I fancy myself a pretty hip guy. I wear clothes that are at least from the last 5 years or so. I can speak some of that lingo them young folks speak. I am past words like "groovy" and "right on, daddio." I can use words like "sweet!" and "word!" I am on Facebook. My daughter pulled one of those "Wow, you finally came out of the dinosaur world!" when I started. I have a Droid phone and even know how to text! I must admit, if you're anywhere near my age, there are so many things now that we find we can't live without - though we did for most of our lives. You've all seen the list, so I'll hit only a few highlights:
WE were the remote for the TV. Dad would say, "Get up and change that to channel 6."
The phone was a wired device that either hung on the kitchen wall, or was on the nightstand in Mom & Dad's bedroom.
A calculator was about as big as a small paperback novel and only did four functions.
Email - forget it. A stamp on a hand-written letter or postcard.
Spell check was Sister Johanna and a ruler!
You get my point. But, as always... I digress!
I have no idea what this world of ours has come to. We can't function without Social Media sites. As I say, even I am on Facebook. I asked my dad if he ever thought about getting on Facebook. He said, "What the hell's Facebook?" I told him, "You can keep up with what all your friends are doing." Being 80, my dad said, "If I wanna know what somebody's doing, I pick up the damn phone and call 'em." That would be the phone on the nightstand in his room.
But what kills me more than anything else about any of the sites is how people tell you every single cotton-pickin' move they make! I love my family and friends, so I won't name them here (you know who you are!), but this is a normal day:
Joe Smith (see how that's a fictitious name?) is at Place of Employment.
Joe Smith is at Applebee's having lunch.
Joe Smith is at Bob's Daycare - picking up little Joe.
Joe Smith is at The Grocery Store - picking up something for dinner.
Joe Smith is at home.
Joe Smith is watching NCIS.
Joe Smith is going to bed - "Goodnight FB friends!" (REALLY??)
On and on and on and on and on. I expect to see ones that say things like:
Joe Smith is in the bathroom.
Joe Smith is out of the bathroom.
Joe Smith just sprayed Lysol - love that Applebee's!
Aaarrrgghhh!
Another one I don't get are those who tell you every move on their vacation. After about their fifth post, when they tell me they and the fam are finally in Nebraska "looking forward to 6 days of relaxation", I want to write a note that says, "I am on my way to break into your house - thanks for the heads up!!"
And then there are the abbreviations. Holy Crap! Something ELSE I have to learn! It was OK at first. LOL and ROTFLMAO I was able to grasp. Then they added OMG! and SMH. Now I got OMG pretty quickly, but I gotta tell you, it took me a while to get SMH. (I'm gonna help some of you oldies -- SMH is Shaking My Head. Ssshhh! Act like you've known all along.) And there are many others. And for the life of me, I don't get the use of (#) before a statement. "#I'llnevergetthere." WHAT??
I still contend that with all this technology, there are too many problems still remaining. For example, why in the world can't I ever have a cell phone conversation with my wife without the dang signal dropping??!! "I went---- Debbie's and she---- that her---- open---- ibk---- opor---------------" *beep* Dropped call.
Maybe I'm not as hip as I thought I was. Maybe I'm just not hip enough to get it. We can send a man to the moon in a rocket. He can drive around on the moon in a car. He could probably post a Tweet on the moon. He can even play golf on the moon, and get back in the rocket and come back to Earth - but I can't talk to my wife on the damn cell phone in the same city!!
SMH
.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
...About the Preacher and the Flood
In the small town of Elizabethtown, called "Etown," in upstate New York, there was a transplanted preacher. When I say he was transplanted, I mean that he was originally from the South. He was one of those "Hell & Damnation, Fire & Brimstone" kinda country preachers.
Now if you've never witnessed one of these types of preachers, it is an eye-opening, seat-riveting, "cheek-clinching" experience - something one might call a "knitting needle of a moment." I'm neither knocking nor endorsing one religion over another, I'm just sayin'. You generally find one of these preachers in a place like The Antioch Freewill Southern Baptist Church of Smuteye, Alabama. It is a sermon filled with Bible-thumping, Bible-waving, Bible-banging, and a red-in-the-face, short-of-breath, no-pauses-in-his-delivery chastising for the sins of the church members. It might go a little like this:
"...And we must leeaarrnnn, uh-huh, that the way of the Loooord, uh huh, is the pathwayyyy, uh huh, that we must folloooowww, uh huh, to get into those Heavenly gaaaaaates, uh huh, to see the face of the Looooooord, uh huh, and that He will not entertaaaiiiin, uh huh, a meeting with thoooooose, uh huh, who have the committed the siiiiiin, uh huh, of the liquor..."
And, of course, every statement is loudly approved by "A-meyen!" But... I digress!
So this preacher had been transplanted to Etown, some rumored because of a transgression that had been brought out into the light making it time to "hear God's calling and move up yonder to save those devil-filled souls up North."
