It's about a quarter till eleven at the end of a taxing day. As has been mentioned in this space a couple of times, Carol had her surgery today.
Up at 7, breakfast, look at available Geocaches, get things ready and out the door at 9:15 for a 10am prep for surgery.
Hurry up and wait.
Registered, paid the up-front money, took a seat and waited. Forty five minutes after 10, we got to the prep room and waited some more. Surgery was scheduled at noon. Noon came and went. Finally, the doctors came in at around 1:30 to get the ball rolling.
Hurry up and wait.
I went back to the waiting room to be with my mother-in-law and Carol's daughters, went down to lunch, came back and was joined by Carol's Cursillo sponsor, Cathy Apple. And we waited.
Finally at about 3:30 or so, Carol's Oncologist came in to tell us that her part of the operation was complete (and successful) and that the plastic surgeon was doing her job.
A few phone calls and I had to step outside to find the Geocaches I had planned to find prior to getting out of the house in the morning. Then we waited some more.
Got a phone call from the operating room at around 5:15 or so - Still a going with about another hour to go. Finally, the plastic surgeon appeared at about 6:30. The operation was a success. The implants were in and Carol was on her way to recovery. And by the bye, says the surgeon, the patient asked for something a little larger than what she walked in with. Oh, and here. This is hers. The doctor then hands me a card.
Evidently, saline implants are registered, sort of like contact lenses. With serial numbers and placement and bar codes. I mean, this is too good to make up! To be on the edge of being crude, my wife now has a pair of registered guns!
But I digress.
Anyhoo, the four of us went to get something to eat (couldn't be in recovery) and came back just as Carol had gotten in her room for the night. She was still groggy from the anesthesia, uncomfortable and sore. She was aware of her situation and was slowly coming to the point where she could smile and put on her brave face.
I want to thank all of you who have prayed for Carol, especially today. Yes, the Jewish prayers worked, too. Particularly appreciated were the church communities of St. Peter's Episcopal in McKinney, St. Paul's Episcopal in Chillicothe, the greater Episcopal Cursillo community, members of the Emmaus community both here and in Ohio, and various other churches where the people we know go to worship in their own way.
Past my bed time. Need to get some rest. Right now I am in awe of the woman in room 702 at Baylor in Plano. The lovely Miss Carol has had a rough day of it, but she is showing the same grit and determination that others like her have shown and others will show. She is and is going to be a survivor.
And I love her with all of my heart... registered guns and all!
Be Seeing You!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Support Your Local Husband
Just a few days left before the lovely Miss Carol gets wheeled into an operating room to become a survivor. Being a nurse, she is pretty well aware of what she will be undergoing. Being the son, husband, brother and nephew of nurses, I am well aware of what will be involved, too. Quite honestly I find the whole process fascinating. In a sense I want to look over the surgeon's shoulder as the procedures are being done. In another, I will be just as happy to sit in the waiting area and wait to hear about the outcome.
Although the primary surgeon has not posted it, I'm sure that she has a sliding scale like an auto mechanic:
* Basic surgical procedures - $750/hour
* You watch - $1500/hour
* You help - $3000/hour
Anyhoo, the lovely Miss Carol brought up a point about this whole process which was sort of on the periphery of my thoughts; While a lot of attention and prayer is (rightfully) being directed to the woman in the process, who pays attention to and/or prays for the husband?
Now, I'm not whining, nor am I prematurely (or otherwise) mourning the loss of my dear wife's cleavage. Yes, I am a pig (all men are pigs) and I do enjoy the visual and other aspects of what she is about to lose. But I didn't court and marry her for her "assets". I have informally surveyed some of my peers who had had wives undergoing the same surgery and to a man, the overriding concern is their partners' overall health. Breasts are a side issue.
As a husband there are other issues. I'm not going to kid myself. It ain't gonna be easy. Sure, I'm not the person undergoing a major alteration to my body nor am I the person undergoing chemotherapy nor am I the person faced with immediate questions about my own mortality. I'm not going to be stress-free, either. I have concerns about Carol's immediate mortality. I have concerns about coping with the side effects of chemotherapy. I have concerns about caring for someone after major surgery.
Truthfully, the answers will come as the questions occur. Of that I am relatively certain. I am also relatively certain that some of those people who are fervently praying for Carol are also slipping in a prayer for me. Thanks, and Carol thanks you too.
Right now, my biggest quandry has to do with how best to distribute my time. I did some checking and I have found that I have enough sick time available that I can literally sit home and worry for the next month and still have time left over. To that question, I will now summon up the spirit of the Bard of Massieville (Bard of Knockemstiff being the property of Donald Ray Pollock), Frank, Frank Shakespeare:
To work or not to work,
That is the question.
Whether tis nobler to stay at home with one's recovering wife,
Or to suffer the slings and arrows of one's everyday job.
That nobler path of attending to one's domestic partner,
While drawing on accumulated sick leave hath its charms,
Yet, the Puritan work ethic flows deep within my soul.
To which path lays the greater good?
To work, perhaps, to gain?
There are commissions available,
And one should earn his own way.
Or to attend the needs of one's bride,
Charms removed,
Yet at same time restored.
She hath perhaps needs best fulfilled,
By one strong (LOL), loving and caring at home,
Yet some needs are best fulfilled,
When husband leaves her the heck alone!
Alas, poor tradesman,
How do you tell?
Apologies to the Bard of Avon.
Be Seeing You!
Although the primary surgeon has not posted it, I'm sure that she has a sliding scale like an auto mechanic:
* Basic surgical procedures - $750/hour
* You watch - $1500/hour
* You help - $3000/hour
Anyhoo, the lovely Miss Carol brought up a point about this whole process which was sort of on the periphery of my thoughts; While a lot of attention and prayer is (rightfully) being directed to the woman in the process, who pays attention to and/or prays for the husband?
Now, I'm not whining, nor am I prematurely (or otherwise) mourning the loss of my dear wife's cleavage. Yes, I am a pig (all men are pigs) and I do enjoy the visual and other aspects of what she is about to lose. But I didn't court and marry her for her "assets". I have informally surveyed some of my peers who had had wives undergoing the same surgery and to a man, the overriding concern is their partners' overall health. Breasts are a side issue.
As a husband there are other issues. I'm not going to kid myself. It ain't gonna be easy. Sure, I'm not the person undergoing a major alteration to my body nor am I the person undergoing chemotherapy nor am I the person faced with immediate questions about my own mortality. I'm not going to be stress-free, either. I have concerns about Carol's immediate mortality. I have concerns about coping with the side effects of chemotherapy. I have concerns about caring for someone after major surgery.
Truthfully, the answers will come as the questions occur. Of that I am relatively certain. I am also relatively certain that some of those people who are fervently praying for Carol are also slipping in a prayer for me. Thanks, and Carol thanks you too.
Right now, my biggest quandry has to do with how best to distribute my time. I did some checking and I have found that I have enough sick time available that I can literally sit home and worry for the next month and still have time left over. To that question, I will now summon up the spirit of the Bard of Massieville (Bard of Knockemstiff being the property of Donald Ray Pollock), Frank, Frank Shakespeare:
To work or not to work,
That is the question.
Whether tis nobler to stay at home with one's recovering wife,
Or to suffer the slings and arrows of one's everyday job.
That nobler path of attending to one's domestic partner,
While drawing on accumulated sick leave hath its charms,
Yet, the Puritan work ethic flows deep within my soul.
To which path lays the greater good?
To work, perhaps, to gain?
There are commissions available,
And one should earn his own way.
Or to attend the needs of one's bride,
Charms removed,
Yet at same time restored.
She hath perhaps needs best fulfilled,
By one strong (LOL), loving and caring at home,
Yet some needs are best fulfilled,
When husband leaves her the heck alone!
Alas, poor tradesman,
How do you tell?
Apologies to the Bard of Avon.
Be Seeing You!
Friday, December 25, 2009
My Assignment
I still have something left in the old noggin as far as creativity. For example, one of my unnamed children (or stepchildren) posed a challenge to me. "Here is a list of vocabulary words", the offending child said. "I have to come up with a story using all of the words by tomorrow morning." This was at 8pm. By 8:30, I came up with the following story (with the offending words in italics:
Waylon Payton entered the conference room prepared to argue the omnibus issues connected with Frankfort, Ohio's upcoming semicentennial. Payton's senescent adversary, Clint Nixon, was certain to be using a variety of tortuous arguements to bolster his own stringent iedea as to how the town's celebration should be conducted.
A chill came upon Waylon Payton as he dreaded the expected clamorous opposition to his ideas, to his hopes and to his vision. Perhaps Nixon would allude to some of Payton's promiscuous past, something that Payton had been trying to shake for years, but was used against him often so as to win an arguement.
Payton sat down opposite Nixon, looked, then was enveloped by a sudden sense of levity. He realized that despite the fact that Nixon was ridgedly upright in his chair, he wasn't breathing - and all images of any arguements between the two were now gone in the ether.
Only one question remained. Call the mortuary or call an ambulance?
I'm still waiting for my grade from the 7th grade teacher who handed out the assignment. My grade! The offending student had to take summer school for not passing that particular English course. He had missed too many other assignments for my piece of work to make a difference.
We're in winter break, now and by golly I don't have any of my sons' assignments to take care of. At least for another week and a half.
More stories at another time.
Be Seeing You!
Waylon Payton entered the conference room prepared to argue the omnibus issues connected with Frankfort, Ohio's upcoming semicentennial. Payton's senescent adversary, Clint Nixon, was certain to be using a variety of tortuous arguements to bolster his own stringent iedea as to how the town's celebration should be conducted.
A chill came upon Waylon Payton as he dreaded the expected clamorous opposition to his ideas, to his hopes and to his vision. Perhaps Nixon would allude to some of Payton's promiscuous past, something that Payton had been trying to shake for years, but was used against him often so as to win an arguement.
Payton sat down opposite Nixon, looked, then was enveloped by a sudden sense of levity. He realized that despite the fact that Nixon was ridgedly upright in his chair, he wasn't breathing - and all images of any arguements between the two were now gone in the ether.
Only one question remained. Call the mortuary or call an ambulance?
I'm still waiting for my grade from the 7th grade teacher who handed out the assignment. My grade! The offending student had to take summer school for not passing that particular English course. He had missed too many other assignments for my piece of work to make a difference.
We're in winter break, now and by golly I don't have any of my sons' assignments to take care of. At least for another week and a half.
More stories at another time.
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Happy Hollandaise!
It's another year almost gone and here we are, the day before Christmas and we are just getting around to doing our Christmas obligations. The gifts are purchased, the tree is decorated, the ham is in the fridge not knowing that it will be baked within the next few hours and there is a hint that there is going to be snow here in Dallas later today. Now's the time to light a fire in the fireplace, pull up the computer keyboard and reflect on the past year.
With just hours left in 2008, the Lovely Miss Carol had a name transplant and became Carol Harrell. The alliteration has been amusing to most people concerned. The move was mostly good for us as it settles both of us down and eases some of the uncertainty which had been a part of our lives. It was either that or we have found in each other a decent companion with which to play Scrabble.
Carol continues as a visiting nurse with Golden Pond Home Health. She likes it well enough except for the driving and the area tollways. I'm still with Lowe's and am thankful that I am to the point where I get 3 weeks of paid vacation per year.
We put some of that vacation to good use this past summer with a trip back East. For Carol, it was her first trip in that direction since the 1960s; for Carol's son Warren, it was the first time he had ever been out of Texas and Oklahoma ever. His biggest concern was whether or not Dr. Pepper was sold east of the Mississippi. Most assuredly, it was. Stuart was with us and his biggest concern was being able to eat at a Bob Evans. He was indulged several times.
A long weekend was spent in Chillicothe with the obligatory trips to The Crosskeys, Tecumseh and Adena, along with long overdue visits in person with family and friends. Could have spent a fortnight there and still not have seen everyone we wanted to see. The trip continued to Canaan Valley resort in West Virginia, with caves, mountaintops, swimming and lots of clean mountain air. The trip back to Allen was a bit of a letdown as we had quickly become used to terrain which varied... hills in North Texas seemingly being wherever a freeway overpass is needed.
Carol and I had a further adventure in October. My cousin Stephanie remarried. We went down for a couple of days, visited with family and took a quick side trip to Galveston.
Our children continue to prosper for the most part. Jimmy got off the road, so to speak, and is working in Amarillo. Jaclyn and her husband, Juan, are still in Wilmer, wrapping up degrees and wondering where to go from where they are. Mary has been unsettled and has been bouncing around this past year. Warren has discovered the joys of being in a High School marching band. Sarah is still at Collin College and working at Starbuck's - she just turned 21 if you can believe it! Stuart is about ready to pass me in height and just loves to run. Stuart and Warren are at the Allen School District's Freshman Center this year. Next year, the big time in the big building!
So, here we are, poised to start 2010 in little over a week - with a challenge. This coming Wednesday, The Lovely Miss Carol will have surgery to help rid her of the cancer which was found in her breasts this past Fall. The good news is that the disease is at a stage where treatment is close to 100% effective. The better news is that Carol has lots and lots of people praying for her. We anticipate a full recovery by this time next year.
Well, the fire is dying, the cat and the mighty Chihuahua (Chee-hooah-hooah, a Hawaiian dog) are getting restless and there's still lots to do be done before we can turn in for the proverbial long winter's nap. Carol, the rest of the cast and crew at Rants and Raves and I wish each and every one of you the very merriest of Christmases (or happy Hannukah for some) and the happiest of New Years!
Bruce and Carol Harrell
Be Seeing You!
With just hours left in 2008, the Lovely Miss Carol had a name transplant and became Carol Harrell. The alliteration has been amusing to most people concerned. The move was mostly good for us as it settles both of us down and eases some of the uncertainty which had been a part of our lives. It was either that or we have found in each other a decent companion with which to play Scrabble.
Carol continues as a visiting nurse with Golden Pond Home Health. She likes it well enough except for the driving and the area tollways. I'm still with Lowe's and am thankful that I am to the point where I get 3 weeks of paid vacation per year.
We put some of that vacation to good use this past summer with a trip back East. For Carol, it was her first trip in that direction since the 1960s; for Carol's son Warren, it was the first time he had ever been out of Texas and Oklahoma ever. His biggest concern was whether or not Dr. Pepper was sold east of the Mississippi. Most assuredly, it was. Stuart was with us and his biggest concern was being able to eat at a Bob Evans. He was indulged several times.
A long weekend was spent in Chillicothe with the obligatory trips to The Crosskeys, Tecumseh and Adena, along with long overdue visits in person with family and friends. Could have spent a fortnight there and still not have seen everyone we wanted to see. The trip continued to Canaan Valley resort in West Virginia, with caves, mountaintops, swimming and lots of clean mountain air. The trip back to Allen was a bit of a letdown as we had quickly become used to terrain which varied... hills in North Texas seemingly being wherever a freeway overpass is needed.
Carol and I had a further adventure in October. My cousin Stephanie remarried. We went down for a couple of days, visited with family and took a quick side trip to Galveston.
Our children continue to prosper for the most part. Jimmy got off the road, so to speak, and is working in Amarillo. Jaclyn and her husband, Juan, are still in Wilmer, wrapping up degrees and wondering where to go from where they are. Mary has been unsettled and has been bouncing around this past year. Warren has discovered the joys of being in a High School marching band. Sarah is still at Collin College and working at Starbuck's - she just turned 21 if you can believe it! Stuart is about ready to pass me in height and just loves to run. Stuart and Warren are at the Allen School District's Freshman Center this year. Next year, the big time in the big building!
So, here we are, poised to start 2010 in little over a week - with a challenge. This coming Wednesday, The Lovely Miss Carol will have surgery to help rid her of the cancer which was found in her breasts this past Fall. The good news is that the disease is at a stage where treatment is close to 100% effective. The better news is that Carol has lots and lots of people praying for her. We anticipate a full recovery by this time next year.
Well, the fire is dying, the cat and the mighty Chihuahua (Chee-hooah-hooah, a Hawaiian dog) are getting restless and there's still lots to do be done before we can turn in for the proverbial long winter's nap. Carol, the rest of the cast and crew at Rants and Raves and I wish each and every one of you the very merriest of Christmases (or happy Hannukah for some) and the happiest of New Years!
Bruce and Carol Harrell
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Christmas Music - sort of...
Tis the season to be busy and tis the season for Christmas music. I'm reporting from having been to Church this morning where we sang traditional Carols... you know, the good kind. The kind you hear in Church, except for "The Angel Gabriel", sort of. "Angel Gabriel" is a traditional tune, but, every time I hear it, my mind hears Sting in what is perhaps the most beautiful renditions of a traditional tune played on commercial radio. Well done. Now, bring on Christmas Eve!
Two of my disfavorite Christmas tunes deserve a special mention at this time. For one, the background music at Lowe's has only infected our shoppers with "Wonderful Christmastime" only 2.5 times. The point 5 time was when somehow there was played a different arrangement of that insipid Christmas tune. Not quite as cheery. Just different. Don't get me wrong, I love Sir Paul. It's just that that tune gets under my skin every time I hear it. Oh, and the Dallas Morning News ran a picture and a story of someone who should be shot - the guy who wrote "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer". Can you believe it? THAT stupid song has been with us for 30 years!!! I'm contemplating blowing the picture up and pasting it on a dart board. Oh well, can't be too harsh on the man. He has to make a living too, I guess.
Time was when I used to infect those around me with song parodies like the ones in Mad Magazine. Part of my misspent childhood. I still do so every once in a while and I will infect you now with a bit of doggerel to the tune that was sung by a hefty '60s folk singer:
Have a great generic Christmas,
It's the best time of the year.
All the fans of the major brands,
Won't let me have your ear!
Have a great generic Christmas,
And as you walk down the street,
Just say no to brands you know
You just may get a treat!
Head for the Dollar Store for food that's a little bit old,
Turn off the TV, now and don't listen to what you're told!
There's where I left off. Ran out of steam at that point. I have a couple of other Christmas songs, one with and one without a tune. With the tune (known only in my head) is this little -ahem- tribute to another famous singer:
I wanna spend Christmas, with Elvis in Heaven,
I wanna spend New Years in His mighty gaze,
I wanna spend time with The King,
Cause I know it will bring,
My best ever holiday!
I wanna see angels throng round and adore Him,
I wanna watch Elvis as he answers prayers,
I wanna be with The King,
As order he brings,
To earthly and heavenly affairs!
