replied the fisherman.
A farmer walks into a car dealership. He is wearing dirty coveralls, his hands and
face could use a washcloth and soap, his appearance shouts that he just
recently hopped off his tractor and strolled on in just before closing time.
“It’s your turn Les” said the older, more seasoned salesmen
sitting around the desk and taunting the young rookie, snickering as he
approached the old man. . After all,
their experience and wisdom gave them the skills to size up and qualify any
walk-in, and Les being the new guy had to experience his own disappointments if
he were to one day become a top salesman.
They could read a walk-in by appearance alone, and knew the poor old
farmer had no money.
I make it a point to always buy from the same salesman/saleswoman
if they have been helpful and courteous.
After all, I have worked as a salesman and know firsthand the importance
of establishing a bond with the customer.
I had developed a relationship with a salesman at Radio Shack, a store
where I frequented often. My first
visit was usually to browse and then I followed up a few days later with a
purchase, usually from Tim, the top salesman.
Tim knew my history, and I was always certain to make my purchase on the
days he worked so he could benefit from the commission.
Over the years I have purchased at least 5 computers from
Best Buy as well as Audio equipment, Tablets and numerous other items. The sales staff changes frequently so I
usually give my business to any staff member who approaches me for assistance.
I never see the same face.
Twenty years passed and I began a one-year journey as a car
salesman. Les, now the seasoned
professional took me under his wing and imparted his experience onto me. He taught me a very valuable lesson on
prejudging a potential customer. It
appears that the old farmer who strolled into the showroom long ago was not
only ready to purchase a new vehicle; he was buying two, for cash! Later that week the farmer was so pleased with
his purchase, and the help he received from the young salesman, he referred a
few other members of his family and some friends.
By the time I met Les, decades later, he was perpetually busy, customers
constantly calling, visiting, purchasing and referring their friends and
neighbors. Les was now actually selling
cars and trucks to the grandchildren of his original customers. He learned very
early never to prejudge, show kindness and consideration to all, and be mindful that
those who came by to “just look” would often return later to buy. He was also
friendly to the customers of the other salesman. Les outlasted all the
others; eventually their customers becoming his.
He was quite successful and a pleasure to know.
I had cash in my pocket and returned to Radio Shack ready
to purchase the expensive organizer I had my eye on earlier in the week. I waited patiently while Tim assisted other
customers, not in any real hurry as I had time and wanted Tim to be able to
make as much commission as he could that evening. While gazing at my future purchase beneath the glass counter I overheard
one of Tim’s customers offer to wait while he could assist me because they were
still uncertain of their readiness to buy. Tim told the couple he would continue on with them because I was
“just a looker, never a buyer”.
At that point I left the store, angry and humiliated as I
drove miles away and plopped down my payment for the exact item giving another
salesman a nice commission. I never purchased from Tim again. He
eventually left the business.
I am not the most tech savvy person, but I am eons ahead of
most people my age. No I am not a
20-40 something but I can talk shop with most of the Best Buy staff, and if I don’t
quite understand something I quickly catch-on.
I am like that old farmer, a much younger
store staff sizing me up on entrance, usually preferring to deal with customers
their own age, and possibly thinking they would have to explain too many things
to me. The lucky sales person who will
eventually approach me makes a commission that very day. I am always ready to
buy.
Pizza is a health food. If you disagree you are wrong. Issue settled.
I have 2 favorite pizzerias, one at each end of our
town. I know great pizza when I eat it,
my bathroom scale will confirm this, but I have curtailed my consumption
limiting myself to infrequent celebrations, such as full moons, a new Geiko
commercial, getting out of bed etc.
Recently I had to visit both locations and was shocked to
see something missing, a “tip jar”. I
know these exist in pizzerias, I watched Seinfeld, and I was
shocked and quite frankly pleased to see the missing non-humanoid handout. If I sat down and ordered a meal I would
surely have shown my appreciation.