After one of those particularly normal winters with 3-4 feet of snow, the Spring thaw brought the expected flooding. And so this preacher found himself witnessing quite a rising of the waters. As the waters rose, the preacher was on his front porch. The steps were covered with moving water lapping at the porch. A local man waded by in his chest waders pulling a john boat with a rope. The man sees the preacher on his porch and comes over and says, "C'mon, Preacher, climb in and I'll get you to high ground."
The arrogant preacher tells the man, "I don't need you! The Lord will take care of me!"
And so the man walked along his way.
A bit later, the preacher is on his roof, the water now moving faster and lapping at the eaves. Another man in a motor boat comes to the preacher and says, "Climb in, Preacher! We've got to get you outta here!"
To which the preacher again replies, "You can go, I don't need you! The Lord will take care of me!"
And the man motors away.
Some time passes, and the preacher is perched on the top of his chimney, water rushing around his ankles. A helicopter hovers overhead, drops a rope ladder and the speaker blares, "Grab the ladder, Preacher! We'll save you!"
The unflappable preacher shakes his fist and yells, "Be on your way! The Lord will take care of me!"
And the helicopter moves off in the wind.
In a little while, the preacher is at the Pearly Gates with St. Peter demanding to speak with the Lord. In a flash of light, the Lord is standing in front of the preacher. "What is it, my son?"
The preacher says, "Lord, I had faith in you that the waters were not to hurt me. I have been a good servant, and saved the souls of the people in Etown, but you let me be swallowed up by the floods. Why, Lord?"
The Lord looks at the preacher and says, "I sent you two boats and a helicopter - what else did you want?!"
At least, that's how they tell the story.
.
Now if you've never witnessed one of these types of preachers, it is an eye-opening, seat-riveting, "cheek-clinching" experience - something one might call a "knitting needle of a moment." I'm neither knocking nor endorsing one religion over another, I'm just sayin'. You generally find one of these preachers in a place like The Antioch Freewill Southern Baptist Church of Smuteye, Alabama. It is a sermon filled with Bible-thumping, Bible-waving, Bible-banging, and a red-in-the-face, short-of-breath, no-pauses-in-his-delivery chastising for the sins of the church members. It might go a little like this:
"...And we must leeaarrnnn, uh-huh, that the way of the Loooord, uh huh, is the pathwayyyy, uh huh, that we must folloooowww, uh huh, to get into those Heavenly gaaaaaates, uh huh, to see the face of the Looooooord, uh huh, and that He will not entertaaaiiiin, uh huh, a meeting with thoooooose, uh huh, who have the committed the siiiiiin, uh huh, of the liquor..."
And, of course, every statement is loudly approved by "A-meyen!" But... I digress!
So this preacher had been transplanted to Etown, some rumored because of a transgression that had been brought out into the light making it time to "hear God's calling and move up yonder to save those devil-filled souls up North."
After one of those particularly normal winters with 3-4 feet of snow, the Spring thaw brought the expected flooding. And so this preacher found himself witnessing quite a rising of the waters. As the waters rose, the preacher was on his front porch. The steps were covered with moving water lapping at the porch. A local man waded by in his chest waders pulling a john boat with a rope. The man sees the preacher on his porch and comes over and says, "C'mon, Preacher, climb in and I'll get you to high ground."
The arrogant preacher tells the man, "I don't need you! The Lord will take care of me!"
And so the man walked along his way.
A bit later, the preacher is on his roof, the water now moving faster and lapping at the eaves. Another man in a motor boat comes to the preacher and says, "Climb in, Preacher! We've got to get you outta here!"
To which the preacher again replies, "You can go, I don't need you! The Lord will take care of me!"
And the man motors away.
Some time passes, and the preacher is perched on the top of his chimney, water rushing around his ankles. A helicopter hovers overhead, drops a rope ladder and the speaker blares, "Grab the ladder, Preacher! We'll save you!"
The unflappable preacher shakes his fist and yells, "Be on your way! The Lord will take care of me!"
And the helicopter moves off in the wind.
In a little while, the preacher is at the Pearly Gates with St. Peter demanding to speak with the Lord. In a flash of light, the Lord is standing in front of the preacher. "What is it, my son?"
The preacher says, "Lord, I had faith in you that the waters were not to hurt me. I have been a good servant, and saved the souls of the people in Etown, but you let me be swallowed up by the floods. Why, Lord?"
The Lord looks at the preacher and says, "I sent you two boats and a helicopter - what else did you want?!"
At least, that's how they tell the story.
.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
...About Commercials
Well... it's here. A day many people wait for like the coming of a newborn. A day filled with the anticipation of what might be. It's Superbowl Sunday! And of course, Superbowl Sunday brings the new, multi-million dollar commercials we've awaited with bated breath. [And just what is "Bated Breath?" The dictionary says: bated: intransitive verb - 1. reduced force or intensity; restrained. So awaiting with bated breath would describe holding our breath to see the result. You're welcome.]