And I know when Mohammed and Jesus are fighting,
It's gonna be Elvis who pulls them apart,
And I just know, should I fall,
He'll answer my call,
And heal all the pain in my heart!
I guess that I'll be burning in hell for that little ditty... not really in the Christmas spirit, except when you look at a calendar and see that a week after Christmas is New Year's day, and a week after that is, you may note this, Elvis' Birthday!
Finally, thank goodness, is one I knocked out rather recently, what with all the talk about the new adventures of Tiger Woods, this is sort of a freebie for some singer who hasn't done the trip to the studio in July to do the Christmas thing:
This is my obligatory Christmas song,
You don't have to listen to it very long,
Keeps my fan base going big and strong,
This is my obligatory Christmas song.
I have some idea about what you hear,
About my personal life the preceding year,
But in November and December I'll look my best,
But come January first, it's back to the mess!
Some mention of Santa, reindeer or bells,
Should be in here somewhere, cause those images sell,
Merry Christmas should be mentioned here, too,
Just pay no attention I'm a practicing Jew.....
Sir Paul, I understand is good with a tune. Maybe he could be forwarded this blog (without the slam of "Wonderful Christmastime") and use this next year. Just remember, Paul, you saw it here first!
Be Seeing You!
Two of my disfavorite Christmas tunes deserve a special mention at this time. For one, the background music at Lowe's has only infected our shoppers with "Wonderful Christmastime" only 2.5 times. The point 5 time was when somehow there was played a different arrangement of that insipid Christmas tune. Not quite as cheery. Just different. Don't get me wrong, I love Sir Paul. It's just that that tune gets under my skin every time I hear it. Oh, and the Dallas Morning News ran a picture and a story of someone who should be shot - the guy who wrote "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer". Can you believe it? THAT stupid song has been with us for 30 years!!! I'm contemplating blowing the picture up and pasting it on a dart board. Oh well, can't be too harsh on the man. He has to make a living too, I guess.
Time was when I used to infect those around me with song parodies like the ones in Mad Magazine. Part of my misspent childhood. I still do so every once in a while and I will infect you now with a bit of doggerel to the tune that was sung by a hefty '60s folk singer:
Have a great generic Christmas,
It's the best time of the year.
All the fans of the major brands,
Won't let me have your ear!
Have a great generic Christmas,
And as you walk down the street,
Just say no to brands you know
You just may get a treat!
Head for the Dollar Store for food that's a little bit old,
Turn off the TV, now and don't listen to what you're told!
There's where I left off. Ran out of steam at that point. I have a couple of other Christmas songs, one with and one without a tune. With the tune (known only in my head) is this little -ahem- tribute to another famous singer:
I wanna spend Christmas, with Elvis in Heaven,
I wanna spend New Years in His mighty gaze,
I wanna spend time with The King,
Cause I know it will bring,
My best ever holiday!
I wanna see angels throng round and adore Him,
I wanna watch Elvis as he answers prayers,
I wanna be with The King,
As order he brings,
To earthly and heavenly affairs!
And I know when Mohammed and Jesus are fighting,
It's gonna be Elvis who pulls them apart,
And I just know, should I fall,
He'll answer my call,
And heal all the pain in my heart!
I guess that I'll be burning in hell for that little ditty... not really in the Christmas spirit, except when you look at a calendar and see that a week after Christmas is New Year's day, and a week after that is, you may note this, Elvis' Birthday!
Finally, thank goodness, is one I knocked out rather recently, what with all the talk about the new adventures of Tiger Woods, this is sort of a freebie for some singer who hasn't done the trip to the studio in July to do the Christmas thing:
This is my obligatory Christmas song,
You don't have to listen to it very long,
Keeps my fan base going big and strong,
This is my obligatory Christmas song.
I have some idea about what you hear,
About my personal life the preceding year,
But in November and December I'll look my best,
But come January first, it's back to the mess!
Some mention of Santa, reindeer or bells,
Should be in here somewhere, cause those images sell,
Merry Christmas should be mentioned here, too,
Just pay no attention I'm a practicing Jew.....
Sir Paul, I understand is good with a tune. Maybe he could be forwarded this blog (without the slam of "Wonderful Christmastime") and use this next year. Just remember, Paul, you saw it here first!
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Advice
Let me start by making a confession. In the 5 years I have been working in the flooring department at Lowe's, I have laid less than 100 square feet of flooring total. Tile, laminate, wood... total. But on the other hand, I have attended a couple of classes which have provided hands-on training on how to install most types of flooring. I also know a couple of people who can offer insights as to how to do a particular job. But by golly, I put on the red vest and I am an expert. Honest to gosh. I know what I'm talking about and customers hang on my every word.
Or not.
Tuesday night, a fellow comes into the department with a problem. He had already settled on a solution to his problem and took 45 minutes of my time rationalizing his decision and asking my approval of what he was going to do. His problem called for a slightly different solution to the one he had proposed and I advised him of the better solution. Eventually, he talked himself into doing what he intended to do in the first place and had decided to install laminate on a section of tile floor which had been coming apart.
As I was loading him up with his product, I advised him that the product had to acclimate for 48 hours (at least) prior to installation. No ifs, no ands, no buts. Period. The manufacturer recommended, nay, insisted on acclimation and every installer worth his pay would have stated the same thing. Thus armed, the customer made his purchase and was on his merry way.
Wednesday night, phone rings. The customer from the night before was wanting advice on what needed to be done on a particular point of the installation process. In the background I heard the power saw of his "casual installer" installing in less than 24 hours what needed to wait another 24 hours before installing.
"You want my advice on a flooring matter after ignoring my advice from the previous evening?"
Excuse me. There's some sort of a disconnect here.
To you, I will admit my inexperience. Whatever the status of my experience, though, I have found that the advice I have given customers usually works to their advantage. Feedback tells me that the advice I give is about 90% accurate. Not a bad percentage, but I do have a trick. My father taught it to me.
Apparently, my father did some magic on the side when he was in school. He kept his skills and would occasionally share a trick with us. When asked how a trick was done, he would bounce back the statement "How would you do it?". That started a thinking process which would take him off the hook in as far as a magician's "code" of not revealing how a trick was done.
So, when a customer comes in and asks how something can be done, I bounce back the statement "How would you do it?", and the follow up "Here's what I would try..." and voila! I give advice without giving advice! That's why I'm so accurate. I read the instructions, I listen to those who actually work in the field, then I merely distill the information that my customer wants into a form he or she can understand.
I carefully guard my reputation by being selective about where in the store I give advice. Problem is that our customers see a red vest and they instantly assume a red vested person to be an expert wherever the red vested person happens to be. If I am standing next to the left-handed widget nuts, I am an expert in the field of left-hand widget nuts, or so it is thought. So, to protect my reputation, I search out a different "expert" to help in whatever area. Regardless of that person's experience.
I don't give advice solely on flooring matters, or on appliances (8 years experience), or on any other of the endeavors in which I had been involved. Nor do I give (or take) advice from people exclusively at work. Much of what I do give is based on life experience:
*Don't start smoking. If you do, quit and do it "cold turkey".
*If someone addresses you as "My Friend", chances are that he or she probably isn't.
*If you are going to walk out of a job, make sure that you have another definitely lined up first.
*Everyone should have a dog in their care at least once.
*And at least try to DWYSYWD - Do what you say you will do.
That's just part of what I have learned in the past 55, almost 56 years.
Oh, and one other thing. Advice can be of great value, but only if taken properly and in the right frame of mind.
I'm glad to give it, glad to take it.
Be Seeing You!
Or not.
Tuesday night, a fellow comes into the department with a problem. He had already settled on a solution to his problem and took 45 minutes of my time rationalizing his decision and asking my approval of what he was going to do. His problem called for a slightly different solution to the one he had proposed and I advised him of the better solution. Eventually, he talked himself into doing what he intended to do in the first place and had decided to install laminate on a section of tile floor which had been coming apart.
As I was loading him up with his product, I advised him that the product had to acclimate for 48 hours (at least) prior to installation. No ifs, no ands, no buts. Period. The manufacturer recommended, nay, insisted on acclimation and every installer worth his pay would have stated the same thing. Thus armed, the customer made his purchase and was on his merry way.
Wednesday night, phone rings. The customer from the night before was wanting advice on what needed to be done on a particular point of the installation process. In the background I heard the power saw of his "casual installer" installing in less than 24 hours what needed to wait another 24 hours before installing.
"You want my advice on a flooring matter after ignoring my advice from the previous evening?"
Excuse me. There's some sort of a disconnect here.
To you, I will admit my inexperience. Whatever the status of my experience, though, I have found that the advice I have given customers usually works to their advantage. Feedback tells me that the advice I give is about 90% accurate. Not a bad percentage, but I do have a trick. My father taught it to me.
Apparently, my father did some magic on the side when he was in school. He kept his skills and would occasionally share a trick with us. When asked how a trick was done, he would bounce back the statement "How would you do it?". That started a thinking process which would take him off the hook in as far as a magician's "code" of not revealing how a trick was done.
So, when a customer comes in and asks how something can be done, I bounce back the statement "How would you do it?", and the follow up "Here's what I would try..." and voila! I give advice without giving advice! That's why I'm so accurate. I read the instructions, I listen to those who actually work in the field, then I merely distill the information that my customer wants into a form he or she can understand.
I carefully guard my reputation by being selective about where in the store I give advice. Problem is that our customers see a red vest and they instantly assume a red vested person to be an expert wherever the red vested person happens to be. If I am standing next to the left-handed widget nuts, I am an expert in the field of left-hand widget nuts, or so it is thought. So, to protect my reputation, I search out a different "expert" to help in whatever area. Regardless of that person's experience.
I don't give advice solely on flooring matters, or on appliances (8 years experience), or on any other of the endeavors in which I had been involved. Nor do I give (or take) advice from people exclusively at work. Much of what I do give is based on life experience:
*Don't start smoking. If you do, quit and do it "cold turkey".
*If someone addresses you as "My Friend", chances are that he or she probably isn't.
*If you are going to walk out of a job, make sure that you have another definitely lined up first.
*Everyone should have a dog in their care at least once.
*And at least try to DWYSYWD - Do what you say you will do.
That's just part of what I have learned in the past 55, almost 56 years.
Oh, and one other thing. Advice can be of great value, but only if taken properly and in the right frame of mind.
I'm glad to give it, glad to take it.
Be Seeing You!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Hate Mail
I have this "friend" at work who I really enjoy seeing to a point. He's older, been a salesperson for most of his life, likes old cars almost as much as I do and is quick with a joke. The only reason I put the quotation marks around the word friend is that he sends me hate mail.
The man is unabashably a "Christian Coalition Republican", meaning that he thinks he has license to force his "opinions" on others because he's right. He knows so. Just ask him.
To me, it means opening one of my e-mail boxes, seeing his name on the "sent from" column and having to carefully read the subject line before actually opening a particular piece of mail. If it's from Jerry, there's a 65% chance that it will be hate mail.
What will it be this time? Is it that Obama is a schmuck for doing (insert a recent action here)? Is it a "rag" on Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid or any other Democrat for that matter? Is it another phoney letter from someone who is tired of paying taxes for some reason or another? Or is it a Brit or a Canadian telling us how they had to come here for free enterprise medicine because the British/Canadian system of the evil socialized medicine would have killed them? How about a set of political cartoons reportedly from Australia slamming the Obama administration (with clear indications of the cartoons' origin in Miami, New Orleans and San Fransisco)? Maybe it's some "fact" which has been "proved" by Snopes... which follows an e-mail proving that the people at Snopes are patented liars.
In some ways the mail I get from Jerry (yes, his real name) is mildly amusing, but at the same time it is disturbing to know that here is someone who is close-minded to ideas other than those spoon-fed to him. The ironies are astounding. On one hand, abortion is wrong because it violates the sanctity of life, yet, it's OK for the state to execute a criminal. Islamic law is wrong on a number of levels, yet, we as a nation should write our own laws to "Christian" standards. We should fear the Democratic majorities in Congress combined with a Democratic President as it will drain our pocketbooks and create huge deficites, ignoring the fact that the last time the Republicans had a Congressional majority with a Republican in the White House, our pocketbooks were drained and the budget surplus became a budget deficit. Most recently, Jerry sent a "Letter from Jesus" in which Jesus admitted to the fact that his birthday isn't really in December, but is happy that people think of him during the solstice, followed by another missive telling the hapless recipient that "Jesus is the reason for the season" (Merry Christmas, or Else)!
Hatred, especially at this time of year, is a powerful drug which can drag the unwary into its clutches ever so subtly. It can consume and destroy the unwary soul. In this day and age, hatred seems to spread way too quickly by way of practiced practitioners through the internet. One has to be wary of what one recieves, lest one gets dragged into the hatred and the lies. It is easy to blame "liberals" for whatever problems there seem to be. But at the same time, if one thinks and substitutes the term "jew" for the term "liberal" when seen on the internet or in the Op-Ed section of the newspaper, one can see where the seeds of hatred are sown.
Unfortunately, Jerry persists in hiding his head in the sand and hewing the "Party Line". He doesn't want to think about what he sends, he'll do it anyway. I've asked him to cease the political crap. He insists on continuing to shovel it. I continue to tolerate it to a degree as the 35% is really funny and/or interesting stuff. Guess I'll just have to filter a little bit better.
For the record, I don't care who gets ripped, I like a good political cartoon. Obama is not God in my eyes. I don't think that Obama is a Muslim or was born outside of the United States. There are some really good Democrats and some really good Republicans out there. Good healthcare should be available to every citizen, regardless. Hard work should be rewarded... and taxed. We can't get something for nothing. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch. We were founded by men of principal who may or may not have been Christian - but we were not founded as a "Christian Nation" (the seeds of the current "Christianity" having been sown in the 19th century). Who gives a damn as to who an adult "sleeps" with as long as it's another adult. And, the Bible can be summed up in 5 words: "Love God, Love your neighbor".
Yes, that means I still love Jerry. Despite his e-mails
Be Seeing You!
The man is unabashably a "Christian Coalition Republican", meaning that he thinks he has license to force his "opinions" on others because he's right. He knows so. Just ask him.
To me, it means opening one of my e-mail boxes, seeing his name on the "sent from" column and having to carefully read the subject line before actually opening a particular piece of mail. If it's from Jerry, there's a 65% chance that it will be hate mail.
What will it be this time? Is it that Obama is a schmuck for doing (insert a recent action here)? Is it a "rag" on Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid or any other Democrat for that matter? Is it another phoney letter from someone who is tired of paying taxes for some reason or another? Or is it a Brit or a Canadian telling us how they had to come here for free enterprise medicine because the British/Canadian system of the evil socialized medicine would have killed them? How about a set of political cartoons reportedly from Australia slamming the Obama administration (with clear indications of the cartoons' origin in Miami, New Orleans and San Fransisco)? Maybe it's some "fact" which has been "proved" by Snopes... which follows an e-mail proving that the people at Snopes are patented liars.
In some ways the mail I get from Jerry (yes, his real name) is mildly amusing, but at the same time it is disturbing to know that here is someone who is close-minded to ideas other than those spoon-fed to him. The ironies are astounding. On one hand, abortion is wrong because it violates the sanctity of life, yet, it's OK for the state to execute a criminal. Islamic law is wrong on a number of levels, yet, we as a nation should write our own laws to "Christian" standards. We should fear the Democratic majorities in Congress combined with a Democratic President as it will drain our pocketbooks and create huge deficites, ignoring the fact that the last time the Republicans had a Congressional majority with a Republican in the White House, our pocketbooks were drained and the budget surplus became a budget deficit. Most recently, Jerry sent a "Letter from Jesus" in which Jesus admitted to the fact that his birthday isn't really in December, but is happy that people think of him during the solstice, followed by another missive telling the hapless recipient that "Jesus is the reason for the season" (Merry Christmas, or Else)!
Hatred, especially at this time of year, is a powerful drug which can drag the unwary into its clutches ever so subtly. It can consume and destroy the unwary soul. In this day and age, hatred seems to spread way too quickly by way of practiced practitioners through the internet. One has to be wary of what one recieves, lest one gets dragged into the hatred and the lies. It is easy to blame "liberals" for whatever problems there seem to be. But at the same time, if one thinks and substitutes the term "jew" for the term "liberal" when seen on the internet or in the Op-Ed section of the newspaper, one can see where the seeds of hatred are sown.
Unfortunately, Jerry persists in hiding his head in the sand and hewing the "Party Line". He doesn't want to think about what he sends, he'll do it anyway. I've asked him to cease the political crap. He insists on continuing to shovel it. I continue to tolerate it to a degree as the 35% is really funny and/or interesting stuff. Guess I'll just have to filter a little bit better.
For the record, I don't care who gets ripped, I like a good political cartoon. Obama is not God in my eyes. I don't think that Obama is a Muslim or was born outside of the United States. There are some really good Democrats and some really good Republicans out there. Good healthcare should be available to every citizen, regardless. Hard work should be rewarded... and taxed. We can't get something for nothing. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch. We were founded by men of principal who may or may not have been Christian - but we were not founded as a "Christian Nation" (the seeds of the current "Christianity" having been sown in the 19th century). Who gives a damn as to who an adult "sleeps" with as long as it's another adult. And, the Bible can be summed up in 5 words: "Love God, Love your neighbor".
Yes, that means I still love Jerry. Despite his e-mails
Be Seeing You!
Monday, December 14, 2009
It's in the water...
Quick bit of errata from a previous post - Seems that I have another David tucked in there... my new father-in-law is David McGee.
One of my new brothers-in-law has a blog I have been following for the past couple of months: www.bigmyrtle.blogspot.com where he passes out observations and advice based on his experiences as a micro chicken farmer down in College Station, Texas. One of his more recent blogs has to do with drinking water. He has made the claim (and I have little reason to doubt him), that distilling the water he and his family drink has been a healthy choice - given the what's left behind at the tail end of the distilling process. The mere hint that there may be heavy metals present in that which we call "the elixer of life" scares the bejeebers out of any sane person.
Perhaps that's why there are so many bottled waters out there. We don't have the confidence in our public water supplies that we should. The water I get piped into my house is sourced at a nearby lake. The city of Allen sends me an annual report telling me that they've checked the water to government standards and that it is A-1 okey dokey to drink. On the other hand, the water here tastes absolutely awful a couple of times a year when the lake "turns", something having to do with the flora becoming too warm due to the Texas weather. It's for that reason I have relied on a Brita pitcher and the filter inside my refrigerator to protect me from the evil ever since I moved here.