I am aware of the need to tip for good service. The newspaper delivery guy and the mailman
both receive a Christmas tip. The AAA
mechanic who changes my tire or tows my car is appreciated and so are delivery
and service people.
I am always more than generous with wait staff and others
who bring food to my table and I never complain or send food back. I like my meal without “additives”.
I do, however, consider it offensive to ask for a tip when
all you do is grab a doughnut off the rack and expect additional consideration for
just handing me something very quickly in between your Tweeting and Instagrams.
How much should I tip the Dunkin Donut Clerks
for 5 ½ seconds of donut wrangling?
At least if you want a tip, hold your hand out proudly. Do
you really expect a monetary reward for handing me a frozen Buster Bar? Just by taping your cheesy plastic cup
beneath the drive thru window does not warrant notice. I would expect you to do some kind of fast
food Trick-or-Treat”; sing something or recite a poem.
I have considered making my own tip jar to hang around my
neck and to expect a little “sweetener” for just doing my job.
I could just sit in
my little cubicle and wait for Joe Carter, my boss, to bellow out “Gerard,
where’s the Johnson Report”. I could
just shake the coffee can and point with an attitude that says “you’ll get the
report when I see some loose change”.
Of course it takes a lot of chutzpah to request funds for
services not rendered, or at best using minimal effort.
What will happen when the Cyborgs finally take over the
future? Will they too require some palm
greasing?
Maybe we should begin today to practice tipping inanimate
objects in order to embrace future events.
Let's begin by hanging cups from the refrigerator ice-maker,
self-service gas pumps, maybe even the bank's ATM machine.
Look out for the future tip line on the Amazon order review page.
My eldest granddaughter just started 1st
grade today. Unlike her Poppy (my pet
name) she has been ready for full time school for the last 6 years. My belief is that most children today have
far surpassed our generation in general intelligence and reading ability by the
time they begin school.
Maybe I should just speak for myself.
In
my granddaughters case her parents (especially her mother) worked closely to
teach her skills that I know I never had at this age. We saw photos of her widely smiling and enthusiastically waiting
for the bus to arrive. We spoke with
her this evening and she was so excited about her class, her teacher and school
in general.
On my first day of school I ran away.
I went to a Catholic elementary school (St.
Attica’s) and there were 8 grades. My
mother hired a neighbor girl, Suzanne, who was in the 8th grade, to
walk with me. I was instructed to hold
her hand. I was no baby and this was never part of my agenda so I broke away,
ran fast and somehow found myself following other kids who I assumed were going
to the same school.
At day’s end we were all assigned to a line that
would have us walking in formation to our individual neighborhoods. I knew Suzanne would be waiting so I jumped
into the wrong group and ended up in very unfamiliar territory.
Suzanne, in tears, sat at my house with my mother
until I somehow returned safely. I had
not seen her so upset since the time she was babysitting and my brother (Johnny
Fangs) chased her around the house trying to bite her.
That first day had other traumas especially the
dungeon-like classroom, the cold and dampness of an English castle and my first
grade teacher Sister Chewbacca.
I am truly pleased that my grandgirls are being
made ready for their journey through education. Hopefully they won’t follow in the footsteps of their Poppy who,
when invited anywhere, always checks between sofa cushions, car seats and glove
boxes for loose change.
It finally happened this past Sunday. We were about to embark on a shopping trip and there it surfaced on our television just as we were about to leave. Many years' ago we lived in an apartment and the landlord was adamant about just what pets were permitted. Dogs were verboten, indoor cats with extreme reservation and smaller creatures were OK as long as they were not poisonous and could not slink out of their enclosure.
Our kids were curious about critters and they too wanted something to "boss-around" so we had made every effort to bring nature out of it's environment and into our living fun house.
We had cats that survived many years, as well as fish, turtles, mice, lizards etc. all "apartment size" and needing care.