I worked for a long number of years in video production for the military. Our purpose was to produce informative safety-related products for use in the military. The ultimate goal, of course, was to reinforce an established policy with a very clear, concise message. As a result, I am probably overly critical of commercials and the message they deliver; more importantly, "what are they selling?"
A black and white commercial comes on. There are images of something resembling young people scampering on the beach at night - all done with a flashlight and "shaky-cam" technique; cut to a balloon floating up through the trees; cut to fireworks exploding in a smoky sky; cut to a close up of young lovers licking each other in the mouth; cut to some innocuous banner they're holding that says something stupid - "Viva la grass blade" ---- What the hell are they advertising?? Levi's Jeans!! Not once in the commercial do we see jeans! I must be too old.
Here's a new one: Three people are sitting at a table at McDonald's. He's taking a picture of his breakfast to post on Facebook or some damn thing. His friends accuse him of being an "over poster." He tells the girl he tagged her - made her the hotcakes - she is wooed. What part of that commercial, in any shape form or fashion, makes me want to go to McDonald's and have breakfast? None. Not one milli-second of hunger pangs.
There are two basic types of commercials. One is long-range name recognition; the other is a call for immediate action. I get that. A commercial that says, "The Three Day Sale - Come in Now!" is a call to immediate action. If you want it, NOW is the time to get it. The long-range name recognition is, "I want something to eat... hey, let's get some breakfast at McDonald's." I get that one, too. I'm just less likely to sit and run through the commercials in my head to make a menu choice.
I like commercials that are message-driven. I like knowing what the product is, seeing what they have to say, and deciding if I want a part of it. What I can't stand is commercials that yell at me!! Some crazed lunatic voice screaming that "RIGHT NOW IS THE TIME TO GET THAT WIDGET YOU'VE DREAMED OF - AT A FRACTION OF THE COST! HURRY IN NOW! IT WON'T LAST LONG!!" Thank the good Lord. We can only HOPE it won't last long.
When I first started in radio, some 34 years ago, I was mentored by a great guy named Doc. He molded me into a pretty darn good announcer. One of his lessons was, "Never start a commercial with a question. It gives people the opportunity to instantly make a negative choice." To this day, my TV watching is filled with those who ask a ridiculous question as the opening. "Are you looking to buy a new home?" Nope! *click* But... I digress!
All of this is to say that today is that day when some of the great commercials will be introduced. They are long-range name identifier commercials - but they are (usually) good. I think one of my most favorites is from a couple of years ago. Fed-Ex did the commercial where the caveman is trying to send a bone via carrier pterodactyl. When his boss fires him for not using Fed-Ex - which hasn't been invented yet - he kicks the "dog" and is then stomped by a mastodon! I LOVE IT! I don't know why. Probably because of the high-end quality; the humor of the caveman's conversation; and the unexpected ending. And of course, Budweiser will ALWAYS have hit commercials. They are great because they tug at your Americana heart strings. I mean, really, Clydesdales and Dalmations - it's like kittens and puppies. And of course, some of the commercials are memorable because sexiness goes a long way to keep a viewer's interest. (Male point of view now ended.)
I hope I'm not disappointed in today's commercials. There have been some through the years where I wondered what the client was thinking when they spent millions on commercial air time for that crappy commercial.
But for now, Here We Go, it's time to Be All That You Can Be, because You Deserve a Break Today!
"Honey! Bring on the chips and dip! The commercials are starting!"
Oh, and by the way, there is supposed to be some football game on, too!
Here's the Fed Ex commercial!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64PWX_GwVQk
.
I worked for a long number of years in video production for the military. Our purpose was to produce informative safety-related products for use in the military. The ultimate goal, of course, was to reinforce an established policy with a very clear, concise message. As a result, I am probably overly critical of commercials and the message they deliver; more importantly, "what are they selling?"
A black and white commercial comes on. There are images of something resembling young people scampering on the beach at night - all done with a flashlight and "shaky-cam" technique; cut to a balloon floating up through the trees; cut to fireworks exploding in a smoky sky; cut to a close up of young lovers licking each other in the mouth; cut to some innocuous banner they're holding that says something stupid - "Viva la grass blade" ---- What the hell are they advertising?? Levi's Jeans!! Not once in the commercial do we see jeans! I must be too old.
Here's a new one: Three people are sitting at a table at McDonald's. He's taking a picture of his breakfast to post on Facebook or some damn thing. His friends accuse him of being an "over poster." He tells the girl he tagged her - made her the hotcakes - she is wooed. What part of that commercial, in any shape form or fashion, makes me want to go to McDonald's and have breakfast? None. Not one milli-second of hunger pangs.
There are two basic types of commercials. One is long-range name recognition; the other is a call for immediate action. I get that. A commercial that says, "The Three Day Sale - Come in Now!" is a call to immediate action. If you want it, NOW is the time to get it. The long-range name recognition is, "I want something to eat... hey, let's get some breakfast at McDonald's." I get that one, too. I'm just less likely to sit and run through the commercials in my head to make a menu choice.