Having reached the tender age of 39 (plus a few more) years, I have had an opportunity to sample water out of the faucet from a number of locations, some good, some not as good. Take that found in the municipal supply in Norfolk, Virginia. I shudder to think about having to drink that city's water again. It had a metallic taste. Ecch! I loved my grandparents who lived in Norfolk, hated the water. The other set of grandparents lived in the little town of Fairview, West Virginia, and the water there was delightful. It was well water, had a good balance of minerals and sure tasted good, especially out of the refrigerator on a hot summer day.
When living in the Cleveland, Ohio area, where one got one's water depended on where one lived. We had city water, drawn from Lake Erie. Waterlike, yes, but there came a realization in later years that there was a time when it was joked that a person couldn't drown in Lake Erie. It was impossible. One would die of some horrible water bourne disease, first! On the other hand, there were people in the area who had well water so chock full of minerals that you could smell a glass of water across the room which was fine with William Carter Sr. "Never had to take a laxative drinking this water!" he exclaimed in front of a room full of befuddled Cub Scouts. Boy was I glad that I didn't have to drink that water except at Cub Scout meetings. Later realization? No city water = no sewers. We relied on septic tanks for the -ahem- overflow from our lives.
Then there was city water from Chillicothe, Ohio. Well water, drawn from an aquafer running deep beneath the Scioto River. Either we got used to it, or it was relatively decent water. I'd like to think that it was the latter. It was the same water drawn from the city of Columbus and the Orchid Society there declared that there was just the right balance of minerals to ensure the avid orchid grower of excellent results. Chillicothe water still tastes the same, at least it did last summer. The only concern has to do with the levels of PCBs which may have seeped into the groundwater due to decades of PCBs being left over from the papermaking process... or the effects of the Uranium Enrichment plant down the road in Piketon. There have been rumors of a "Cancer Alley" in Southern Ohio for years, perhaps due to the water.
My brother-in-law in College Station may not be as far off plumb as could be thought. Distilling drinking water may be one of the better things we may be able to do for ourselves - Helps us keep our Purity Of Essence as General Jack D. Ripper pointed out in Dr. Strangelove. Just gotta remember that we bathe in what we drink!
Be Seeing You!
One of my new brothers-in-law has a blog I have been following for the past couple of months: www.bigmyrtle.blogspot.com where he passes out observations and advice based on his experiences as a micro chicken farmer down in College Station, Texas. One of his more recent blogs has to do with drinking water. He has made the claim (and I have little reason to doubt him), that distilling the water he and his family drink has been a healthy choice - given the what's left behind at the tail end of the distilling process. The mere hint that there may be heavy metals present in that which we call "the elixer of life" scares the bejeebers out of any sane person.
Perhaps that's why there are so many bottled waters out there. We don't have the confidence in our public water supplies that we should. The water I get piped into my house is sourced at a nearby lake. The city of Allen sends me an annual report telling me that they've checked the water to government standards and that it is A-1 okey dokey to drink. On the other hand, the water here tastes absolutely awful a couple of times a year when the lake "turns", something having to do with the flora becoming too warm due to the Texas weather. It's for that reason I have relied on a Brita pitcher and the filter inside my refrigerator to protect me from the evil ever since I moved here.
Having reached the tender age of 39 (plus a few more) years, I have had an opportunity to sample water out of the faucet from a number of locations, some good, some not as good. Take that found in the municipal supply in Norfolk, Virginia. I shudder to think about having to drink that city's water again. It had a metallic taste. Ecch! I loved my grandparents who lived in Norfolk, hated the water. The other set of grandparents lived in the little town of Fairview, West Virginia, and the water there was delightful. It was well water, had a good balance of minerals and sure tasted good, especially out of the refrigerator on a hot summer day.
When living in the Cleveland, Ohio area, where one got one's water depended on where one lived. We had city water, drawn from Lake Erie. Waterlike, yes, but there came a realization in later years that there was a time when it was joked that a person couldn't drown in Lake Erie. It was impossible. One would die of some horrible water bourne disease, first! On the other hand, there were people in the area who had well water so chock full of minerals that you could smell a glass of water across the room which was fine with William Carter Sr. "Never had to take a laxative drinking this water!" he exclaimed in front of a room full of befuddled Cub Scouts. Boy was I glad that I didn't have to drink that water except at Cub Scout meetings. Later realization? No city water = no sewers. We relied on septic tanks for the -ahem- overflow from our lives.
Then there was city water from Chillicothe, Ohio. Well water, drawn from an aquafer running deep beneath the Scioto River. Either we got used to it, or it was relatively decent water. I'd like to think that it was the latter. It was the same water drawn from the city of Columbus and the Orchid Society there declared that there was just the right balance of minerals to ensure the avid orchid grower of excellent results. Chillicothe water still tastes the same, at least it did last summer. The only concern has to do with the levels of PCBs which may have seeped into the groundwater due to decades of PCBs being left over from the papermaking process... or the effects of the Uranium Enrichment plant down the road in Piketon. There have been rumors of a "Cancer Alley" in Southern Ohio for years, perhaps due to the water.
My brother-in-law in College Station may not be as far off plumb as could be thought. Distilling drinking water may be one of the better things we may be able to do for ourselves - Helps us keep our Purity Of Essence as General Jack D. Ripper pointed out in Dr. Strangelove. Just gotta remember that we bathe in what we drink!
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Prayers
I just about sent one of my co-workers into shock the other day. Poor woman was on her way out the door when I asked her how she was.
"Excellent!" came her reply, then I serenaded her with a portion of of a tune I had learned in Cursillo:
How Excellent! How Excellent! How Excellent is thy Name Oh Lord..."
Poor woman went into shock! How in the world would would some slightly demented white Episcopalian guy know the words and the tune to a song she had been singing for years in her own little black Baptist Church?
"You know that song?" She was in a state of disbelief.
I shared with her the fact that I had attended a renewal weekend called Cursillo, learned a whole bunch of neat songs (wrote one, too), and was generally aware of the spirituality of the people around me. What I didn't tell her was that there was at least one other person in the building who had been to a similar weekend (Walk to Emmaus) at my suggestion, or that I managed to get my wife to go just this past September, or that I had a whole bunch of friends with whom I share this neat little quirk. I would dare say that a good third to half of my friends on Facebook have attended either Cursillo or one of the similar renewal weekends.
It's rather infectious, you know.
One does not have to attend a renewal weekend to have the Spirit with them and/or to know some of the Truths we learned. One of the Truths is that prayer works. One of my friends posted: "Prayer should be a first response, not a last resort". I wrote back: "Prayer works best when applied early and often".
The lovely Miss Carol and I discussed prayer and prayed together from pretty much the start of our relationship. Yes, early... and pretty much often. I got her a cell phone just so she and I could talk and pray together nightly - got her a Book of Common Prayer, too, which we also use from time to time in settings other than Church. We also had some fairly deep discussions as to the efficacy of prayer. We both came to the conclusion that prayers are answered, although not always in the way we would like to have them answered.
Perhaps some pray for the wrong outcome or for the wrong reason. A little kid praying for a pony comes to mind. It's one of those deals where it's sad that a child (or for that matter, an adult) will pray for something long and hard and be disappointed when that prayer is seemingly not answered. How many people become disenchanted with the idea of God when something bad happens in their life? When the pony doesn't magically appear, or dad or grandma dies when the child is at an impressionable age?
Jan Karon in her Mitford series of books gives her Father Tim the "Prayer that never fails": "Thy Will Be Done". It is perhaps the most effective prayer I know of. We're not asking for a particular outcome, we're just trying to determine what is in store for us as we move through this mortal coil... and it works all the time.
Carol and I have been working the prayer thing a bit harder than normal lately. Tis the cancer, you see. She had been to see her Doctor earlier in the day and the news wasn't quite as hopeful as we had wanted it to be. It's going to be double instead of a single mastectomy and chemotherapy has been prescribed. Bummer. I did promise, though that I would shave my head and wear one of those funky pink hats, provided that one is found to fit my head. I'm hard to fit for hats.
On the other hand, we are blessed. We have an army of prayer warriors behind us. Cursillo folks and Walk to Emmaus folks and Church people (from a whole bunch of Churches) and family and extended family... I could type on this list for an hour and still miss several dozen people. The two of us had started early and often - and we have already felt the power. Doesn't matter who we are, white, black, yellow, brown or slightly tinged with green (as Carol was the other night-the dye used by the Doctor to isolate a lymph node, you see), we are united because we support each other when we need that support.
So I just about sent a co-worker into shock for knowing what she assumed was a gospel song known only to her and her Churchmates. She recovered. Carol will recover.
Stay Tuned.
Be Seeing You!
"Excellent!" came her reply, then I serenaded her with a portion of of a tune I had learned in Cursillo:
How Excellent! How Excellent! How Excellent is thy Name Oh Lord..."
Poor woman went into shock! How in the world would would some slightly demented white Episcopalian guy know the words and the tune to a song she had been singing for years in her own little black Baptist Church?
"You know that song?" She was in a state of disbelief.
I shared with her the fact that I had attended a renewal weekend called Cursillo, learned a whole bunch of neat songs (wrote one, too), and was generally aware of the spirituality of the people around me. What I didn't tell her was that there was at least one other person in the building who had been to a similar weekend (Walk to Emmaus) at my suggestion, or that I managed to get my wife to go just this past September, or that I had a whole bunch of friends with whom I share this neat little quirk. I would dare say that a good third to half of my friends on Facebook have attended either Cursillo or one of the similar renewal weekends.
It's rather infectious, you know.
One does not have to attend a renewal weekend to have the Spirit with them and/or to know some of the Truths we learned. One of the Truths is that prayer works. One of my friends posted: "Prayer should be a first response, not a last resort". I wrote back: "Prayer works best when applied early and often".
The lovely Miss Carol and I discussed prayer and prayed together from pretty much the start of our relationship. Yes, early... and pretty much often. I got her a cell phone just so she and I could talk and pray together nightly - got her a Book of Common Prayer, too, which we also use from time to time in settings other than Church. We also had some fairly deep discussions as to the efficacy of prayer. We both came to the conclusion that prayers are answered, although not always in the way we would like to have them answered.
Perhaps some pray for the wrong outcome or for the wrong reason. A little kid praying for a pony comes to mind. It's one of those deals where it's sad that a child (or for that matter, an adult) will pray for something long and hard and be disappointed when that prayer is seemingly not answered. How many people become disenchanted with the idea of God when something bad happens in their life? When the pony doesn't magically appear, or dad or grandma dies when the child is at an impressionable age?
Jan Karon in her Mitford series of books gives her Father Tim the "Prayer that never fails": "Thy Will Be Done". It is perhaps the most effective prayer I know of. We're not asking for a particular outcome, we're just trying to determine what is in store for us as we move through this mortal coil... and it works all the time.
Carol and I have been working the prayer thing a bit harder than normal lately. Tis the cancer, you see. She had been to see her Doctor earlier in the day and the news wasn't quite as hopeful as we had wanted it to be. It's going to be double instead of a single mastectomy and chemotherapy has been prescribed. Bummer. I did promise, though that I would shave my head and wear one of those funky pink hats, provided that one is found to fit my head. I'm hard to fit for hats.
On the other hand, we are blessed. We have an army of prayer warriors behind us. Cursillo folks and Walk to Emmaus folks and Church people (from a whole bunch of Churches) and family and extended family... I could type on this list for an hour and still miss several dozen people. The two of us had started early and often - and we have already felt the power. Doesn't matter who we are, white, black, yellow, brown or slightly tinged with green (as Carol was the other night-the dye used by the Doctor to isolate a lymph node, you see), we are united because we support each other when we need that support.
So I just about sent a co-worker into shock for knowing what she assumed was a gospel song known only to her and her Churchmates. She recovered. Carol will recover.
Stay Tuned.
Be Seeing You!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Diversions on a rainy Tuesday
Yesterday was a rainy tuesday. At least for most of the day. I did get out and was able to evict the squirrels living in our attic and board up their entrance in a way that they would be hard pressed to come back in.
My morning and part of my afternoon was occupied with waiting around a hospital while the lovely Miss Carol had a couple of procedures done which would determine the treatment for her cancer. While I was in the waiting room, the subject of names popped up. The subject never really popped up, so to speak... it sort of fell into my lap.
I picked up one of those local magazines which awards "Reader's Choice Awards" to various and sundry businesses and wouldn't you know, the magazine awarded the award for "Best Surgeon" to the woman who was, at the moment I was reading the award, performing her craft on my wife in a nearby room. Not only that, but they shared something, too. Names. Actually just one name. Doctor Canavan's first name is the same as the lovely Miss Carol's middle name. Lynn.
Way cool. Two Lynns. No waiting! If you are familiar with the extended Harrell family, you know that you can add two more Lynns to the list making the count at the moment (properly) three Lynns and one Linn. Discount the good Doctor and you still have 3 Lynns in the family which ain't too shabby.
That's tied with Bruces. A brother-in-law, my brother's father-in-law and my self. Davids abound, but the Davids are a bit more complicated. Depending on the count and who gets counted, there are at least 5 Davids out there involved with the family. There's only one blood David, and that would be my second cousin. Three of the Davids are leftovers from the previous regime and are still my childrens' Grandfather, Uncle and Cousin respectively. Decent people, but I'm no longer sort of related. It's complicated. Then there's David Schirtzinger who isn't related, but at the same time he's unofficially been adopted into the family from time to time as sort of my younger twin brother (I'm the evil one!).
Then there's Sarah who shares her first name and her middle name with her grandmothers' middle names - not to be confused with my father's sister, Sara, who is my second cousin's grandmother.
Are you getting this so far? It gets more complicated.
The lovely Miss Carol's children were amused with the fact that Carol became a Harrell and thus provided some alliteration to the mess. Then, we found out that some of the names in her family were coincidental with names in our family. For instance, she and I both have an Aunt Joan, both being our mothers' sister. Keep in mind, there is Texas Joan related to Carol and West Virginia Joan related to me. Texas Joan has two children, Judy and Jill... I have sisters Judi and Jill. My sisters are married to Linn and Lynn. Adding to the mess is the fact that my third sister Janice is married to other Bruce, although he is referred to as B. Sing just to keep things clear.
Oh, and B. Sing's son is Charles who is pursuing his Doctorate at a large, well known college in the East - not to be confused with Charlie, or Charles, a second cousin who is married to a Jaclyn who is an Internist - not to be confused with Jaclyn, one of the lovely Miss Carol's daughters... who is named after one of her grandmothers.
If we ever hold a family reunion with everybody, I'm going to sell programs so that everyone else can tell who is who. The proceeds should just about make my fortune as I see it.
And so my mind is occupied on a rainy Tuesday. The lovely Miss Carol finally got to go home and other than having a bit of a green tinge to her skin from a dye which had been injected into her and being a bit silly from the drugs used to knock her out, is fine and dandy and ready to go on to the next stage of her treatment.
So, kits, cats, sacks and wives, how many were going to St. Ives?
Be Seeing You!
My morning and part of my afternoon was occupied with waiting around a hospital while the lovely Miss Carol had a couple of procedures done which would determine the treatment for her cancer. While I was in the waiting room, the subject of names popped up. The subject never really popped up, so to speak... it sort of fell into my lap.
I picked up one of those local magazines which awards "Reader's Choice Awards" to various and sundry businesses and wouldn't you know, the magazine awarded the award for "Best Surgeon" to the woman who was, at the moment I was reading the award, performing her craft on my wife in a nearby room. Not only that, but they shared something, too. Names. Actually just one name. Doctor Canavan's first name is the same as the lovely Miss Carol's middle name. Lynn.
Way cool. Two Lynns. No waiting! If you are familiar with the extended Harrell family, you know that you can add two more Lynns to the list making the count at the moment (properly) three Lynns and one Linn. Discount the good Doctor and you still have 3 Lynns in the family which ain't too shabby.
That's tied with Bruces. A brother-in-law, my brother's father-in-law and my self. Davids abound, but the Davids are a bit more complicated. Depending on the count and who gets counted, there are at least 5 Davids out there involved with the family. There's only one blood David, and that would be my second cousin. Three of the Davids are leftovers from the previous regime and are still my childrens' Grandfather, Uncle and Cousin respectively. Decent people, but I'm no longer sort of related. It's complicated. Then there's David Schirtzinger who isn't related, but at the same time he's unofficially been adopted into the family from time to time as sort of my younger twin brother (I'm the evil one!).
Then there's Sarah who shares her first name and her middle name with her grandmothers' middle names - not to be confused with my father's sister, Sara, who is my second cousin's grandmother.
Are you getting this so far? It gets more complicated.
The lovely Miss Carol's children were amused with the fact that Carol became a Harrell and thus provided some alliteration to the mess. Then, we found out that some of the names in her family were coincidental with names in our family. For instance, she and I both have an Aunt Joan, both being our mothers' sister. Keep in mind, there is Texas Joan related to Carol and West Virginia Joan related to me. Texas Joan has two children, Judy and Jill... I have sisters Judi and Jill. My sisters are married to Linn and Lynn. Adding to the mess is the fact that my third sister Janice is married to other Bruce, although he is referred to as B. Sing just to keep things clear.
Oh, and B. Sing's son is Charles who is pursuing his Doctorate at a large, well known college in the East - not to be confused with Charlie, or Charles, a second cousin who is married to a Jaclyn who is an Internist - not to be confused with Jaclyn, one of the lovely Miss Carol's daughters... who is named after one of her grandmothers.
If we ever hold a family reunion with everybody, I'm going to sell programs so that everyone else can tell who is who. The proceeds should just about make my fortune as I see it.
And so my mind is occupied on a rainy Tuesday. The lovely Miss Carol finally got to go home and other than having a bit of a green tinge to her skin from a dye which had been injected into her and being a bit silly from the drugs used to knock her out, is fine and dandy and ready to go on to the next stage of her treatment.
So, kits, cats, sacks and wives, how many were going to St. Ives?
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Trust Me - I'm on Television
The other night I tore myself away from the computer and found myself watching television and switching between the Dudley Moore movie Arthur and the Michael Keaton Batman (with Jack Nicholson as, as Warren described him, the boring Joker). During one of the breaks I was assualted by a pitchman wanting to sell me something called a Jupiter Jack. One slight problem. The pitchman, one Billy Mays, has been taking the eternal dirt nap for at least a couple of months, now.