We did purchase one creature that never made the grade, Tonto, our beloved parakeet. The kid at the pet store, Lenny the bird expert, was introduced to us by the store owner. In retrospect, that owner knew just what he was doing as Lenny had all the up-sell skills and sales pitches as good as they get at any appliance store or car dealership. By the time we left Bird World of Pennsylvania we lugged around enough bags making us appear as if we were on a safari. Tonto had to have not only bird food, he needed a large cage, water feeders, mirrors, toys, some scratchy thing to sharpen his beak (I learned the hard way that I should have left THAT piece in the store), perches and a plastic female "parakeet-love interest" to perch alongside him. We believed it was so Disney-like. Here we were and all these critters could live in harmony, lions laying down with the lambs, all was right with the world everything peaceful and loving. It turns out it was certainly cartoon like but not Disney, more in the order of Warner Brothers-Looney Toons. It was Sylvester and Tweety Bird playing out right before our eyes. Cat chasing bird, bird striking cat with a frying pan, cat putting bird in mouth, bird lighting candle causing cat to spit out bird, feathers and fur flying all over the place. Something went very-very bad, and needed correction. Last in-first out so Tonto went packing and found a good home. Our nest is empty and we are free to roam without having to care for neither youth nor pet. Grandgirls visit along with their stuffed animals, but all that remains at the end of the day are the two of us and some dead plants. So what happened this past Sunday? My wife saw and ad on TV that turned her into my grandmother. I take after my grandmother and buy anything I know my grand-girls will like. There is no need to spend hundreds of dollars when the girls will get a kick out of the singing wall fish, bubbles, a perpetual drinking bird, dominoes or some other cheap cheesy little dollar store toy.
I recall my grandmother buying a cheap-o toy from a magazine ad. It offered 100 dolls for $1.00. Since she had about a zillion grandchildren, and usually a few were always hanging around, she knew that some of the girls would surely like the dolls. I don't think she expected what she was going to get but her granddaughters happily played with them.
My wife, on the other hand, is very careful in her toy choices. Each selection must meet strict standards for playability, design, color, engineering and the soccer mom seal of approval. Her purchase usually involves "easy payment terms" and much assembly required.
Well there it was on the television and she just knew my cheesy antenna was now focused on the latest gotta get for the grand girls. To my shock and amazement she agreed with my selection and was racing me to dial the 800 number.
"Perfect Polly", the parakeet, is touted as the World's Perfect Pet" (that's a mouthful). Polly is life size and very realistic, sits either on a perch or your finger and moves both her head and tail while chirping. Just 2 AAA batteries, no food, cage or anvils to drop on the head of a stalking putty tat.
I cannot believed we finally agreed on a purchase. I just hope the girls like it. If not, I'll seek out Tonto and see if he could use another "love interest".
I dare you to view this commercial without laughing. Yes, it is unbelievable, really stupid and I bought a green one.
A two-legged Pirate
walks into a bar and he’s got a one-legged mechanical Parakeet on his shoulder.
The bird has a golf tee replacing the
missing appendage.
The bartender says
to the Pirate “Hey Buddy, what’s the deal with the one-legged Parakeet”?
The Pirate replies
“ARRRRRRRRR I bought her at a cheap “As-Seen-On-TV” display at a major
department store.”
He continued “I
took her out of the box, installed her batteries, put her on her perch. The perch is defective and she
fell and her right plastic talon came off where it was glued”.
The bartender said,
“ What kind of a funny punch line was that”?
The Pirate replied,
“ARRRRRRRRR it’s not funny, I am out 15 bucks!
The Epilogue
Polly, The Pirate and the Store Clerk
A Pirate walks into the return department of a major department store. He has a boxed one-legged mechanical Parakeet sporting a golf tee for the missing appendage.
Billy, the Return Department clerk, inspects the package and looks perplexed because something appears different but he cannot seem to put his finger on it.
Suddenly he has a "Eureka" moment and turns to the Pirate and asks "do you know the bird still has the batteries inside her chest"?