I like commercials that are message-driven. I like knowing what the product is, seeing what they have to say, and deciding if I want a part of it. What I can't stand is commercials that yell at me!! Some crazed lunatic voice screaming that "RIGHT NOW IS THE TIME TO GET THAT WIDGET YOU'VE DREAMED OF - AT A FRACTION OF THE COST! HURRY IN NOW! IT WON'T LAST LONG!!" Thank the good Lord. We can only HOPE it won't last long.
When I first started in radio, some 34 years ago, I was mentored by a great guy named Doc. He molded me into a pretty darn good announcer. One of his lessons was, "Never start a commercial with a question. It gives people the opportunity to instantly make a negative choice." To this day, my TV watching is filled with those who ask a ridiculous question as the opening. "Are you looking to buy a new home?" Nope! *click* But... I digress!
All of this is to say that today is that day when some of the great commercials will be introduced. They are long-range name identifier commercials - but they are (usually) good. I think one of my most favorites is from a couple of years ago. Fed-Ex did the commercial where the caveman is trying to send a bone via carrier pterodactyl. When his boss fires him for not using Fed-Ex - which hasn't been invented yet - he kicks the "dog" and is then stomped by a mastodon! I LOVE IT! I don't know why. Probably because of the high-end quality; the humor of the caveman's conversation; and the unexpected ending. And of course, Budweiser will ALWAYS have hit commercials. They are great because they tug at your Americana heart strings. I mean, really, Clydesdales and Dalmations - it's like kittens and puppies. And of course, some of the commercials are memorable because sexiness goes a long way to keep a viewer's interest. (Male point of view now ended.)
I hope I'm not disappointed in today's commercials. There have been some through the years where I wondered what the client was thinking when they spent millions on commercial air time for that crappy commercial.
But for now, Here We Go, it's time to Be All That You Can Be, because You Deserve a Break Today!
"Honey! Bring on the chips and dip! The commercials are starting!"
Oh, and by the way, there is supposed to be some football game on, too!
Here's the Fed Ex commercial!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64PWX_GwVQk
.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
...About Westport
I am a Southern boy. I was born and raised in Birmingham; I've lived in several other areas - all in the southeast; have been in south-central Alabama for the last 20 years; and will, one day, move to Florida. I lived in Memphis for 2 years, which was as far north as I've ever lived - probably will always be the case. I've traveled to many areas across this great country. I've been fortunate enough to visit places like Miami, and Atlanta, and New York City, and Nashville, and Idaho, and Utah, and Hawaii, and Dallas/Ft. Worth, and Louisiana - and a bunch of places in between. But, I've always liked the South. Specifically, I've always liked Alabama. I've always found it to be home in spite of all the bad press we get. "You know the best thing about Alabama? It ain't Mississippi!" That kind of thing. "You know why birds fly upside-down in Georgia? 'Cause there ain't nothin' worth crappin' on in Georgia!" Yuk it up, boys. For those of my friends who are not from this part of the world, you need to know there truly is a difference between a Good Ol' Boy and a Redneck. A Good Ol' Boy is an easy-going, sometimes slow-talking, mostly well-mannered-'cause-Granny-would-get-a-switch fella who will help pull your car out of the ditch. A Redneck is generally the same - EXCEPT - he will call you stupid and make fun of your Yankee butt for not knowing how to drive and getting your car in the ditch in the first place! Both will say, "Gimme a beer and let's get this done." At least that's MY many years of experience. I get along with, and am friends with both. You just have to know which one not to piss off! (It won't take long to figure out which is which!) But...... I digress!
As I have told you before, my wife is originally from way upstate New York. Specifically, she is originally from Westport, NY. Now when I say Westport is way upstate, I mean WAAAAY upstate! Downtown Westport is 63 miles from the Canadian border. It sits on Lake Champlain and you can spit across the narrow section into Vermont. ["See that over there? That's Vermont."]
Last summer, there was a huge reunion. It started as a Class of 1976 Reunion, but because everyone from the area was so close - across the age-barriers, it became a reunion for all the classes of the 1970s... and everyone else in the world. Now realize that the area is quite small, and all the classes of the 1970s combined would only be several hundred people. My wife and a handful of her friends put together a massive campaign to get everyone to come. And they did - from all over the country! There were a couple of hundred people there - many of whom hadn't seen each other in 35 years or more. There were classes represented from the 50s (YES! the 50s!) all the way to the 80s!! There were a couple of teachers, too! It was a magnificent event, of which I was honored to be a witness. People screamed, and then hugged, and then cried. It was beautiful.
The Town of Westport sits on beautiful Lake Champlain, nestled in the Adirondack Mountains. In Florida, they think Alabama has mountains. Here, we think Tennessee has mountains. Up yonder, they got real-live, honest to God mountains. And they are stunning. Driving south along 9N, on the way to have famous "Gene's Hot Dogs," you have a sheer cliff wall on your right and a drop-off into Lake Champlain on your left. To say I had my breath taken away many times is an understatement.