It was in all the papers.
Apparently there are three compelling reasons as to why I recieved a plea to purchase a cell phone accessory from a dead man:
1.) The company is still selling the snot out of the things because they really work.
2.) Mays' widow or his estate have approved and are still recieving royalties, or,
3.) Most importantly, there is the "I saw it on TV - It must be true" mentality.
There are lots of people, trusting people, willing to accept as truth anything sold to them on the TV. Or for that matter, they are willing to accept as truth anything coming over the internet or over any medium. Need proof? Well, there was Orson Wells' Mercury Theater production of War of the Worlds way back in 1938, or Fox News, or Michael Moore, or Glenn Beck and a veritable parade of radio/TV commentators. The list goes on and on.
In the first or second season of Saturday Night Live there appeared an ad parody for something called "The Meat Wagon Action Adventure Set" involving slot cars crashing into each other, complete with a slot car ambulance ready to race to the scene in order to haul away the unfortunates. Well, wouldn't you know it, someone wrote a letter to the editor of the Chillicothe Gazette complaining about the availability of and the inappropriateness of the "...Adventure Set" shown on TV!
That was what, 35 years ago? No wonder Billy Mays is still selling Jupiter Jack from beyond this mortal coil. Trust me - I'm on Television!
Stopping and thinking about it, there's a great potential for harm were the power of Television were to happen into the wrong hands. Too late, its already happened. There are (among others) preachers, newscasters, and commenators regularly abusing those trusting enough to accept what is spoon-fed them through the media. If one can be sold a Chia Pet or a Jupiter Jack, one can be just as easily sold an ideology or a political stance for good or for ill.
We need to be careful.
While it is relatively easy to test the claims made by the late Mr. Mays concerning a Jupiter Jack, claims made by those wanting to influence may be harder to seperate truth from fiction. Reach and frequency add credibility as was observed by Joseph Goebbles, chicken farmer turned Nazi. To paraphrase, "A lie told often enough and convincingly enough eventually assumes an aura of truth."
In a free society, messengers have an obligation to police themselves in order to protect their right to free speech. While it is perfectly legal in the free speech sense to yell "FIRE!!!" in a crowded theater, it's not really a good idea as it would cause panic and possible injury to a number of people. There are some who are literally doing the same thing on a daily basis on radio and on Television to the detriment of the country they claim to love, just to promote their own agendas... their own ideologies. I could mention names, but I don't believe that I have to. They've gotten too used to having their way with our guarantee of free speech. One peep about possibly policing their abuse of the system brings up red flags and a legion of loyal followers who are unaware that they are being duped.
That's right, duped. "Sold a bill of goods".
Trust me, I'm on Television is only as good a phrase as the person asking for the trust. If trust includes an option to verify what's being sold from a second source, that much the better. The reality in this situation is for the buyer to beware. Look at what's being sold from several angles before buying into an idea. Investigate before you invest. You will be the winner in the long run.
Trust me. I've been on Television!
Be Seeing You!
It was in all the papers.
Apparently there are three compelling reasons as to why I recieved a plea to purchase a cell phone accessory from a dead man:
1.) The company is still selling the snot out of the things because they really work.
2.) Mays' widow or his estate have approved and are still recieving royalties, or,
3.) Most importantly, there is the "I saw it on TV - It must be true" mentality.
There are lots of people, trusting people, willing to accept as truth anything sold to them on the TV. Or for that matter, they are willing to accept as truth anything coming over the internet or over any medium. Need proof? Well, there was Orson Wells' Mercury Theater production of War of the Worlds way back in 1938, or Fox News, or Michael Moore, or Glenn Beck and a veritable parade of radio/TV commentators. The list goes on and on.
In the first or second season of Saturday Night Live there appeared an ad parody for something called "The Meat Wagon Action Adventure Set" involving slot cars crashing into each other, complete with a slot car ambulance ready to race to the scene in order to haul away the unfortunates. Well, wouldn't you know it, someone wrote a letter to the editor of the Chillicothe Gazette complaining about the availability of and the inappropriateness of the "...Adventure Set" shown on TV!
That was what, 35 years ago? No wonder Billy Mays is still selling Jupiter Jack from beyond this mortal coil. Trust me - I'm on Television!
Stopping and thinking about it, there's a great potential for harm were the power of Television were to happen into the wrong hands. Too late, its already happened. There are (among others) preachers, newscasters, and commenators regularly abusing those trusting enough to accept what is spoon-fed them through the media. If one can be sold a Chia Pet or a Jupiter Jack, one can be just as easily sold an ideology or a political stance for good or for ill.
We need to be careful.
While it is relatively easy to test the claims made by the late Mr. Mays concerning a Jupiter Jack, claims made by those wanting to influence may be harder to seperate truth from fiction. Reach and frequency add credibility as was observed by Joseph Goebbles, chicken farmer turned Nazi. To paraphrase, "A lie told often enough and convincingly enough eventually assumes an aura of truth."
In a free society, messengers have an obligation to police themselves in order to protect their right to free speech. While it is perfectly legal in the free speech sense to yell "FIRE!!!" in a crowded theater, it's not really a good idea as it would cause panic and possible injury to a number of people. There are some who are literally doing the same thing on a daily basis on radio and on Television to the detriment of the country they claim to love, just to promote their own agendas... their own ideologies. I could mention names, but I don't believe that I have to. They've gotten too used to having their way with our guarantee of free speech. One peep about possibly policing their abuse of the system brings up red flags and a legion of loyal followers who are unaware that they are being duped.
That's right, duped. "Sold a bill of goods".
Trust me, I'm on Television is only as good a phrase as the person asking for the trust. If trust includes an option to verify what's being sold from a second source, that much the better. The reality in this situation is for the buyer to beware. Look at what's being sold from several angles before buying into an idea. Investigate before you invest. You will be the winner in the long run.
Trust me. I've been on Television!
Be Seeing You!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Monk
Well, the latest, and in my mind, the best handicapped detective show of all time had its finale last night and it was, again in my mind, the third best wrap-up to a television series I've ever witnessed.
Mad Magazine did a parody on one of the detective shows of the early '70s and in their introduction pointed out that there were a goodly number of shows at the time that featured handicapped detectives... to paraprhase " Ironsides, crippled. Longstreet, blind. Cannon, fat, Banacek, Polish. Columbo, retarded..." not exactly PC these days, but accurate in regards to the seemingly endless stream of handicapped detectives which once littered the airwaves.
Monk fit in that group due to his obsessve/compulsive disorder, but at the same time, many of us (and I am including myself, mind you!) identify with Monk as we have a quirk or two of our own to contend with. We laugh the loudest and the hardest when we laugh at ourselves and our own foiables. Actor Tony Shaloub's characterization of the San Francisco detective deserves high marks for bringing to life a person who we could all be but for the grace of God and good fortune. The humour and the drama combined in such a way that I eventually felt compelled to make a point to watch every episode.
As for the ending? Well, it satisfied every question which arose in the series. It was dramatic, yes, funny, in parts, and heartwarming, the way a good ending should be. Or, at least in the way that some endings should be. Here the ending was appropriate.
Yet, I placed the Monk finale in third place as far as finales go.
In first place, well, nothing beat watching Psychiatrist Bob Hartley getting up in the middle of the night and describing to his wife the crazy dream he had just had of being an Inn Keeper in Vermont (Newhart). I literally "lost it". I didn't keep up with Newhart the way I did with The Bob Newhart Show, but it took guts and a measure of genius to come up with that particular ending.
Mary Tyler Moore's ending with the firing of the WJM news staff - excepting Ted Baxter - was the proper send off for that show. Unexpected, hilarious.
After Monk, MASH. The drama, the comedy, the pathos. Boy, was that good.
Fifth and finally, I recall quite well the race to get to a motel with a television so that the family (on the road and on vacation) could watch Richard Kimball finally catch the one-armed man in The Fugitive. For quite some time afterwards, the finale of The Fugitive was ranked as the highest rated single television show ever.
Finales are much the exception rather than the rule of most television programs. At least that's the way it is here in the U.S. Many of the British programs seem to have endings as their series are limited. They don't run on forever. Maybe running without an ending could be a good thing, too. For instance, I hate to think about what might ensue if, say, the boys from Stalag 13 were to have concluded WWII...
Starting to rattle a bit. Sorry.
Did enjoy the way Monk ended, though. And I smiled at the way that the possibility was left open for a TV movie at some point...
Be Seeing You!
Mad Magazine did a parody on one of the detective shows of the early '70s and in their introduction pointed out that there were a goodly number of shows at the time that featured handicapped detectives... to paraprhase " Ironsides, crippled. Longstreet, blind. Cannon, fat, Banacek, Polish. Columbo, retarded..." not exactly PC these days, but accurate in regards to the seemingly endless stream of handicapped detectives which once littered the airwaves.
Monk fit in that group due to his obsessve/compulsive disorder, but at the same time, many of us (and I am including myself, mind you!) identify with Monk as we have a quirk or two of our own to contend with. We laugh the loudest and the hardest when we laugh at ourselves and our own foiables. Actor Tony Shaloub's characterization of the San Francisco detective deserves high marks for bringing to life a person who we could all be but for the grace of God and good fortune. The humour and the drama combined in such a way that I eventually felt compelled to make a point to watch every episode.
As for the ending? Well, it satisfied every question which arose in the series. It was dramatic, yes, funny, in parts, and heartwarming, the way a good ending should be. Or, at least in the way that some endings should be. Here the ending was appropriate.
Yet, I placed the Monk finale in third place as far as finales go.
In first place, well, nothing beat watching Psychiatrist Bob Hartley getting up in the middle of the night and describing to his wife the crazy dream he had just had of being an Inn Keeper in Vermont (Newhart). I literally "lost it". I didn't keep up with Newhart the way I did with The Bob Newhart Show, but it took guts and a measure of genius to come up with that particular ending.
Mary Tyler Moore's ending with the firing of the WJM news staff - excepting Ted Baxter - was the proper send off for that show. Unexpected, hilarious.
After Monk, MASH. The drama, the comedy, the pathos. Boy, was that good.
Fifth and finally, I recall quite well the race to get to a motel with a television so that the family (on the road and on vacation) could watch Richard Kimball finally catch the one-armed man in The Fugitive. For quite some time afterwards, the finale of The Fugitive was ranked as the highest rated single television show ever.
Finales are much the exception rather than the rule of most television programs. At least that's the way it is here in the U.S. Many of the British programs seem to have endings as their series are limited. They don't run on forever. Maybe running without an ending could be a good thing, too. For instance, I hate to think about what might ensue if, say, the boys from Stalag 13 were to have concluded WWII...
Starting to rattle a bit. Sorry.
Did enjoy the way Monk ended, though. And I smiled at the way that the possibility was left open for a TV movie at some point...
Be Seeing You!
Friday, December 4, 2009
Living with the "Big C"
I want to say that it has been 6 weeks, now, but somehow it might be shorter or longer. It all depends on one's perspective. It was back in October when the lovely Miss Carol had her mammogram, back in November when she had her biopsy. We're living with the "Big C" these days, and getting ready to get it the heck out of our house. As I'm writing this, Carol is having some pre-op work done in anticipation of a procedure next Tuesday. Hopefully this business can be wrapped up before the end of the month so that we can spend 2010 just paying down the bills instead of running up and paying down the bills.
I have several perspectives on my wife's illness, the overriding one being that all I want is for her to be healthy and on this side of the grass for some time to come.
For way too long, I have experienced Cancer in the family (and among people I've known) as being a death sentence. My father expired as a result of a melanoma. Mom's sister was well on her way to the grave due to (I believe) pancreatic Cancer, which also struck down the daughter of Lucretia who lived across the street from us in Chillicothe (although Lucretia was even more heartbroken when one of her grandsons came out of the closet...). Rob announced at a Christmas party about 13-14 years ago that he was terminal with an internal Cancer - made it to the day before his birthday. And as I hear it, a friend from College who had been suffering from a back pain for most of a summer was told just after Labor Day that his back pain was due to a fast-acting lung cancer and he would be lucky to survive the month. He didn't.
Then there was Warren's dad, Carol's first husband. He went into the VA to have a cancerous kidney removed last Fall. Didn't make it. Needless to say, Warren is more than a bit concerned about his mother's prognosis. We've been open and honest with him (although we did delay letting him know what was going on) and have shared what we know to this point.
To this point, we know that one breast is going to be removed and that there may be a question on the other side. We are relatively certain that the disease is localized. Thank goodness for early detection. There will be some reconstruction, too, at the same time that the offending matter is excised. Carol was concerned that she would be "mutilated", but the plastic surgeon's craft should take care of any concern that she has. Besides, she has an understanding husband who cares more for her than any of her physical attributes. Not to say that any augmentation wouldn't be appreciated, mind you. Besides, there are already bumps and bruises evident due to the biopsies.
My only concern at this point has to do with timing. Apparently, if the surgeon(s) who will be performing their craft on my dear spouse were taken with a sudden urge to go to Jamaica until the first of next year, the deductable/co-payment clock is returned to zero.
But everything else seems to be in working order. Carol has a lot of praying being done on her behalf. Our Church, our Cursillo communities, our families and people we work with (Both at Golden Pond and at Lowe's) are all pitching in. Sure, we get down every once in a while, but for the most part, we are finding ourselves uplifted by the people in our extended families. We are very optimistic that there will be a positive outcome.
Yup, the "Big C" is living at our house, but it won't be living there long!
Be Seeing You!
I have several perspectives on my wife's illness, the overriding one being that all I want is for her to be healthy and on this side of the grass for some time to come.
For way too long, I have experienced Cancer in the family (and among people I've known) as being a death sentence. My father expired as a result of a melanoma. Mom's sister was well on her way to the grave due to (I believe) pancreatic Cancer, which also struck down the daughter of Lucretia who lived across the street from us in Chillicothe (although Lucretia was even more heartbroken when one of her grandsons came out of the closet...). Rob announced at a Christmas party about 13-14 years ago that he was terminal with an internal Cancer - made it to the day before his birthday. And as I hear it, a friend from College who had been suffering from a back pain for most of a summer was told just after Labor Day that his back pain was due to a fast-acting lung cancer and he would be lucky to survive the month. He didn't.
Then there was Warren's dad, Carol's first husband. He went into the VA to have a cancerous kidney removed last Fall. Didn't make it. Needless to say, Warren is more than a bit concerned about his mother's prognosis. We've been open and honest with him (although we did delay letting him know what was going on) and have shared what we know to this point.
To this point, we know that one breast is going to be removed and that there may be a question on the other side. We are relatively certain that the disease is localized. Thank goodness for early detection. There will be some reconstruction, too, at the same time that the offending matter is excised. Carol was concerned that she would be "mutilated", but the plastic surgeon's craft should take care of any concern that she has. Besides, she has an understanding husband who cares more for her than any of her physical attributes. Not to say that any augmentation wouldn't be appreciated, mind you. Besides, there are already bumps and bruises evident due to the biopsies.
My only concern at this point has to do with timing. Apparently, if the surgeon(s) who will be performing their craft on my dear spouse were taken with a sudden urge to go to Jamaica until the first of next year, the deductable/co-payment clock is returned to zero.
But everything else seems to be in working order. Carol has a lot of praying being done on her behalf. Our Church, our Cursillo communities, our families and people we work with (Both at Golden Pond and at Lowe's) are all pitching in. Sure, we get down every once in a while, but for the most part, we are finding ourselves uplifted by the people in our extended families. We are very optimistic that there will be a positive outcome.
Yup, the "Big C" is living at our house, but it won't be living there long!
Be Seeing You!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Juicy Chips
I know what I want for Christmas.
Chips.
Potato Chips. Herr's Salt and Vinegar potato chips to be exact, the kind that at least two of my nieces called "juicy chips".
They were my father's favorite, and I believe only potato chip. White bag, made in the chip plant down on Seventh Street close to the Norfolk and Western line. When the nieces were younger, they would come up to their grandfather and ask, ever so politely, for some juicy chips, please... and their grandfather, ever a sucker for little kids, would allow them enough juicy chips to eat their fill.
Juicy chips became pretty much a tradition in our house. At one point I noted that I don't believe that I have ever seen a bag of juicy chips being thrown away when there were just crumbs in the bag. Yes, the crumbs were licked clean and every last gram of those chips would disappear before we even thought of disposing of the bag.
Now, we're in Dallas and except for one small incident, Herr's products don't make it down here. My supply of juicy chips has dried up. Frito Lay, based just around the corner in Plano, used to sell their version of salt and vinegar chips at our local Kroger... then they just dried up. Vanished, never to be seen again. Sure, it was a poor substitute for the Real McCoy, but at least a partial fix of somewhat juicy chips was better than none at all. Gotta be a local thing. Much to my surprise and, well, disgust, I found that Frito-Lay is still selling their salt and vinegar chips in Ohio!!! Those so and sos!!! Oh, and by the way, Frito-Lay makes and sells Cracker Jack... which cannot be purchased at a Ranger's game!!! Well!!
I did find a reasonable facsimile to the Herr's products at an out of the way grocery store in Oklahoma. Bought two bags, hoping to find someone who distributed that particular brand of juicy chips (Tom's) here in the metroplex. Neither bag survived the three hour drive back to Allen. I've taken juicy chips from Ohio to Texas on several of the trips I've made there - One bag actually made it back to the land of J.R. Ewing intact, and made it a week before temptation took hold and the chips contained therein were ravenously consumed by my children, Warren, and the lovely Miss Carol. Egad!
Chips are items which do not transport quite so easily over state lines (or at least over the Mississippi) as do other products. Our store manager, originally from New Jersey, will from time to time bring in the remainder of a bag of Wise potato chips - tantilizing the potato chip snobs among us with just the right amount of greasiness and saltiness without all of that nasty "old chip flavour" found in some ordinary chips. About two years ago, the vending machine in the break room offered Herr's (!!) Ketchup flavoured chips for a short amount of time. Oh, the closeness to nirvana!
Chips aren't the only regional food item which we tend to find, then hoard back to our home bases. Texas' Blue Bell Ice Cream, Dr. Pepper made with real cane sugar bottled in Dublin, genuine Texas chili, and those little Mexican candies with the peppers inside have been coveted. We have some beer, too, which is pretty darn good. I particularly enjoy St. Arnold's from Houston, and Real Ale from Blanco (just across from the county court house). We have also savored pepperoni rolls made at Bell's grocery store on the north side of Fairmont, West Virginia (next to the Revco where Mary Lou Retton's family used to shop), sandwiches from Rhoda's in Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill area, Stoney's beer from Maryland (at least that's where I purchased the last six pack that I had), and deviled Smithfield ham which could at one time be found only in Virginia.