The Pirate replies "leave 'em there. Just give me my 15 bucks and I'll be gone".
Billy refunds the purchase and wishes the Pirate a nice day.
I am unfamiliar with current daytime driving
protocol as most of my motoring is done during the vampire hours.
My concerns usually involve avoiding a collision
with wildlife, joggers and guys who the courts deemed “not eligible due to
imbibing” so they leave for work 2 hours earlier, riding un-lit, non-reflective
20” bicycles, complete with banana seats, baskets and pink handle streamers and recently
purchased for $5 at a yard sale.
I must admit I am rather spoiled and isolated and
happy to know I have dodged another bullet that will distance me from anger
management training.
My employment driving has always been close to
home. I feel somewhat superior and
fulfilled when I hear there is the usual 8-mile backup on the expressway and I
am not there.
I have been behind the wheel just after dawn (and
occasionally during the day) and noticed very distracted driving behavior. This was long
before the invention of the smart phone and texting.
Here is a partial list of some actions I observed:
·Brushing teeth
·Eating and drinking
·Getting dressed
·Putting on make up
·Shaving (I lie not)
·Applying deodorant (again, I lie not)
·Reading books, magazines and newspapers
·“R” rated behavior. (It may have gone on a little further but the driver spotted my
binoculars then sped away and lost me).
I often wonder if these motorists live in their
vehicles. Surely all of the above can be performed at home but in all honesty I
too may have been guilty of some of the above behavior, but I admit to nothing.
A driving issue that leaves me perplexed is the use
of the automobile horn.
In the very very very olden days, horseless
carriages were required to have a man walking before the vehicle waving a red
flag or honking a horn to notify the frightened citizens and livestock to be
cautious of the advancing 1-mile-per-hour doom machine.
Later due to budget cutting and downsizing the flag
walker was replaced when someone (named Dan) said “let’s just strap a horn on
the darn thing and fire the little guy”.
The flag waver was then placed on the unemployment
roll and died shortly after. The budget cutter (Dan) was given a huge bonus, a
window office, a medical-dental plan, 5 weeks vacation two pair of wingtip
shoes and free bread for life.
Horn honking puzzles me greatly. In my neck of the woods I know a lot of
people and I drive a very recognizable vehicle so when I perceive a horn is
noised in my direction I cannot tell if it is friendly or aggressive unless I
can see the author and notice him/her either smiling or finger-digit saluting and
gritting their teeth.
I
have also observed that motorists can be broad-brushed into two distinct
categories regarding their reactions towards the beep.
·Group A seems to ignore the recognition and
continues to blissfully motor-on . These are the Mr.
& Mrs. Magoos’s, those totally carefree and oblivious to their infractions. They just continue going onward-ho leaving the honker in the dust.
·Group B, the other group, needs therapy.
I
can also categorize the honkers into two distinct groups:
·Group A likes people, recognizes their friends, they are
courteous, helpful and a pure joy to have them alongside you.
·Group B are overly aggressive, overworked, tired,
cranky, foul-mouthed teeth-gritters and would rather have their SUV slam into
you while the horn blows loudly than hit the brakes.
(Group B ALLbelong to the
same gender...you decide)
Today, while out among the day dwellers, I too had
heard honking in my direction but I could not identify neither the source or the temperament from the tone.
My wife had a great suggestion.
All cars manufactured in the future should be
equipped with two horns, one a mean nasty finger-saluting horn and the other a
happy horn, a HOWDY horn.
The mean, nasty horn would be loud and ear
piercing, possibly like a foghorn turned up to maximum volume.
For
the happy friendly “HOWDY” horn think Minnie Pearl with her flowery price-
tagged bonnet and big country smile.
At the very least the distinction of sounds will prevent confusion and help the non-Magoos among us avoid a road mishap.
Further lab testing will be required before we
implement such a plan.
We wouldn’t want any loud noises to cause a Prius
to implode.