And the stories you hear these people tell of their childhood together is great. Pete, Ike, Jon, Reggie, Tim ("Chug" for obvious reasons!), Wanda, Steve, Denise, Barry, Debbie, Nancy, Judy, Laura, on and on and on - these people showed such a love for each other - AND shared that with an ol' boy from Alabama who'd never imagined this type of Norman Rockwell existence. Snow many feet deep, the lake frozen solid, a sled on the hill above the Library, and FLYING down the hill (mountain), dodging trees most of the time, out onto the Lake at somewhere near 200 MPH - depending on who you talk to. Breakfast is an absolute must at "Me and My Girls" restaurant. The coffee, the pancakes with REAL, local Maple syrup, and the stories flow from the moment you walk in until you waddle your over-stuffed butt back out. We were fortunate that a wonderful childhood friend of theirs, and now a dear friend of mine, Jon allowed us to stay with him. Hour after hour, day after day of fellowship and adventure. Sadly, all good things have to end, and we headed home.
There are so many, many more stories. So many, many wonderful people I'd like to name. But suffice to say, I was glad to get home. Home - where the sun is hot, the humidity is high, and we all have air conditioning! Up there, NO ONE has AC. There were 2 days of record heat and humidity while we were there. Upper 90s and medium-high humidity. They asked us, "How do you guys live in this?" Our answer was simple - "Down there, we ALL have AC!" They were finally in awe of us.
As I said before, it was beautiful there. They are wonderfully sweet people, and I love them. But I love the south. I love being in the heat, because I love being in the pool. I love that they have many feet of snow and are home-bound for long periods, and we don't have to endure it. I want to go back, but always only to visit.
I mean REALLY! Those people leave their keys in their vehicles and don't ever lock their house doors... damn Yankees!
.
As I have told you before, my wife is originally from way upstate New York. Specifically, she is originally from Westport, NY. Now when I say Westport is way upstate, I mean WAAAAY upstate! Downtown Westport is 63 miles from the Canadian border. It sits on Lake Champlain and you can spit across the narrow section into Vermont. ["See that over there? That's Vermont."]
Last summer, there was a huge reunion. It started as a Class of 1976 Reunion, but because everyone from the area was so close - across the age-barriers, it became a reunion for all the classes of the 1970s... and everyone else in the world. Now realize that the area is quite small, and all the classes of the 1970s combined would only be several hundred people. My wife and a handful of her friends put together a massive campaign to get everyone to come. And they did - from all over the country! There were a couple of hundred people there - many of whom hadn't seen each other in 35 years or more. There were classes represented from the 50s (YES! the 50s!) all the way to the 80s!! There were a couple of teachers, too! It was a magnificent event, of which I was honored to be a witness. People screamed, and then hugged, and then cried. It was beautiful.
The Town of Westport sits on beautiful Lake Champlain, nestled in the Adirondack Mountains. In Florida, they think Alabama has mountains. Here, we think Tennessee has mountains. Up yonder, they got real-live, honest to God mountains. And they are stunning. Driving south along 9N, on the way to have famous "Gene's Hot Dogs," you have a sheer cliff wall on your right and a drop-off into Lake Champlain on your left. To say I had my breath taken away many times is an understatement.
And the stories you hear these people tell of their childhood together is great. Pete, Ike, Jon, Reggie, Tim ("Chug" for obvious reasons!), Wanda, Steve, Denise, Barry, Debbie, Nancy, Judy, Laura, on and on and on - these people showed such a love for each other - AND shared that with an ol' boy from Alabama who'd never imagined this type of Norman Rockwell existence. Snow many feet deep, the lake frozen solid, a sled on the hill above the Library, and FLYING down the hill (mountain), dodging trees most of the time, out onto the Lake at somewhere near 200 MPH - depending on who you talk to. Breakfast is an absolute must at "Me and My Girls" restaurant. The coffee, the pancakes with REAL, local Maple syrup, and the stories flow from the moment you walk in until you waddle your over-stuffed butt back out. We were fortunate that a wonderful childhood friend of theirs, and now a dear friend of mine, Jon allowed us to stay with him. Hour after hour, day after day of fellowship and adventure. Sadly, all good things have to end, and we headed home.
There are so many, many more stories. So many, many wonderful people I'd like to name. But suffice to say, I was glad to get home. Home - where the sun is hot, the humidity is high, and we all have air conditioning! Up there, NO ONE has AC. There were 2 days of record heat and humidity while we were there. Upper 90s and medium-high humidity. They asked us, "How do you guys live in this?" Our answer was simple - "Down there, we ALL have AC!" They were finally in awe of us.
As I said before, it was beautiful there. They are wonderfully sweet people, and I love them. But I love the south. I love being in the heat, because I love being in the pool. I love that they have many feet of snow and are home-bound for long periods, and we don't have to endure it. I want to go back, but always only to visit.