Some of our favourite eating places are sought out, too. We made the mistake of introducing Warren to the reuben sandwich served at the Cross Keys Tavern last summer. Said it was the best he's ever had. Stuart and Sarah both are eager fans of Bob Evans (closest being about a six hour drive away in Missouri). Steak and Shake has finally made it to the Metroplex, but one still cannot get a genuine "slider" from a White Castle. A West Coast chain of hamburger places called In and Out has a veritable legion of fans here, at least judging from the number of In and Out T-shirts seen, despite being no closer than somewhere in Arizona.
Well, with that being said, I'm starting to get hungry. With a goal of losing or at least not gaining any additional poundage this Christmas season, perhaps it's a good thing that I'm out of Herr's market patch and polishing off a bag or two a week of one of my favourite indulgences.
On the other hand, Santa, if you would, please....
Be Seeing You!
Chips.
Potato Chips. Herr's Salt and Vinegar potato chips to be exact, the kind that at least two of my nieces called "juicy chips".
They were my father's favorite, and I believe only potato chip. White bag, made in the chip plant down on Seventh Street close to the Norfolk and Western line. When the nieces were younger, they would come up to their grandfather and ask, ever so politely, for some juicy chips, please... and their grandfather, ever a sucker for little kids, would allow them enough juicy chips to eat their fill.
Juicy chips became pretty much a tradition in our house. At one point I noted that I don't believe that I have ever seen a bag of juicy chips being thrown away when there were just crumbs in the bag. Yes, the crumbs were licked clean and every last gram of those chips would disappear before we even thought of disposing of the bag.
Now, we're in Dallas and except for one small incident, Herr's products don't make it down here. My supply of juicy chips has dried up. Frito Lay, based just around the corner in Plano, used to sell their version of salt and vinegar chips at our local Kroger... then they just dried up. Vanished, never to be seen again. Sure, it was a poor substitute for the Real McCoy, but at least a partial fix of somewhat juicy chips was better than none at all. Gotta be a local thing. Much to my surprise and, well, disgust, I found that Frito-Lay is still selling their salt and vinegar chips in Ohio!!! Those so and sos!!! Oh, and by the way, Frito-Lay makes and sells Cracker Jack... which cannot be purchased at a Ranger's game!!! Well!!
I did find a reasonable facsimile to the Herr's products at an out of the way grocery store in Oklahoma. Bought two bags, hoping to find someone who distributed that particular brand of juicy chips (Tom's) here in the metroplex. Neither bag survived the three hour drive back to Allen. I've taken juicy chips from Ohio to Texas on several of the trips I've made there - One bag actually made it back to the land of J.R. Ewing intact, and made it a week before temptation took hold and the chips contained therein were ravenously consumed by my children, Warren, and the lovely Miss Carol. Egad!
Chips are items which do not transport quite so easily over state lines (or at least over the Mississippi) as do other products. Our store manager, originally from New Jersey, will from time to time bring in the remainder of a bag of Wise potato chips - tantilizing the potato chip snobs among us with just the right amount of greasiness and saltiness without all of that nasty "old chip flavour" found in some ordinary chips. About two years ago, the vending machine in the break room offered Herr's (!!) Ketchup flavoured chips for a short amount of time. Oh, the closeness to nirvana!
Chips aren't the only regional food item which we tend to find, then hoard back to our home bases. Texas' Blue Bell Ice Cream, Dr. Pepper made with real cane sugar bottled in Dublin, genuine Texas chili, and those little Mexican candies with the peppers inside have been coveted. We have some beer, too, which is pretty darn good. I particularly enjoy St. Arnold's from Houston, and Real Ale from Blanco (just across from the county court house). We have also savored pepperoni rolls made at Bell's grocery store on the north side of Fairmont, West Virginia (next to the Revco where Mary Lou Retton's family used to shop), sandwiches from Rhoda's in Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill area, Stoney's beer from Maryland (at least that's where I purchased the last six pack that I had), and deviled Smithfield ham which could at one time be found only in Virginia.
Some of our favourite eating places are sought out, too. We made the mistake of introducing Warren to the reuben sandwich served at the Cross Keys Tavern last summer. Said it was the best he's ever had. Stuart and Sarah both are eager fans of Bob Evans (closest being about a six hour drive away in Missouri). Steak and Shake has finally made it to the Metroplex, but one still cannot get a genuine "slider" from a White Castle. A West Coast chain of hamburger places called In and Out has a veritable legion of fans here, at least judging from the number of In and Out T-shirts seen, despite being no closer than somewhere in Arizona.
Well, with that being said, I'm starting to get hungry. With a goal of losing or at least not gaining any additional poundage this Christmas season, perhaps it's a good thing that I'm out of Herr's market patch and polishing off a bag or two a week of one of my favourite indulgences.
On the other hand, Santa, if you would, please....
Be Seeing You!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Merry Christmas... Or Else!
Well, it's that time of year again. The days are getting shorter, the weather is getting colder and the hot heads are starting to make noise again about how we're supposed to greet each other between now and the end of this month. We can't just say hello, or hi, how the heck are you. We are required to say Merry Christmas. This is not a suggestion according to some. It is a requirement. "We were founded as a Christian nation!", it's asserted, the underlying theme being that since Christmas is a Christian Holiday and we are a Christian nation, we should force Christmas on everyone.
If some people weren't so blasted pig-headed about forcing people to say "Merry Christmas", this whole thing would be amusing... sort of like the bit from Hogan's Heroes:
(Phone rings - Yours truely answers the phone bouncily)
Me: Lowe's Flooring Department, Bruce speaking, how may I help you?
(I listen to the phone for a moment, the expression on my face falling from bouncy to annoyed)
Me: Yes, yes, of course, Merry Christmas...
It can't be Happy Holidays - despite the fact that several holidays from several traditions are also celebrated at the time of the Winter Solstice. Print Merry X-mas and prepare to be lambasted - despite the fact that X has been accepted short-hand for Christ since before the Crusades. It has to be Merry Christmas... or else!
"We need to quit being so politically correct", or so is said, "We need to put Christ into and keep Christ in Christmas!". Mmmmmkay... What I'm hearing is that we should quit being politically correct and start saying what we are being told to say, so that we can be properly politically correct.
Excuse me?
This makes as much sense as a group of people at a Sarah Palin book signing.
Who appointed these people to be "Thought Police" anyway? Seriously.
Here we are, approaching the Winter Solstice, a time marked by most major religions and many non-religious people and a few self-appointed hot-heads are getting their panties in a wad if we don't say Merry Christmas. If we don't say it, we're not paying tribute to their own particular set of beliefs which are the only accepted set of beliefs we should have!
If the scenario sounds familiar, it should. Many of the problems we have in the Middle East are due, in large part, to religious fanatics forcing their views down others' throats. Forcing their views of Islam to be the only proper view of Islam and death to anyone who thinks otherwise! "If you don't think how I think you should think, you are an infidel. You'll burn in hell!"
Quite honestly, I'm offended by people who feel as if I should take a loyalty oath (of sorts) to prove that I am a Christian. Or for that matter, I am offended that there are those who insist that my view of Christianity is wrong because it does not fully agree with their view of Christianity. I see that attitude as being an impediment to being a Christian. My view is rather handily summed up by Dave Burchett, a friend from High School, who wrote this really good book titled "When Bad Christians Happen to Good People" (Available at least from Amazon.com). You're welcome for the plug, Dave!
Merry Christmas? Yes. I haven't quit saying it, but there are other greetings I use for other people of other faiths. For my atheist friends, it's merely "Good Luck!". Then there's my all-time favourite"
HAPPY HOLLANDAISE! (Let's get sauced)
Be Seeing You!
If some people weren't so blasted pig-headed about forcing people to say "Merry Christmas", this whole thing would be amusing... sort of like the bit from Hogan's Heroes:
(Phone rings - Yours truely answers the phone bouncily)
Me: Lowe's Flooring Department, Bruce speaking, how may I help you?
(I listen to the phone for a moment, the expression on my face falling from bouncy to annoyed)
Me: Yes, yes, of course, Merry Christmas...
It can't be Happy Holidays - despite the fact that several holidays from several traditions are also celebrated at the time of the Winter Solstice. Print Merry X-mas and prepare to be lambasted - despite the fact that X has been accepted short-hand for Christ since before the Crusades. It has to be Merry Christmas... or else!
"We need to quit being so politically correct", or so is said, "We need to put Christ into and keep Christ in Christmas!". Mmmmmkay... What I'm hearing is that we should quit being politically correct and start saying what we are being told to say, so that we can be properly politically correct.
Excuse me?
This makes as much sense as a group of people at a Sarah Palin book signing.
Who appointed these people to be "Thought Police" anyway? Seriously.
Here we are, approaching the Winter Solstice, a time marked by most major religions and many non-religious people and a few self-appointed hot-heads are getting their panties in a wad if we don't say Merry Christmas. If we don't say it, we're not paying tribute to their own particular set of beliefs which are the only accepted set of beliefs we should have!
If the scenario sounds familiar, it should. Many of the problems we have in the Middle East are due, in large part, to religious fanatics forcing their views down others' throats. Forcing their views of Islam to be the only proper view of Islam and death to anyone who thinks otherwise! "If you don't think how I think you should think, you are an infidel. You'll burn in hell!"
Quite honestly, I'm offended by people who feel as if I should take a loyalty oath (of sorts) to prove that I am a Christian. Or for that matter, I am offended that there are those who insist that my view of Christianity is wrong because it does not fully agree with their view of Christianity. I see that attitude as being an impediment to being a Christian. My view is rather handily summed up by Dave Burchett, a friend from High School, who wrote this really good book titled "When Bad Christians Happen to Good People" (Available at least from Amazon.com). You're welcome for the plug, Dave!
Merry Christmas? Yes. I haven't quit saying it, but there are other greetings I use for other people of other faiths. For my atheist friends, it's merely "Good Luck!". Then there's my all-time favourite"
HAPPY HOLLANDAISE! (Let's get sauced)
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Cops
We have a drunk in our workplace and today, that drunk was causing a problem. The kid's a drunk. Not an alcoholic, a drunk. (Alcoholics have to attend those damn meetings!)
Just after I broke for lunch, our drunk came in babbling something over and over again. I don't recall what it was that he was babbling. I tuned it out as I had done so many times before. Habit, you know. People came, people went. My lunch disappeared while I was reading an article about Dallas' bicycle coordinator. At some point, I became aware that there was a discussion brewing between our drunk and another kid about the Allen Police Department.
Part of the discussion revolved around how unfair these kids felt that our Police Department was to other people of their age group and how they felt about being "picked on". Our drunk then decided to announce to the room that "all cops should be shot".
And he kept repeating his announcement.
Not once, not twice, but three times he was asked not to repeat his announcement by another of my co-workers and that co-worker was roundly ignored. That co-worker finally had enough, told the drunk off, dropped the F-bomb and stormed out.
After that worker left, it was revealed that that worker's father is a policeman. Not only were the drunk's comments rudely disrespectful in general, but apparently he was aware of the other employee's father's occupation. He had made his comment personal. He was strictly out of line and deserved to be sacked right then and there.
When I came home from work and cruised the news on the internet, the comments from earlier in the day became even more inappropriate. Apparently four policemen were killed in an ambush in a Parkland, Washington coffee shop at some point in the day.
I've known more than a few cops in my time. "Ray", who lived four doors down from us in suburban Cleveland was a young cop with a small neighborhood following. He and his partner were on patrol one night in the rough part of Cleveland when a bullet came crashing through the windshield, killing Ray's partner. I'm not sure whether or not he returned to work, being too young to fully understand what might have gone through Ray's mind at the time. Hadn't thought of Ray for over 40 years... closer to 45, I guess. There were more than a few policemen who went to Ohio University-Chillicothe's law enforcement technology program, and more than a few with whom I had as friends. I remember being pulled over into parking lots at least a couple of times by these cops... just taking a moment or two out of their days on patrol to politeley harass me and exchange a joke or two. There was "Marvin", who more often than not would wave back at me when I waved back at him while he was on a traffic stop. "Doug", who followed in his father's footsteps as a respected member of the local city police. And there was "Mike", a Sheriff's deputy who became crippled by an accidental fall in his own home. Mike at last check is still a deputy, as a dispatcher.
One of the radio stations I worked for had a side door facing the Pike County Sheriff's department. There was a period of time when I had to "bend" the speed limit along a section of the Appalachian Highway in order to make it to work in Waverly, Ohio after a day's worth of classes in Athens. One evening, one of the deputies from the Pike County Sheriff's office came over, smiled at me and said "We clocked you at 85 on your way in this afternoon. Better watch yourself, the State Patrol plans to be in the area next week..." Both of us had a good laugh, I got the message and slowed down, and one policeman proved that gentle persuasion can usually beat strong-arm tactics.
I have every respect for those who keep the rule of law. They're just like us in many ways, but vulnerable in ways that most of us don't realize... and when one is hurt or killed, we are all hurt in one way or another.
An inconsiderant drunk mouthed off this afternoon. His remarks were unkind at the least, hateful at worst. To a degree I am a bit ashamed for not paying attention to what was going on around me and addressing that worm in a way that he needed to be addressed. He was later called on the carpet in the store manager's office... hopefully given what-for. If that young man is still working next weekend, he has been shown much more mercy than he deserves.
Be Seeing You!
Just after I broke for lunch, our drunk came in babbling something over and over again. I don't recall what it was that he was babbling. I tuned it out as I had done so many times before. Habit, you know. People came, people went. My lunch disappeared while I was reading an article about Dallas' bicycle coordinator. At some point, I became aware that there was a discussion brewing between our drunk and another kid about the Allen Police Department.
Part of the discussion revolved around how unfair these kids felt that our Police Department was to other people of their age group and how they felt about being "picked on". Our drunk then decided to announce to the room that "all cops should be shot".
And he kept repeating his announcement.
Not once, not twice, but three times he was asked not to repeat his announcement by another of my co-workers and that co-worker was roundly ignored. That co-worker finally had enough, told the drunk off, dropped the F-bomb and stormed out.
After that worker left, it was revealed that that worker's father is a policeman. Not only were the drunk's comments rudely disrespectful in general, but apparently he was aware of the other employee's father's occupation. He had made his comment personal. He was strictly out of line and deserved to be sacked right then and there.
When I came home from work and cruised the news on the internet, the comments from earlier in the day became even more inappropriate. Apparently four policemen were killed in an ambush in a Parkland, Washington coffee shop at some point in the day.
I've known more than a few cops in my time. "Ray", who lived four doors down from us in suburban Cleveland was a young cop with a small neighborhood following. He and his partner were on patrol one night in the rough part of Cleveland when a bullet came crashing through the windshield, killing Ray's partner. I'm not sure whether or not he returned to work, being too young to fully understand what might have gone through Ray's mind at the time. Hadn't thought of Ray for over 40 years... closer to 45, I guess. There were more than a few policemen who went to Ohio University-Chillicothe's law enforcement technology program, and more than a few with whom I had as friends. I remember being pulled over into parking lots at least a couple of times by these cops... just taking a moment or two out of their days on patrol to politeley harass me and exchange a joke or two. There was "Marvin", who more often than not would wave back at me when I waved back at him while he was on a traffic stop. "Doug", who followed in his father's footsteps as a respected member of the local city police. And there was "Mike", a Sheriff's deputy who became crippled by an accidental fall in his own home. Mike at last check is still a deputy, as a dispatcher.
One of the radio stations I worked for had a side door facing the Pike County Sheriff's department. There was a period of time when I had to "bend" the speed limit along a section of the Appalachian Highway in order to make it to work in Waverly, Ohio after a day's worth of classes in Athens. One evening, one of the deputies from the Pike County Sheriff's office came over, smiled at me and said "We clocked you at 85 on your way in this afternoon. Better watch yourself, the State Patrol plans to be in the area next week..." Both of us had a good laugh, I got the message and slowed down, and one policeman proved that gentle persuasion can usually beat strong-arm tactics.
I have every respect for those who keep the rule of law. They're just like us in many ways, but vulnerable in ways that most of us don't realize... and when one is hurt or killed, we are all hurt in one way or another.
An inconsiderant drunk mouthed off this afternoon. His remarks were unkind at the least, hateful at worst. To a degree I am a bit ashamed for not paying attention to what was going on around me and addressing that worm in a way that he needed to be addressed. He was later called on the carpet in the store manager's office... hopefully given what-for. If that young man is still working next weekend, he has been shown much more mercy than he deserves.
Be Seeing You!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Nightcap - Old style
Well, Black Friday is over. We didn't fare too badly, the Christmas music wasn't too intrusive and not one note of certain Christmas songs were heard.
The lovely Miss Carol and I capped off our Black Friday by running up to McKinney for their Dickens of a Christmas celebration. It was nice, but not entirely Dickensian. The live band with their drum sets and electric guitars sort of gave it away. For that matter, so did the booths around the old-old Courthouse selling fried you name it.
On the other hand, maybe the old boy would be entranced by the fact that one can buy a heart attack on a stick.
Yes, there were people dressed like characters out of "A Christmas Carol", but that was about it as far as I was able to see. To be fair, though, we arrived after dark. Perhaps there were more than just the handful of people dressed in the appropriate manner. One shopkeeper dressed at least semi-appropriately had a nametag declaring himself to be "Scrooge". A woman in the same establishment was labeled "Marley".
Downtown McKinney is a melange of antique shops, specialty shops, restraunts, art galleries and lawyer's offices. Until little over a year ago they had an honest-to-God pharmacy which at one point compounded their own medicines. We enjoyed cruising through a few of the shops (or, if you prefer, shoppes), some old friends, a couple of them quite new, indeed. The new Salza shop was particularly interesting. We found a great variety of salzas, jams, jellies and other things to spice up one'e life. I was particularly interested in the pies in a jar. Someone had the bright idea to package all of the ingredients of a pie into a jar. All one needed to do was to fill a pie crust with the contents of the jar and presto! Almost instant pie.
Pie in a jar still doesn't have the panache of the home-made pecan pie made by the lovely Miss Carol using pecans from our own back yard.
We avoided the specialty popcorn and candy store. Too many calories the day after Thanksgiving for one thing, and the statue holding the sign for that particular store seemed a little bit too realistic in the bust. In other words, it wasn't Dickensian enough.
We tarried here and there against an 8pm closing time, entering one of our favorite antique shops just as the proprietress was announcing (without the benefit of a public address system) that her shop would be closing in 20 minutes. We did a quick twirl of the premesis soaking up 15 of those 20 minutes, then left to head back home.
All in all it was a nice evening. A "date" if you will to a familiar place pretending to be a piece of Merry Olde England roughly 150 years ago... complete with electric lights, electric guitars and a parking problem about 2 blocks over. Will I go again? Certainly. Someone in McKinney has done something right. Downtown McKinney is vibrant and alive like downtown anywhere should be. And this is despite at least 2 Walley Worlds, a Sam's Club, Lowe's, Home Depot and every other big box option you've ever laid eyes on within a 10-15 minute drive. Certainly the ideal of free enterprise is alive and living and here's the proof.
Neither of us went to the Dickens-themed event with any "Great Expectations" that we would be recipients of visits from spirits of Christmas past, present and future, but we were quite pleased with the fare offered, indeed.
Just a little bit more, please?
Be Seeing You!
The lovely Miss Carol and I capped off our Black Friday by running up to McKinney for their Dickens of a Christmas celebration. It was nice, but not entirely Dickensian. The live band with their drum sets and electric guitars sort of gave it away. For that matter, so did the booths around the old-old Courthouse selling fried you name it.
On the other hand, maybe the old boy would be entranced by the fact that one can buy a heart attack on a stick.
Yes, there were people dressed like characters out of "A Christmas Carol", but that was about it as far as I was able to see. To be fair, though, we arrived after dark. Perhaps there were more than just the handful of people dressed in the appropriate manner. One shopkeeper dressed at least semi-appropriately had a nametag declaring himself to be "Scrooge". A woman in the same establishment was labeled "Marley".
Downtown McKinney is a melange of antique shops, specialty shops, restraunts, art galleries and lawyer's offices. Until little over a year ago they had an honest-to-God pharmacy which at one point compounded their own medicines. We enjoyed cruising through a few of the shops (or, if you prefer, shoppes), some old friends, a couple of them quite new, indeed. The new Salza shop was particularly interesting. We found a great variety of salzas, jams, jellies and other things to spice up one'e life. I was particularly interested in the pies in a jar. Someone had the bright idea to package all of the ingredients of a pie into a jar. All one needed to do was to fill a pie crust with the contents of the jar and presto! Almost instant pie.
Pie in a jar still doesn't have the panache of the home-made pecan pie made by the lovely Miss Carol using pecans from our own back yard.
We avoided the specialty popcorn and candy store. Too many calories the day after Thanksgiving for one thing, and the statue holding the sign for that particular store seemed a little bit too realistic in the bust. In other words, it wasn't Dickensian enough.
We tarried here and there against an 8pm closing time, entering one of our favorite antique shops just as the proprietress was announcing (without the benefit of a public address system) that her shop would be closing in 20 minutes. We did a quick twirl of the premesis soaking up 15 of those 20 minutes, then left to head back home.
All in all it was a nice evening. A "date" if you will to a familiar place pretending to be a piece of Merry Olde England roughly 150 years ago... complete with electric lights, electric guitars and a parking problem about 2 blocks over. Will I go again? Certainly. Someone in McKinney has done something right. Downtown McKinney is vibrant and alive like downtown anywhere should be. And this is despite at least 2 Walley Worlds, a Sam's Club, Lowe's, Home Depot and every other big box option you've ever laid eyes on within a 10-15 minute drive. Certainly the ideal of free enterprise is alive and living and here's the proof.
Neither of us went to the Dickens-themed event with any "Great Expectations" that we would be recipients of visits from spirits of Christmas past, present and future, but we were quite pleased with the fare offered, indeed.
Just a little bit more, please?
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Twenty Eight Days
It's Thanksgiving.
That means that Christmas music starts tomorrow.
Run! Hide! Save the Children... or not.
I've had sort of a love/hate relationship with Christmas music for most of my adult life. Having been on the radio tends to do that. Every Christmas brings out at least one really bad Christmas song for every couple of dozen good Christmas songs.
There are the obvious bad Christmas songs -"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" immediately pops into mind, as does the song about something being stuck in the chimney (presumably, old Kris Kringle). And there are the not so obvious, like the dueling Lennon and McCartney tunes "Happy Christmas (War is Over)"(Lennon) and "Wonderful Christmastime" (Paul McCartney's overly cheery little Christmas ditty). Both are good to hear every Christmas season. Once, twice, three times, tops! After that, I tend to cringe.
Amazingly enough, most pop stars seem to do quite well with Christmas songs. Sort of like they have to live up to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" (a favourite). Sting's version of "The Angel Gabriel" sends shivers up my spine every time I hear it. The Beach Boys' "Little Saint Nick" pops into mind, as does the Bruce Springsteen version of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" as lovable Christmas tunes.
Christmas performances by the Trans Siberian Orchestra and Chip Davis are usually in the cards as well. Oh, I'm sorry. Chip Davis is better known as C.W. McCall or Mannheim Steamroller depending on your familiarity with his work.
And as far as I am concerned, Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas without Spike Jones' "All I Want for Christmas..." and "Weird" Al Yankovic's "Christmas at Ground Zero", a favourite of mine, a favourite of my children and hated by the previous regime.
Most of all, I am looking forward to just one Christmas song, sung at Church at midnight on Christmas. "Silent Night". The rest of the noise is just that to me from time to time in this coming month. It's a summation and a blessing rolled into one.
Twenty eight days left...
That means that Christmas music starts tomorrow.
Run! Hide! Save the Children... or not.
I've had sort of a love/hate relationship with Christmas music for most of my adult life. Having been on the radio tends to do that. Every Christmas brings out at least one really bad Christmas song for every couple of dozen good Christmas songs.
There are the obvious bad Christmas songs -"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" immediately pops into mind, as does the song about something being stuck in the chimney (presumably, old Kris Kringle). And there are the not so obvious, like the dueling Lennon and McCartney tunes "Happy Christmas (War is Over)"(Lennon) and "Wonderful Christmastime" (Paul McCartney's overly cheery little Christmas ditty). Both are good to hear every Christmas season. Once, twice, three times, tops! After that, I tend to cringe.
Amazingly enough, most pop stars seem to do quite well with Christmas songs. Sort of like they have to live up to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" (a favourite). Sting's version of "The Angel Gabriel" sends shivers up my spine every time I hear it. The Beach Boys' "Little Saint Nick" pops into mind, as does the Bruce Springsteen version of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" as lovable Christmas tunes.
Christmas performances by the Trans Siberian Orchestra and Chip Davis are usually in the cards as well. Oh, I'm sorry. Chip Davis is better known as C.W. McCall or Mannheim Steamroller depending on your familiarity with his work.
And as far as I am concerned, Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas without Spike Jones' "All I Want for Christmas..." and "Weird" Al Yankovic's "Christmas at Ground Zero", a favourite of mine, a favourite of my children and hated by the previous regime.
Most of all, I am looking forward to just one Christmas song, sung at Church at midnight on Christmas. "Silent Night". The rest of the noise is just that to me from time to time in this coming month. It's a summation and a blessing rolled into one.
Twenty eight days left...
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The problem on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator
The turkey is in the refrigerator thawing, most of the other food is staged and we're less than 48 hours away from the big event.
So what do we eat in the meantime?
I'm serious. We have been so involved with getting ready for the big day that we have almost forgotten that we need to eat other things on the first three days of the week.
Breakfast sort of takes care of itself in this house. The step-son usually doesn't like to eat it unless he's on his way to school, then it's either Pop Tarts or Apple Jacks. He's off this week, so it's neither. He'll munch on some chips, perhaps steal a brownie (we always have brownies) or down a Dr. Pepper, but that's about it until lunch... that is, if he deems it necessary to eat lunch. The lovely Miss Carol and I always do some sort of breakfast-she'll eat something involving oats (Cheerios or Oatmeal), I take after my father and will opt for just about anything including the occasional leftover.
Lunch is catch as catch can. I have it on good authority that Warren regularly eats chicken sandwiches at school. Carol varies, depending on where she is and whether or not she plans ahead. I plan to eat lunch, again with leftovers packed the night before, or with a sandwich. Ham and swiss or peanut butter are the best. One of my co-workers noted that I would eat peanut butter sandwiches and a bag of microwave popcorn on a really regular basis (along with a good sized bottle of iced tea and a brownie) and started to comment on it every time I showed up for lunch with peanut butter and popcorn. I finally started to announce to Bill (that was his name, Bill) that I had peanut butter and popcorn every time I showed up with peanut butter and popcorn. Wonder what his reaction would have been had I showed up eating Nutella or Vegemite?
That leaves dinner.
I usually mix things up for dinners, usually keeping several choices on hand. Beef is seldom. Can't handle it as well as I used to. Pork, chicken, both good. But this week, chicken is being avoided due to the anticipated Turkey. Had chicken stir-fry earlier in the week and I was able to put aside two servings for lunch (having one tomorrow). Last night, I broke down and took people to Arbys as the lovely Miss Carol had said that a Rueben would be good earlier in the week and Warren just devours the things. (Took Warren with us to Chillicothe last Summer and went down to the Cross Keys Tavern for their Rueben... it wasn't until three days later that he finally admitted that it was the best one he's ever had!) Tuesday, huevos rancheros...and that leaves Wednesday. I have no idea what to do for supper on Wednesday except for maybe a frozen pizza.
This is really the worst time of the year for figuring out the dinner menu... just these three days before Thanksgiving. No problem for the week following... just follow that bird!
And the cows heave a sigh of relief.
Be Seeing You!
So what do we eat in the meantime?
I'm serious. We have been so involved with getting ready for the big day that we have almost forgotten that we need to eat other things on the first three days of the week.
Breakfast sort of takes care of itself in this house. The step-son usually doesn't like to eat it unless he's on his way to school, then it's either Pop Tarts or Apple Jacks. He's off this week, so it's neither. He'll munch on some chips, perhaps steal a brownie (we always have brownies) or down a Dr. Pepper, but that's about it until lunch... that is, if he deems it necessary to eat lunch. The lovely Miss Carol and I always do some sort of breakfast-she'll eat something involving oats (Cheerios or Oatmeal), I take after my father and will opt for just about anything including the occasional leftover.
Lunch is catch as catch can. I have it on good authority that Warren regularly eats chicken sandwiches at school. Carol varies, depending on where she is and whether or not she plans ahead. I plan to eat lunch, again with leftovers packed the night before, or with a sandwich. Ham and swiss or peanut butter are the best. One of my co-workers noted that I would eat peanut butter sandwiches and a bag of microwave popcorn on a really regular basis (along with a good sized bottle of iced tea and a brownie) and started to comment on it every time I showed up for lunch with peanut butter and popcorn. I finally started to announce to Bill (that was his name, Bill) that I had peanut butter and popcorn every time I showed up with peanut butter and popcorn. Wonder what his reaction would have been had I showed up eating Nutella or Vegemite?
That leaves dinner.
I usually mix things up for dinners, usually keeping several choices on hand. Beef is seldom. Can't handle it as well as I used to. Pork, chicken, both good. But this week, chicken is being avoided due to the anticipated Turkey. Had chicken stir-fry earlier in the week and I was able to put aside two servings for lunch (having one tomorrow). Last night, I broke down and took people to Arbys as the lovely Miss Carol had said that a Rueben would be good earlier in the week and Warren just devours the things. (Took Warren with us to Chillicothe last Summer and went down to the Cross Keys Tavern for their Rueben... it wasn't until three days later that he finally admitted that it was the best one he's ever had!) Tuesday, huevos rancheros...and that leaves Wednesday. I have no idea what to do for supper on Wednesday except for maybe a frozen pizza.
This is really the worst time of the year for figuring out the dinner menu... just these three days before Thanksgiving. No problem for the week following... just follow that bird!
And the cows heave a sigh of relief.
Be Seeing You!
Monday, November 23, 2009
If I only had the....
I heard this story about Winston Churchill:
At some point between the wars, someone approached Mr. Churchill (this is before he became Lord Churchill) and informed the future Prime Minister that his son had joined the Communist Party.
Churchill told the man that if his son had not joined the Communist Party at that point in his life, he would have no heart. Churchill then pointed out that if his son still belonged to the Communist Party when he had reached the age of 30, he would have no brain.
To a degree, there is a certain shift of attitude all of us have politically as we get older. Certainly we have seen this happen to some degree in the past 30-40 years. It seems as if some of the old "hippies" have sold out and have become part of "the system".
Admittedly, I have shifted some of my own ideas in the past couple of decades. At this point I am puzzled as to how Texas Republicans/conservatives are able to justify their own opposing viewpoints within their political dogma.
For instance, I wonder how conservatives who holler about reducing the size, reach and scope of government (to the point of having a blue stinking fit about such things) can rationalize neighborhood associations. Move into many subdivisions here in the DFW area and one of the first things you are asked to do - nay - required to do is to join the neighborhood association. You pay dues (taxes) for the privelege of having someone troll around to see you if you have broken one of the many rules (laws) imposed by the association. If you are in violation of one of the rules (at times capricious), you can be fined, or even have your house taken away from you. Some poor schmuck in a neighboring community found himself about to kicked out of his neighborhood last Spring for having the gall to park his relatively new Ford F-150 pickemup truck in his driveway! Honest! The neighborhood associations have that much power. All it boils down to is another level of government, more taxes and less freedom. The Republican (conservative) legislature and the Republican Governor have had ample opportunity to shut this practice down, but instead, whine about Washington and make noises about seceding from the Union.
While the secession talk was being bantered about this round, our Governor was soundly rejecting funds allocated this past Summer for jobs creation. Then, while no one was looking, he applied for a Grant to help build the burned out Governor's Mansion.
I can point to any number of policies which cause me to puzzle my puzzler, including support of Capital Punishment while guarding the sanctity of life by attempting to ban abortion, which would in turn drive that barbaric practice underground causing further problems which would require more policing. Want an example of what happens when a nasty activity goes underground? Try the Volstead Act, or look at what's happening just south of our border in Mexico. (Not to suggest that an abortion ban would cause machine gun fights, but the criminal element would become involved none the less.)
Which brings me to health care. Common sense tells me that if a wage earner is healthy, that wage earner will be happy and productive and would be putting tax money in the public pot to pay for things like schools, libraries and wars. Were I an employer, a conservative employer, I would want the people working for me to be happy and productive. To be happy and productive, I would insist on preventative care for my drones. I would know that if my drones work until they are no longer able to do so due to an urgent health situation which could have been prevented in the first place, it would cost me much more in lost productivity - and the drones would not be putting as much tax money into the public pot to pay for things like schools, libraries and wars.
Mind you, we are already paying through the nose for health care in the form of increasing fees and insurance premiums for those of us who are fortunate enough to have insurance. The increasing fees and insurance premiums are partly because the aforementioned drones descend on our hospital emergency rooms needing immediate care for ailments which could have been treated for much less $$$ had they had access to preventative care in the first place. We could be saving billions without Doctors losing their lifestyles if only there were affordable preventable health care available to everyone. Call it Communism, call it Socialism, call it whatever you like, but all in all, a true Capitalist would see a health care overhaul (including a public option) as a boon to his business and to this country.
At least that's the way I see it. A bit simplistic, perhaps, but it would make sense. And that's what being a conservative is about. Making sense. At least that's the way I think being a conservative is about. Maybe, instead, I should label myself as having become pragmatic at this stage in my life. Yeah. That's the ticket! Pragmatic. Not so much of a political view as it is an outlook on life. I have the brains to know that a little invested now will pay dividends down the road, and the heart to be able to know that this expense will show that we have the capacity to demonstrate a vast amount of compassion to drones looking for a better life.
Well, time to get off of my soap box. Guess I'm going to be branded a lllllliiiiibbbberrrrallll by some. So be it. At least I know that I still have both the brain.... and the heart. (Already have the nerve!)
Be Seeing You!
At some point between the wars, someone approached Mr. Churchill (this is before he became Lord Churchill) and informed the future Prime Minister that his son had joined the Communist Party.
Churchill told the man that if his son had not joined the Communist Party at that point in his life, he would have no heart. Churchill then pointed out that if his son still belonged to the Communist Party when he had reached the age of 30, he would have no brain.
To a degree, there is a certain shift of attitude all of us have politically as we get older. Certainly we have seen this happen to some degree in the past 30-40 years. It seems as if some of the old "hippies" have sold out and have become part of "the system".
Admittedly, I have shifted some of my own ideas in the past couple of decades. At this point I am puzzled as to how Texas Republicans/conservatives are able to justify their own opposing viewpoints within their political dogma.
For instance, I wonder how conservatives who holler about reducing the size, reach and scope of government (to the point of having a blue stinking fit about such things) can rationalize neighborhood associations. Move into many subdivisions here in the DFW area and one of the first things you are asked to do - nay - required to do is to join the neighborhood association. You pay dues (taxes) for the privelege of having someone troll around to see you if you have broken one of the many rules (laws) imposed by the association. If you are in violation of one of the rules (at times capricious), you can be fined, or even have your house taken away from you. Some poor schmuck in a neighboring community found himself about to kicked out of his neighborhood last Spring for having the gall to park his relatively new Ford F-150 pickemup truck in his driveway! Honest! The neighborhood associations have that much power. All it boils down to is another level of government, more taxes and less freedom. The Republican (conservative) legislature and the Republican Governor have had ample opportunity to shut this practice down, but instead, whine about Washington and make noises about seceding from the Union.
While the secession talk was being bantered about this round, our Governor was soundly rejecting funds allocated this past Summer for jobs creation. Then, while no one was looking, he applied for a Grant to help build the burned out Governor's Mansion.
I can point to any number of policies which cause me to puzzle my puzzler, including support of Capital Punishment while guarding the sanctity of life by attempting to ban abortion, which would in turn drive that barbaric practice underground causing further problems which would require more policing. Want an example of what happens when a nasty activity goes underground? Try the Volstead Act, or look at what's happening just south of our border in Mexico. (Not to suggest that an abortion ban would cause machine gun fights, but the criminal element would become involved none the less.)