I mean REALLY! Those people leave their keys in their vehicles and don't ever lock their house doors... damn Yankees!
.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
...About Chipmunks
Got up early Sunday morning. One of those where you wake up, lay there for several minutes and realize you're done. You could enjoy dozing back into the world of warm covers, but, you're done. It ain't gonna happen. So you get up and toddle off to the kitchen and some coffee. Generally, my wife gets up before I do. She was in the office on the computer. I was on the couch watching through Headline News. I get up to get another cup of coffee... then I hear it. *chikachikachikachikachika* What in the world was that??? *chikachikachikachikachika* What IS that??? *chikachikachikachikachika*
About that time, my wife was coming into the kitchen. I'm in the hall. "Honey, come here!" She comes into the hall. "Sshhh, Listen............ " *chikachikachikachikachika* "Hear it????" *chikachikachikachikachika* If you could have this vision of my wife and I standing in the hall, looking at the ceiling and rotating our heads like a lighthouse, eyes squinted to hear better........ *chikachikachikachikachikachikachikachikachikachika* She says, "Are you kidding me!!!!?? It's damn squirrels... or something!!!!" I had pretty much accepted "squirrels" - and would've done fine with "chipmunks." But I hadn't really thought much about the possibility of anything that might be classified as "or something." What might that be? A bat? A bird? What if it's Sasquatch??!! *chikachikachikachikachika* Whatever it is - it has to go! *chikachikachikachikachika* From one end of the house to the other, and we, like crazy people, running along underneath it trying to... what? What the hell were we going to do? We are in the house, it/they/he is in the attic. *chikachikachikachikachika*
We went outside and determined they - cause by now we've decided there must be easily 200 of them - are running along the length of the house along the vinyl siding-covered soffets. *chikachikachikachikachika* "Over here!" *chikachikachikachikachika* Smart me, right? I take the handle of the rake (left there from another blog!) and poke the soffet where they're sitting. I suppose I think I'm going to make them disappear by poking them with a rake handle. BONK! *chikachikachikachikachika* BONK! *chikachikachikachikachika* NOW I'm just herding cats. BONK! *chikachikachikachikachika* And mind you, they are going nowhere NEAR any opening through which they can leave! *chikachikachikachikachika*chikachikachikachikachika*
Our large patio has a roof over it that is built onto the house. A full gable that has storage all above the ceiling. Being connected to the house, with lights and ceiling fans mounted to it, there is a hole where wiring and they have come from the house out over the patio. The access is a pull-down panel with one of those folding wood ladders mounted to it. Being intelligent humans, we decide to open that and look up in there. She decides she's going. She goes up the ladder, pokes her head around, and THERE THEY ARE! Three chipmunks. One over there, and two over there! *chikachikachikachikachika* "Quick! Gimme the BB gun!" I don't really know why, but I gave it to her. POP! *bink bink bink* (Ricocheting!) *chikachikachikachikachika* POP! bink bink bink* *chikachikachikachikachika* I swear, we are something out of the black & white silent movies! POP! *bink bink bink* *chikachikachikachikachika*
Now remember, my wife is no pansey - not at all. She is a farm girl raised in way upstate New York and she ran large horse farms for many years. She's the kind who will pick up a dead roach with her fingers to put it in the trash... not me. That kinda thing gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. I can't stand anything with more than 2 legs. I'm not a girly-man. I just don't particularly cotton to things what crawl around and crap on your food. But... I digress!
Well, we chased the damn things around for the better part of 2 hours, and made about as much positive progress as I made with the rake handle. *chikachikachikachikachika* After a while we decided we would leave the access panel open and the ladder down, and if they didn't decide to chika-chika down that ladder and leave, the next day was the pest control guy.
Now, all of that is not the funny part. Here it comes...
Later that afternoon, my wife was sitting on the patio talking on the phone. I was in the kitchen at the table, typing on my laptop. She's *chikachikachikachikachika* telling Kay about the chipmunks and the aggravation of *chikachikachikachikachika* having to listen to that all day. *chikachikachikachikachika* I can only begin to imagine the horror in that chipmunk's mind when he hauled ass across that floor once again - and there suddenly was NO FLOOR! Weeehooo!! Out that access panel he flew like Rocky the Flying Squirrel - headed RIGHT AT MY WIFE!! Cheley (pronounced Shellie) screamed like a 6 year old and did one of those dances like she's either gotta pee, or something's flying at her face!! That little dude hit the floor right at her feet, looked her in the eyes, I think he pee'd a little, and ran like hell to the other end of the patio! By that time I was out the door and we wrangled him out the patio door into the yard. She said she was looking at the opening when he popped out, and that he came at her with this terrified look on his face - arms stretched out wide, mouth open, and eyes as big as Double-Stuff Oreo cookies!
Now I don't know if chipmunks have little two-way radios, or telepathy, or what. But I DO know this - we haven't heard the FIRST sound since!