Which brings me to health care. Common sense tells me that if a wage earner is healthy, that wage earner will be happy and productive and would be putting tax money in the public pot to pay for things like schools, libraries and wars. Were I an employer, a conservative employer, I would want the people working for me to be happy and productive. To be happy and productive, I would insist on preventative care for my drones. I would know that if my drones work until they are no longer able to do so due to an urgent health situation which could have been prevented in the first place, it would cost me much more in lost productivity - and the drones would not be putting as much tax money into the public pot to pay for things like schools, libraries and wars.
Mind you, we are already paying through the nose for health care in the form of increasing fees and insurance premiums for those of us who are fortunate enough to have insurance. The increasing fees and insurance premiums are partly because the aforementioned drones descend on our hospital emergency rooms needing immediate care for ailments which could have been treated for much less $$$ had they had access to preventative care in the first place. We could be saving billions without Doctors losing their lifestyles if only there were affordable preventable health care available to everyone. Call it Communism, call it Socialism, call it whatever you like, but all in all, a true Capitalist would see a health care overhaul (including a public option) as a boon to his business and to this country.
At least that's the way I see it. A bit simplistic, perhaps, but it would make sense. And that's what being a conservative is about. Making sense. At least that's the way I think being a conservative is about. Maybe, instead, I should label myself as having become pragmatic at this stage in my life. Yeah. That's the ticket! Pragmatic. Not so much of a political view as it is an outlook on life. I have the brains to know that a little invested now will pay dividends down the road, and the heart to be able to know that this expense will show that we have the capacity to demonstrate a vast amount of compassion to drones looking for a better life.
Well, time to get off of my soap box. Guess I'm going to be branded a lllllliiiiibbbberrrrallll by some. So be it. At least I know that I still have both the brain.... and the heart. (Already have the nerve!)
Be Seeing You!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Red Heads
There are times when I don't like to open my newspaper because someone, somewhere has done something stupid. (I was going to add "...that makes no sense", but if it made sense it wouldn't be stupid, now would it?) This morning I read about a kid being assulted at school for the crime of being a red-head. To be precise, he was what has been called a "Ginger", with the provocation being some on-line dweeb who decided that there should be a "Kick a Ginger" day.
Speculation centered around an episode of "South Park" where Cartman gives a hate speech about "Gingers", then finds himself turned into a "Ginger" by the other boys in an effort to teach him a lesson.
"South Park" can be, and many times is an effective satire on the way we think and act. Cartman's hate speech and the ensuing story are uproariously funny in much the same way that the Mel Brooks film "Blazing Saddles" is uproariously funny. Both skewer racism in the way that racism needs to be skewered. Racism is downright stupid and racists generally need to be knocked down a peg or three. Or five or six.
This "Gingers" thing is mostly British, anyway. Apparently it's been done as a way to be critical of the Royal Family, with any unfortunate soul with red hair and light complexion ending up as a secondary victim. I've known a few red-heads in my time and honestly, I fail to see what the fuss is about.
My first kiss was courtesy of a red-headed girl named Dorian Griswold. I've dated a few red-heads in my time and as I am writing this, my favourite red-head, the lovely Miss Carol, is puttering about in the back yard gathering pecans from our pecan tree. This morning, I gave a farewell to our red-headed Deacon, Janice Auch, and told her about a red-headed co-worker and friend who had just completed a "Walk to Emmaus" (Yes, that's you, Suzanne). One girl I dated in college was not only a red-head, but so was her father.
The red-heads in my life are not limited to those of the fairer gender. My favourite red-head, aside from my spouse, is my son, Stuart. When his hair gets to be the right length, Stuart is as red-headed as they come, without having the light complexion of a "Ginger". In "South Park" terms, that makes him a "Daywalker".
Bets that there are more than a few red-heads in your lives, too. They may not be carrot tops, but they are red-heads none the less. Truth be known, I'm a red-head. Yes, it appears black, but, it's really an extremely dark red. Honest.
So you see, I sort of take the persecution of my fellow red-heads rather seriously. We're a unique breed and I'm one of them... with the exception of that little shock of gray sneaking up on my temple!
Be Seeing You!
Speculation centered around an episode of "South Park" where Cartman gives a hate speech about "Gingers", then finds himself turned into a "Ginger" by the other boys in an effort to teach him a lesson.
"South Park" can be, and many times is an effective satire on the way we think and act. Cartman's hate speech and the ensuing story are uproariously funny in much the same way that the Mel Brooks film "Blazing Saddles" is uproariously funny. Both skewer racism in the way that racism needs to be skewered. Racism is downright stupid and racists generally need to be knocked down a peg or three. Or five or six.
This "Gingers" thing is mostly British, anyway. Apparently it's been done as a way to be critical of the Royal Family, with any unfortunate soul with red hair and light complexion ending up as a secondary victim. I've known a few red-heads in my time and honestly, I fail to see what the fuss is about.
My first kiss was courtesy of a red-headed girl named Dorian Griswold. I've dated a few red-heads in my time and as I am writing this, my favourite red-head, the lovely Miss Carol, is puttering about in the back yard gathering pecans from our pecan tree. This morning, I gave a farewell to our red-headed Deacon, Janice Auch, and told her about a red-headed co-worker and friend who had just completed a "Walk to Emmaus" (Yes, that's you, Suzanne). One girl I dated in college was not only a red-head, but so was her father.
The red-heads in my life are not limited to those of the fairer gender. My favourite red-head, aside from my spouse, is my son, Stuart. When his hair gets to be the right length, Stuart is as red-headed as they come, without having the light complexion of a "Ginger". In "South Park" terms, that makes him a "Daywalker".
Bets that there are more than a few red-heads in your lives, too. They may not be carrot tops, but they are red-heads none the less. Truth be known, I'm a red-head. Yes, it appears black, but, it's really an extremely dark red. Honest.
So you see, I sort of take the persecution of my fellow red-heads rather seriously. We're a unique breed and I'm one of them... with the exception of that little shock of gray sneaking up on my temple!
Be Seeing You!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Hokey Smoke!
Well, it's official. Rocket J. Squirrel and Bullwinkle J. Moose are now eligible to join AARP.
The puntastic pair turned 50 last week. On the same day, Ford announced the end of the Edsel.
Sort of makes one think a bit.
I'm a fan.
Yes, of both. This time I'm going to concentrate on Moose and Squirrel.
My appreciation of Rocky and Bullwinkle goes far beyond just their serialized capers and the filler cartoons like the Fractured Fairy Tales and Aesop and Son. My appreciation extends to some of cartoonist Jay Ward's other creations, chief among them George of the Jungle.
Too, there was/is Cap'n Crunch. Jay Ward coming up with the character, Dawes Butler with the voice.
Jay Ward's minimalist cartoons worked on several levels as many good productions, live and otherwise, should. It was all in the puns and the wordplay. To this day, if I were to sit down in front of any random episode of the Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, I'd find myself tickled by some element which I had not seen or noticed previously.
What's even better was that two of Ward's creations were converted into live action movies. Pretty darn good live action movies at that.
Brendon Frazier's portrayal of George of the Jungle was almost perfect. He was just as clueless in live action as he was as a cartoon.
Then came the Rocky and Bullwinkle movie. I was not disappointed. Between the cameos (John Goodman, Whoopie Goldberg and Jonathan Winters just to start with) the mixture of live action and cartoon, over the top villains including Renee Russo and Robert DeNiro, and a sympathetic Karen Sympathy (played by Ohio University alumnus Piper Perabo), it was hard to stop laughing. I still pull out the DVD and play it as a guilty pleasure.
My crazy old red head knows and appreciates it... good thing 'cause she lives with me.
At any rate, 50 seems to be a good age for timeless characters like Moose and Squirrel.
Perhaps I should consider taking some continuing education at Whatzzamatta U.
Be Seeing You!
The puntastic pair turned 50 last week. On the same day, Ford announced the end of the Edsel.
Sort of makes one think a bit.
I'm a fan.
Yes, of both. This time I'm going to concentrate on Moose and Squirrel.
My appreciation of Rocky and Bullwinkle goes far beyond just their serialized capers and the filler cartoons like the Fractured Fairy Tales and Aesop and Son. My appreciation extends to some of cartoonist Jay Ward's other creations, chief among them George of the Jungle.
Too, there was/is Cap'n Crunch. Jay Ward coming up with the character, Dawes Butler with the voice.
Jay Ward's minimalist cartoons worked on several levels as many good productions, live and otherwise, should. It was all in the puns and the wordplay. To this day, if I were to sit down in front of any random episode of the Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, I'd find myself tickled by some element which I had not seen or noticed previously.
What's even better was that two of Ward's creations were converted into live action movies. Pretty darn good live action movies at that.
Brendon Frazier's portrayal of George of the Jungle was almost perfect. He was just as clueless in live action as he was as a cartoon.
Then came the Rocky and Bullwinkle movie. I was not disappointed. Between the cameos (John Goodman, Whoopie Goldberg and Jonathan Winters just to start with) the mixture of live action and cartoon, over the top villains including Renee Russo and Robert DeNiro, and a sympathetic Karen Sympathy (played by Ohio University alumnus Piper Perabo), it was hard to stop laughing. I still pull out the DVD and play it as a guilty pleasure.
My crazy old red head knows and appreciates it... good thing 'cause she lives with me.
At any rate, 50 seems to be a good age for timeless characters like Moose and Squirrel.
Perhaps I should consider taking some continuing education at Whatzzamatta U.
Be Seeing You!
Friday, November 20, 2009
Sinister Plots
Tomorrow marks the 46th anniversary of JFK's assasination on the streets of Dallas. It was all a sinister plot, you know... and on any given day, one can go to Dealy Plaza and, for a small contribution, be regaled by any number of conspiracy theorists presenting any number of conspiracy theories about what happened on that fateful day. Bring money.
One can visit the Sixth Floor Museum in the old Texas Schoolbox Depository building, take a tour, see the sniper's perch and be regaled with multimedia presentations lamenting the loss of so young a leader.
Or, one can go to another building which houses the Conspiracy Museum, where one can get one's own little tin-foil hat and be as paranoid as one wants. For a small donation.
I've thought of coming up with a series of radio vignettes as a run-up to the anniversary of the Kennedy assasination, something like 22 theories in 22 days. All tongue-in-cheek, you know. Problem being that there are too darn many people with too darn many conspiracy theories who take themselves too darn seriously to see the humor in there being too many people with too many conspiracy theories.
It was bad enough before, but these days, the internet is proving to be an extremely fertile petrie dish for growing conspiracy theories almost as fast as they can be developed... hopping from computer to computer just like the Swine Flu.
Wait a minute, isn't the Swine Flu a conspiracy?
What about our inability to fight the Swine Flu because of a "shortage" of vaccine?
Just this morning, I recieved (for the second time) a reminder that the criminal element were all supporters of Obama. After all, as proof, here's a gallery of criminals wearing Obama gear as their mug shots were taken. Never mind the fact that the usual height indicators were missing from the photos, they were wearing Obama gear!
There was a conspiracy to put Obama in the White House.
There was a conspiracy to make Sarah Palin look like a fool (hatched by none other than David Letterman, no less).
There was a conspiracy to spirit John McCain to North Vietnam just so that he could be a prisoner and run as a Manchurian Candidate in the '08 election (all part of the larger Obama plot, you know!).
Oh, how those sinister plots keep going on and on and on...
The best take on all of the conspiracies has been unfolding in the syndicated cartoon "Non Sequiter" in the past couple of days. Seems that the geeks have put the internet to some sinister use to enslave us and rule the world! Jolly good fun and worth following just for the laugh.
Or even better, there were the antics of Pinky and The Brain which included robots, giant clothes dryers, electric football games, Chia Earth, free T-shirts, a power-mad hamster named Snowball and an abandoned theme park in the middle of the jungle. It made just as much sense as the garbage being shoveled on us since November of 1963.
"It's time to go back to the lab to prepare for tomorrow night!"
"Why? What are we doing tomorrow night?"
"The same thing we do every night, Pinky... try and take over the world!!"
Be Seeing You!
One can visit the Sixth Floor Museum in the old Texas Schoolbox Depository building, take a tour, see the sniper's perch and be regaled with multimedia presentations lamenting the loss of so young a leader.
Or, one can go to another building which houses the Conspiracy Museum, where one can get one's own little tin-foil hat and be as paranoid as one wants. For a small donation.
I've thought of coming up with a series of radio vignettes as a run-up to the anniversary of the Kennedy assasination, something like 22 theories in 22 days. All tongue-in-cheek, you know. Problem being that there are too darn many people with too darn many conspiracy theories who take themselves too darn seriously to see the humor in there being too many people with too many conspiracy theories.
It was bad enough before, but these days, the internet is proving to be an extremely fertile petrie dish for growing conspiracy theories almost as fast as they can be developed... hopping from computer to computer just like the Swine Flu.
Wait a minute, isn't the Swine Flu a conspiracy?
What about our inability to fight the Swine Flu because of a "shortage" of vaccine?
Just this morning, I recieved (for the second time) a reminder that the criminal element were all supporters of Obama. After all, as proof, here's a gallery of criminals wearing Obama gear as their mug shots were taken. Never mind the fact that the usual height indicators were missing from the photos, they were wearing Obama gear!
There was a conspiracy to put Obama in the White House.
There was a conspiracy to make Sarah Palin look like a fool (hatched by none other than David Letterman, no less).
There was a conspiracy to spirit John McCain to North Vietnam just so that he could be a prisoner and run as a Manchurian Candidate in the '08 election (all part of the larger Obama plot, you know!).
Oh, how those sinister plots keep going on and on and on...
The best take on all of the conspiracies has been unfolding in the syndicated cartoon "Non Sequiter" in the past couple of days. Seems that the geeks have put the internet to some sinister use to enslave us and rule the world! Jolly good fun and worth following just for the laugh.
Or even better, there were the antics of Pinky and The Brain which included robots, giant clothes dryers, electric football games, Chia Earth, free T-shirts, a power-mad hamster named Snowball and an abandoned theme park in the middle of the jungle. It made just as much sense as the garbage being shoveled on us since November of 1963.
"It's time to go back to the lab to prepare for tomorrow night!"
"Why? What are we doing tomorrow night?"
"The same thing we do every night, Pinky... try and take over the world!!"
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Blonder than Blonde
The other day I encountered a Blonde Blonde on the sales floor. I mean, seriously. The woman was so Blonde, it hurt.
The bad thing about stereotypes is that when one actually meets with a stereotypical person it really can become painful. We all make fun of the stereotypicals of one form or another, no matter who we are. One of my most memorable evenings ever started out when a good African-American friend of mine asked me "Why do white people smell so funny?", resulting in an evening of ripping each other's racial stereotypes. The only thing that would have made the evening better would have been to have been drinking at the same time.
So, anyway, this Blonde woman comes walking onto my sales floor and all of a sudden I'm finding it hard to keep a straight face... just having the Blonde jokes flashing through my mind. Shame on me!
I had come to the conclusion some time ago that we all have our Blonde moments.
Something else I've noticed is that more often than not, it's us men who have more Blonde moments than the stereotypical empty-headed female Blonde. One would think that working in the proverbial hardware store on steroids that just the opposite would be the case. Think again. I have spent hours instructing grown men how to calculate area in a room, how to actually swing a hammer or how 1+3 actually equal 4.
I'm starting to think that some men are Blonder than Blonde.
Hate to admit it, but I have those moments, too. The difference with me is that I have those moments (mostly) at home and have the good sense (most of the time) to know when I'm having one of my Blonde moments... like the other day when dinner was held up for half an hour while I was searching for the griddle control which I had hidden right in front of me. Thank goodness for the resident red-head who keeps me in line!
Come to think of it, two of the smartest women I've known are Blondes; One when last seen was attending Harvard, the other is, as I understand it, a University Professor. So much for the stereotype.
Encounters with stereotypical people can be taxing, especially when we let it be so. I'm usually mindful of my own faults and try not to let someone else's confirmation of some joke bother me.
Oh, and the answer is - "It's so the blind can hate us, too!"
Be Seeing You!
The bad thing about stereotypes is that when one actually meets with a stereotypical person it really can become painful. We all make fun of the stereotypicals of one form or another, no matter who we are. One of my most memorable evenings ever started out when a good African-American friend of mine asked me "Why do white people smell so funny?", resulting in an evening of ripping each other's racial stereotypes. The only thing that would have made the evening better would have been to have been drinking at the same time.
So, anyway, this Blonde woman comes walking onto my sales floor and all of a sudden I'm finding it hard to keep a straight face... just having the Blonde jokes flashing through my mind. Shame on me!
I had come to the conclusion some time ago that we all have our Blonde moments.
Something else I've noticed is that more often than not, it's us men who have more Blonde moments than the stereotypical empty-headed female Blonde. One would think that working in the proverbial hardware store on steroids that just the opposite would be the case. Think again. I have spent hours instructing grown men how to calculate area in a room, how to actually swing a hammer or how 1+3 actually equal 4.
I'm starting to think that some men are Blonder than Blonde.
Hate to admit it, but I have those moments, too. The difference with me is that I have those moments (mostly) at home and have the good sense (most of the time) to know when I'm having one of my Blonde moments... like the other day when dinner was held up for half an hour while I was searching for the griddle control which I had hidden right in front of me. Thank goodness for the resident red-head who keeps me in line!
Come to think of it, two of the smartest women I've known are Blondes; One when last seen was attending Harvard, the other is, as I understand it, a University Professor. So much for the stereotype.
Encounters with stereotypical people can be taxing, especially when we let it be so. I'm usually mindful of my own faults and try not to let someone else's confirmation of some joke bother me.
Oh, and the answer is - "It's so the blind can hate us, too!"
Be Seeing You!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Multiple Me
As I was getting ready to write my blog entry last night, I noted that I have a new follower.
Me.
Well, someone with the same name as me. I know, I've Googled myself. I'm everywhere, so it seems.
The first time I Googled myself, I found that I was a murder victim in Colorado and that a reward was being offered for information which would lead to my killer. Hope he's been found. Hate to think that I've gone unavenged.
I've found that I sell real estate in Austin, Texas. Maybe I can get me a good deal on a house.
I've also been contacted by someone from North Carolina asking if I had once lived in North Carolina. I've known people from and have a niece in that state, but, sorry, never lived there.
I got an e-mail from me at work. Called me and found out that I was a native Texan living and working just outside of Columbus, Ohio. We had a good laugh and pondered about perhaps swapping places.