My wife and her screaming dance are available for birthday parties and bar-mitzvahs.
.
About that time, my wife was coming into the kitchen. I'm in the hall. "Honey, come here!" She comes into the hall. "Sshhh, Listen............ " *chikachikachikachikachika* "Hear it????" *chikachikachikachikachika* If you could have this vision of my wife and I standing in the hall, looking at the ceiling and rotating our heads like a lighthouse, eyes squinted to hear better........ *chikachikachikachikachikachikachikachikachikachika* She says, "Are you kidding me!!!!?? It's damn squirrels... or something!!!!" I had pretty much accepted "squirrels" - and would've done fine with "chipmunks." But I hadn't really thought much about the possibility of anything that might be classified as "or something." What might that be? A bat? A bird? What if it's Sasquatch??!! *chikachikachikachikachika* Whatever it is - it has to go! *chikachikachikachikachika* From one end of the house to the other, and we, like crazy people, running along underneath it trying to... what? What the hell were we going to do? We are in the house, it/they/he is in the attic. *chikachikachikachikachika*
We went outside and determined they - cause by now we've decided there must be easily 200 of them - are running along the length of the house along the vinyl siding-covered soffets. *chikachikachikachikachika* "Over here!" *chikachikachikachikachika* Smart me, right? I take the handle of the rake (left there from another blog!) and poke the soffet where they're sitting. I suppose I think I'm going to make them disappear by poking them with a rake handle. BONK! *chikachikachikachikachika* BONK! *chikachikachikachikachika* NOW I'm just herding cats. BONK! *chikachikachikachikachika* And mind you, they are going nowhere NEAR any opening through which they can leave! *chikachikachikachikachika*chikachikachikachikachika*
Our large patio has a roof over it that is built onto the house. A full gable that has storage all above the ceiling. Being connected to the house, with lights and ceiling fans mounted to it, there is a hole where wiring and they have come from the house out over the patio. The access is a pull-down panel with one of those folding wood ladders mounted to it. Being intelligent humans, we decide to open that and look up in there. She decides she's going. She goes up the ladder, pokes her head around, and THERE THEY ARE! Three chipmunks. One over there, and two over there! *chikachikachikachikachika* "Quick! Gimme the BB gun!" I don't really know why, but I gave it to her. POP! *bink bink bink* (Ricocheting!) *chikachikachikachikachika* POP! bink bink bink* *chikachikachikachikachika* I swear, we are something out of the black & white silent movies! POP! *bink bink bink* *chikachikachikachikachika*
Now remember, my wife is no pansey - not at all. She is a farm girl raised in way upstate New York and she ran large horse farms for many years. She's the kind who will pick up a dead roach with her fingers to put it in the trash... not me. That kinda thing gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. I can't stand anything with more than 2 legs. I'm not a girly-man. I just don't particularly cotton to things what crawl around and crap on your food. But... I digress!
Well, we chased the damn things around for the better part of 2 hours, and made about as much positive progress as I made with the rake handle. *chikachikachikachikachika* After a while we decided we would leave the access panel open and the ladder down, and if they didn't decide to chika-chika down that ladder and leave, the next day was the pest control guy.
Now, all of that is not the funny part. Here it comes...
Later that afternoon, my wife was sitting on the patio talking on the phone. I was in the kitchen at the table, typing on my laptop. She's *chikachikachikachikachika* telling Kay about the chipmunks and the aggravation of *chikachikachikachikachika* having to listen to that all day. *chikachikachikachikachika* I can only begin to imagine the horror in that chipmunk's mind when he hauled ass across that floor once again - and there suddenly was NO FLOOR! Weeehooo!! Out that access panel he flew like Rocky the Flying Squirrel - headed RIGHT AT MY WIFE!! Cheley (pronounced Shellie) screamed like a 6 year old and did one of those dances like she's either gotta pee, or something's flying at her face!! That little dude hit the floor right at her feet, looked her in the eyes, I think he pee'd a little, and ran like hell to the other end of the patio! By that time I was out the door and we wrangled him out the patio door into the yard. She said she was looking at the opening when he popped out, and that he came at her with this terrified look on his face - arms stretched out wide, mouth open, and eyes as big as Double-Stuff Oreo cookies!
Now I don't know if chipmunks have little two-way radios, or telepathy, or what. But I DO know this - we haven't heard the FIRST sound since!
My wife and her screaming dance are available for birthday parties and bar-mitzvahs.
.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
...About Quarterbacks
Never, have I ever seen anything as ridiculous as the quarterbacks in the NFL these days. They have become the biggest bunch of pansies I have seen in quite some time. You put on enough pads to increase your footprint to about the size of a Volkswagon van, run onto the field of battle to trounce your opponent into a quivering heap, and whine like a 2 year old everytime somebody touches you. Really? REALLY?
"Well, Michelle, we know it's gonna be a tough fight, but we've studied them carefully and prepared all week for the kinda grind-it-out game this always is. They're a tough team who likes to hit hard, and we've gotta be tougher and hit harder, if we're gonna make it to the next level."