A couple of years ago, a co-worker asked how I spelled my name, then, surprised me with a campaign yard sign for my run to gain a seat on City Council in Seattle. I didn't vote for me nor did I give any money to my campaign, but I won, none the less. I was quite pleased and I hope that I run for re-election. Could mayor or governor be far behind?
This morning I recieved one of those incessant e-mails from another co-worker (and friend) of mine indicating that someone named Nidal Hasan was part of the transition team ushering in the Obama Presidency. One... two... three... OMG!!! Isn't Nidal Hasan that crazy guy who shot and killed all those brave, unarmed soldiers the other week at Fort Hood??? OMG!!! That means that the President pulled the trigger and shot 'em himself!!! It's a plot, I tell ya!
Yeah. Right.
I essentially told my correspondent that he should take off that tin-foil hat and quit listening to people who are a few french fries short of a Happy Meal.
I also suggested a new rumor to the effect that Hasan was in charge of spurious birth certificates for the then incoming administration. Now, I'm wondering how soon that rumor is going to hit the fan.
I pity any poor schmuck named Nidal Hasan at this point in time. Must be as hard, or even harder than living on Hitler Road in southern Pickaway County, Ohio. Or even being me, wherever they are in the United States or abroad.
By the way, I mentioned my new follower to the lovely Miss Carol after posting last night's blog. Seems she is that follower and had mistakenly put my name in the wrong space.
Be Seeing You!
Me.
Well, someone with the same name as me. I know, I've Googled myself. I'm everywhere, so it seems.
The first time I Googled myself, I found that I was a murder victim in Colorado and that a reward was being offered for information which would lead to my killer. Hope he's been found. Hate to think that I've gone unavenged.
I've found that I sell real estate in Austin, Texas. Maybe I can get me a good deal on a house.
I've also been contacted by someone from North Carolina asking if I had once lived in North Carolina. I've known people from and have a niece in that state, but, sorry, never lived there.
I got an e-mail from me at work. Called me and found out that I was a native Texan living and working just outside of Columbus, Ohio. We had a good laugh and pondered about perhaps swapping places.
A couple of years ago, a co-worker asked how I spelled my name, then, surprised me with a campaign yard sign for my run to gain a seat on City Council in Seattle. I didn't vote for me nor did I give any money to my campaign, but I won, none the less. I was quite pleased and I hope that I run for re-election. Could mayor or governor be far behind?
This morning I recieved one of those incessant e-mails from another co-worker (and friend) of mine indicating that someone named Nidal Hasan was part of the transition team ushering in the Obama Presidency. One... two... three... OMG!!! Isn't Nidal Hasan that crazy guy who shot and killed all those brave, unarmed soldiers the other week at Fort Hood??? OMG!!! That means that the President pulled the trigger and shot 'em himself!!! It's a plot, I tell ya!
Yeah. Right.
I essentially told my correspondent that he should take off that tin-foil hat and quit listening to people who are a few french fries short of a Happy Meal.
I also suggested a new rumor to the effect that Hasan was in charge of spurious birth certificates for the then incoming administration. Now, I'm wondering how soon that rumor is going to hit the fan.
I pity any poor schmuck named Nidal Hasan at this point in time. Must be as hard, or even harder than living on Hitler Road in southern Pickaway County, Ohio. Or even being me, wherever they are in the United States or abroad.
By the way, I mentioned my new follower to the lovely Miss Carol after posting last night's blog. Seems she is that follower and had mistakenly put my name in the wrong space.
Be Seeing You!
Monday, November 16, 2009
I'm happy where I am, thank-you!
Well, I had the weekend off and with the weekend off, I was able to go to church. In my case, church is St. Peter's Episcopal in McKinney. I am one of those creatures known as a "Cradle Episcopalian", having been baptised when I was extremely young at St. Paul's in Richmond, Virginia. For those of you (or us) in the South, St. Paul's is the church in which Bobby Lee and Jeff Davis recieved word that the Yankees had broken through the lines in Petersburg.
Alas, I have started to stray a bit. Let me re-set.
I had the weekend off and I was able to go to church at St. Peter's. I was actually expected because I had the job of reading the lessons at the 8am service. Went wonderfully. Did the service, and as I was walking out of the church proper into the parish hall, I was approached by one of the other parishoners who made wonderful noises about how well I did and how I should be on the radio.
I've gotten that line for 40 years, now. I had been on the radio for 20 of those years and I'm pleased that I am off, now, thank-you very much.
Now, I didn't open my mouth, nor did I complain at all about the innocent comment. I rather thanked the person for the comment, mentioned that I had been on the radio and left it at that. At least, that is, until now.
I have been gifted in that I have a wonderful speaking voice. It was my dad's voice, it is my brother Kevin's voice and it's sounding more and more like it will be my son, Stuart's voice as well. What's more, I have learned how to project my voice so that it can be heard in various and sundry places. I've used my talent to great effect both at St. Peter's and at the other St. Paul's Episcopal church in Chillicothe, Ohio.
After being told by Mrs. Colonel Fair, my ninth grade English teacher, that she expected to retire and listen to me on the radio, I have been getting the same compliments, even taking the same compliments to heart and finding myself on the radio. As an aside, Mrs. Colonel Fair retired as a teacher in the same year as I started a job on the radio.
But boy, I was hot stuff in those days. A legend in my own mind, so to speak. I was going to be unique, different and was going to do things on the air which had never been done before. I adopted the personna of Uncle Bruco - part in homage to "Cousin" Bruce Morrow, and borrowing a name given to me in one of my High School yearbooks. And between running incessant sports broadcasts and sitting on my tail listening to every preacher and his brother telling me what a fool sinner I was, I did manage to do some of my own thing and get a little bit of notice here and there.
Might do a book on it some day, may not. Too much to post at one time on a single internet blog post.
Suffice to say over a 25 year period (including interruptions to explore other possibilities), I came to the conclusion that radio was getting me nowhere. I got sort of tired of being paid minimum wage and all the records I could eat. Seriously. And the medium was changing. My boss at the time gave me a way out and I somewhat reluctantly took it... although it took me a good year to figure out that I had been the recipient of some pretty good fortune. I found that I indeed have a niche which didn't involve having to keep up with the latest hits and that that niche actually lets me make some real money for a change. I am happy and contented where I am and aside from being a lay reader at church (and maybe doing some voice-over work for small change), I am quite happy where I am, thank-you very much.
On the other hand, should the opportunity arise, next time it will be Uncle Radio's Bruco Show, keeping the world safe for democracy...
Better quit while I'm ahead.
Be Seeing You!
Alas, I have started to stray a bit. Let me re-set.
I had the weekend off and I was able to go to church at St. Peter's. I was actually expected because I had the job of reading the lessons at the 8am service. Went wonderfully. Did the service, and as I was walking out of the church proper into the parish hall, I was approached by one of the other parishoners who made wonderful noises about how well I did and how I should be on the radio.
I've gotten that line for 40 years, now. I had been on the radio for 20 of those years and I'm pleased that I am off, now, thank-you very much.
Now, I didn't open my mouth, nor did I complain at all about the innocent comment. I rather thanked the person for the comment, mentioned that I had been on the radio and left it at that. At least, that is, until now.
I have been gifted in that I have a wonderful speaking voice. It was my dad's voice, it is my brother Kevin's voice and it's sounding more and more like it will be my son, Stuart's voice as well. What's more, I have learned how to project my voice so that it can be heard in various and sundry places. I've used my talent to great effect both at St. Peter's and at the other St. Paul's Episcopal church in Chillicothe, Ohio.
After being told by Mrs. Colonel Fair, my ninth grade English teacher, that she expected to retire and listen to me on the radio, I have been getting the same compliments, even taking the same compliments to heart and finding myself on the radio. As an aside, Mrs. Colonel Fair retired as a teacher in the same year as I started a job on the radio.
But boy, I was hot stuff in those days. A legend in my own mind, so to speak. I was going to be unique, different and was going to do things on the air which had never been done before. I adopted the personna of Uncle Bruco - part in homage to "Cousin" Bruce Morrow, and borrowing a name given to me in one of my High School yearbooks. And between running incessant sports broadcasts and sitting on my tail listening to every preacher and his brother telling me what a fool sinner I was, I did manage to do some of my own thing and get a little bit of notice here and there.
Might do a book on it some day, may not. Too much to post at one time on a single internet blog post.
Suffice to say over a 25 year period (including interruptions to explore other possibilities), I came to the conclusion that radio was getting me nowhere. I got sort of tired of being paid minimum wage and all the records I could eat. Seriously. And the medium was changing. My boss at the time gave me a way out and I somewhat reluctantly took it... although it took me a good year to figure out that I had been the recipient of some pretty good fortune. I found that I indeed have a niche which didn't involve having to keep up with the latest hits and that that niche actually lets me make some real money for a change. I am happy and contented where I am and aside from being a lay reader at church (and maybe doing some voice-over work for small change), I am quite happy where I am, thank-you very much.
On the other hand, should the opportunity arise, next time it will be Uncle Radio's Bruco Show, keeping the world safe for democracy...
Better quit while I'm ahead.
Be Seeing You!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Caught Phrases
I've been rattling catch phrases around in my head for the past couple of days. Perhaps it has to do with Oprah's guest on her show this coming monday (S. Palin, AKA Caribou Barbie), or the fact that American Movie Classics will be presenting a revised version of "The Prisoner" on Sunday night. The Prisoner marked the departure of characters with the enigmatic phrase "Be seeing you!", which I have adopted after a fashion as my identification moniker whenever I'm Geocaching. Too, I have used the catch phrase made popular by the former Governor of Alaska - but way before that person was even in High School.
Way back in '71 (using the Grizzled Old Prospector voice), I landed a part time job running cameras for the local cable TV channel. For some reason I got into the habit of replying "You Betcha!" every time the supervisor asked me to do something. Didn't take long for the phrase to wear itself thin with the man and being a High School kid at the time it became a bit of a game. So when the phrase came up during last year's Presidential campaign, I was highly amused.
I was just as amused by John McCain's use of the term "My Friend".
Fast forward from High School to the winter of 1978/79. I'm working at a radio station in Parkersburg, West Virginia and the consultant/program manager constantly talked down to most of the rest of us by using the term "My Friend". We were real quick to realize that when that particular dip used that phrase, we were about to get short-changed in one way or another. Almost guaranteed. Over the years I had come to the conclusion that any time anyone used that phrase, they were assuredly not my friend, nor were they likely to be.
What was worse was that "consultant's" stooge's patronizing use of the phrase "Big Boy". I loathed the phrase and I wasn't alone. One of my fellow inmates rigged up a comic book from one of the "Big Boy" restraunts to read "The Adventures of W***'s Big Boy" and posted it for everyone to see. I don't believe he ever caught on.
Then there was the phrase picked up by one of the guys I knew while I was attending Ohio University. He and several other of his colleagues had found part-time radio employment at a radio station in the Ohio River town of Pomeroy. They noted that the locals in Pomeroy would add the phrase "There, beddy" at the end of just about every sentenced they spoke.
"How's the weather, there, beddy!"
"Going across the street, there, beddy?"
"I just murdered my children, there, beddy!" And so on.
Anyhoo, this person had a bit of a creative streak in him and used some free time and the facilities of the Ohio University radio stations to create a "Jingle Package" called, appropriately enough, "There Beddy!", crediting his creation to "Pay Less Productions of Fort Worth". The package was a great send-up of jingles, of some Southern Ohioans, of Country music and of the radio station which employed some of the people involved in making the package. I still have a copy of the package on a cassette tape somewhere, and every once in a great while, I will hear the lyrics:
"Who is the friend of the pig-******* man? W***, There Beddy!"
And then, there was the ultimate melange of catch phrases which occured together when a friend and I who had been both at Ohio University at the time the jingle package was created and at that radio station in Parkersburg (borrowing a couple of other catch phrases on the way) to create the sentence:
"As I say, there big boy, this overhead's about to eat me a new a******, there, beddy!"
Funny? You betcha!
Be Seeing You!
Way back in '71 (using the Grizzled Old Prospector voice), I landed a part time job running cameras for the local cable TV channel. For some reason I got into the habit of replying "You Betcha!" every time the supervisor asked me to do something. Didn't take long for the phrase to wear itself thin with the man and being a High School kid at the time it became a bit of a game. So when the phrase came up during last year's Presidential campaign, I was highly amused.
I was just as amused by John McCain's use of the term "My Friend".
Fast forward from High School to the winter of 1978/79. I'm working at a radio station in Parkersburg, West Virginia and the consultant/program manager constantly talked down to most of the rest of us by using the term "My Friend". We were real quick to realize that when that particular dip used that phrase, we were about to get short-changed in one way or another. Almost guaranteed. Over the years I had come to the conclusion that any time anyone used that phrase, they were assuredly not my friend, nor were they likely to be.
What was worse was that "consultant's" stooge's patronizing use of the phrase "Big Boy". I loathed the phrase and I wasn't alone. One of my fellow inmates rigged up a comic book from one of the "Big Boy" restraunts to read "The Adventures of W***'s Big Boy" and posted it for everyone to see. I don't believe he ever caught on.
Then there was the phrase picked up by one of the guys I knew while I was attending Ohio University. He and several other of his colleagues had found part-time radio employment at a radio station in the Ohio River town of Pomeroy. They noted that the locals in Pomeroy would add the phrase "There, beddy" at the end of just about every sentenced they spoke.
"How's the weather, there, beddy!"
"Going across the street, there, beddy?"
"I just murdered my children, there, beddy!" And so on.
Anyhoo, this person had a bit of a creative streak in him and used some free time and the facilities of the Ohio University radio stations to create a "Jingle Package" called, appropriately enough, "There Beddy!", crediting his creation to "Pay Less Productions of Fort Worth". The package was a great send-up of jingles, of some Southern Ohioans, of Country music and of the radio station which employed some of the people involved in making the package. I still have a copy of the package on a cassette tape somewhere, and every once in a great while, I will hear the lyrics:
"Who is the friend of the pig-******* man? W***, There Beddy!"
And then, there was the ultimate melange of catch phrases which occured together when a friend and I who had been both at Ohio University at the time the jingle package was created and at that radio station in Parkersburg (borrowing a couple of other catch phrases on the way) to create the sentence:
"As I say, there big boy, this overhead's about to eat me a new a******, there, beddy!"
Funny? You betcha!
Be Seeing You!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
With Thanks - Just a couple of weeks early.
Thanksgiving came just a couple of weeks early this year to the Harrell household. As I was wading through the junk mail box (22 new items since last night... sheesh!), Carol called and relayed the information that the needle biopsy she had on Tuesday had come back benign. Good news. Very good. That's just one less side to worry about when she goes into consultation with her Oncologist here in the next couple of days.
Good news, indeed, and news to be thankful for.
To be certain she is still a bit sore and bruised from the experience (from being prodded on both sides), but we are optimistic about the preliminary diagnosis on the cancer in her right breast. It has probably been caught in time for treatment to be effective.
Some years ago I had been persuaded to join a group of Episcopalians in a weekend retreat called Cursillo. Nearly died on the way there because the driver of the automobile got fed up with my constant nervous opening and closing of my window and was willing to kill me. On the other hand, Cursillo was a Godsend. It helped me quit smoking once and for all and it gave me a way to be able to cope with some of the major and minor crisies I encountered in the years since.
Since meeting Carol, I had been nudging her in the same direction, partly in order to gain a new prayer partner, and partly to help her cope with the crisies which will inevitably befall her. We finally got her schedule cleared and sent her to Cursillo just this past September.
Now Cursillo is a Godsend to Carol.
She has lots of people praying for her who have known her for a very short time, in addition to the people she has known already. Just as importantly, she had become aware of the importance of taking care of her own health which led to the mammogram, which led to the couple of biopsys (biopsies?) which are leading to treatment and wellness.
This is not to suggest to my friends of other faiths that Episcopal Cursillo is the only road to salvation and wellness. In our case, we have seen some definite benefits from belonging. Works for us. The one thing I will suggest, at least to my female friends, is that the occasional mammogram shouldn't hurt... at the very least it can help alert you to a potential problem well before it can become a bigger problem. As much as us men find ourselves attracted to a woman based on her bra size, none of us who really care about the women we live with really give the rat's patoot to that particular set of attributes. I love Carol as she is and will continue to love her no matter what happens in regards to her left breast. She knows this, even as she worries about the possibility of "being mutilated".
At this point, Carol and I are both thankful for the skills of the diagnosticians in helping to avoid what could have been a major catastrophe.
Thanksgiving has come a couple of weeks early this year.
For Christmas... would it be too much to ask for a "D" cup? ;-)
Be Seeing You!
Good news, indeed, and news to be thankful for.
To be certain she is still a bit sore and bruised from the experience (from being prodded on both sides), but we are optimistic about the preliminary diagnosis on the cancer in her right breast. It has probably been caught in time for treatment to be effective.
Some years ago I had been persuaded to join a group of Episcopalians in a weekend retreat called Cursillo. Nearly died on the way there because the driver of the automobile got fed up with my constant nervous opening and closing of my window and was willing to kill me. On the other hand, Cursillo was a Godsend. It helped me quit smoking once and for all and it gave me a way to be able to cope with some of the major and minor crisies I encountered in the years since.
Since meeting Carol, I had been nudging her in the same direction, partly in order to gain a new prayer partner, and partly to help her cope with the crisies which will inevitably befall her. We finally got her schedule cleared and sent her to Cursillo just this past September.
Now Cursillo is a Godsend to Carol.
She has lots of people praying for her who have known her for a very short time, in addition to the people she has known already. Just as importantly, she had become aware of the importance of taking care of her own health which led to the mammogram, which led to the couple of biopsys (biopsies?) which are leading to treatment and wellness.
This is not to suggest to my friends of other faiths that Episcopal Cursillo is the only road to salvation and wellness. In our case, we have seen some definite benefits from belonging. Works for us. The one thing I will suggest, at least to my female friends, is that the occasional mammogram shouldn't hurt... at the very least it can help alert you to a potential problem well before it can become a bigger problem. As much as us men find ourselves attracted to a woman based on her bra size, none of us who really care about the women we live with really give the rat's patoot to that particular set of attributes. I love Carol as she is and will continue to love her no matter what happens in regards to her left breast. She knows this, even as she worries about the possibility of "being mutilated".
At this point, Carol and I are both thankful for the skills of the diagnosticians in helping to avoid what could have been a major catastrophe.
Thanksgiving has come a couple of weeks early this year.
For Christmas... would it be too much to ask for a "D" cup? ;-)
Be Seeing You!
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