Followed on the field in the next little bit with, "C'mon, Ref, how 'bout some roughin' (the quarterback) here! He's hittin' me pretty hard!" Again - REALLY?
Unfortunately, the referees and the NFL listen to it. It's a damn shame that, because he couldn't take the hits, there became a "Brady Rule" in the NFL. Don't get me wrong -- though I, personally, don't like Tom Brady, he's a very good quarterback. He's one the best ever at putting a ball through the eye of a needle. But he is the WHINIEST guy I think I've seen in quite some time. Anybody gets close - he's at the referee demanding a flag. "That's a late hit! "He's grabbin' my face mask!" "He didn't use the right deodorant!" Man, just shut up and play football! I actually saw a referee point a finger at him once and say "Back off!" You could read his lips as plain as day. "Back off!"
Now, don't get me wrong. There are some quarterbacks who are the toughest people in the world. Aaron Rogers, Drew Brees, Big Ben (I call him Big Ben mostly because I can't spell Rothlisberger). Big Ben has a broken nose and 2 broken fingers and plays. He has a badly injured ankle and plays - and I mean plays hard. Gets mad at himself because he made a bad throw because his ankle stopped working - that's a tough dude. If Drew Brees turns to a referee looking for a call, he's probably got blood running out of some opening. Aaron Rogers waited so long to get to play, he just wants to play. And there are many others. MANY others.
You wanna see some hard-hitting quarterbacks? Watch college football. Those guys haven't got time to be pansy-ish. They've got a job to do, and if they can't get it done, they've got a coach who will yank 'em out and run another one on.
Many, many years ago, Andy Griffith was a young comedian before he was Sheriff Taylor. One of the earliest skits was called "What it Was, Was Football." If you can find it, listen to it. It is hilarious. One of the funniest lines from that story was about how hard-hitting the sport was: "They run up and down that cow pasture and hit one another, and smashed one another, and run over one another; and as fast as one of 'em would get hurt, they'd tote him off and run another one on!" But... I digress!
College quarterbacks haven't learned how to whine yet. And so the sport is, in my humble lopsided opinion, much more exciting to watch. I think there must be a "course" during the pro football combine that teaches quarterbacks how to do it. Eli certainly carries the whiny baby look well. Drop a pass? Here comes the head roll and the "aw, man, why didn't you catch it?" look.
It must be difficult these days to be a defensive player. When rushing the quarterback, you cannot hit him above the chest or below the knees. You cannot make contact with his head, which is covered by a helmet, when attempting to deflect the ball. You cannot make contact with him after the ball has been thrown or handed off to another player. You cannot untie his shoes or say his name under your breath 3 times.
Instead of crying like some Academy Award-seeking actor because somebody looked at you the wrong way, maybe you need to put on your big-boy panties and play football. C'mon, Man!
HERE IT IS!! Andy Griffith's original skit - What It Was, Was Football http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNxLxTZHKM8
-
"Well, Michelle, we know it's gonna be a tough fight, but we've studied them carefully and prepared all week for the kinda grind-it-out game this always is. They're a tough team who likes to hit hard, and we've gotta be tougher and hit harder, if we're gonna make it to the next level."
Followed on the field in the next little bit with, "C'mon, Ref, how 'bout some roughin' (the quarterback) here! He's hittin' me pretty hard!" Again - REALLY?
Unfortunately, the referees and the NFL listen to it. It's a damn shame that, because he couldn't take the hits, there became a "Brady Rule" in the NFL. Don't get me wrong -- though I, personally, don't like Tom Brady, he's a very good quarterback. He's one the best ever at putting a ball through the eye of a needle. But he is the WHINIEST guy I think I've seen in quite some time. Anybody gets close - he's at the referee demanding a flag. "That's a late hit! "He's grabbin' my face mask!" "He didn't use the right deodorant!" Man, just shut up and play football! I actually saw a referee point a finger at him once and say "Back off!" You could read his lips as plain as day. "Back off!"
Now, don't get me wrong. There are some quarterbacks who are the toughest people in the world. Aaron Rogers, Drew Brees, Big Ben (I call him Big Ben mostly because I can't spell Rothlisberger). Big Ben has a broken nose and 2 broken fingers and plays. He has a badly injured ankle and plays - and I mean plays hard. Gets mad at himself because he made a bad throw because his ankle stopped working - that's a tough dude. If Drew Brees turns to a referee looking for a call, he's probably got blood running out of some opening. Aaron Rogers waited so long to get to play, he just wants to play. And there are many others. MANY others.
You wanna see some hard-hitting quarterbacks? Watch college football. Those guys haven't got time to be pansy-ish. They've got a job to do, and if they can't get it done, they've got a coach who will yank 'em out and run another one on.
Many, many years ago, Andy Griffith was a young comedian before he was Sheriff Taylor. One of the earliest skits was called "What it Was, Was Football." If you can find it, listen to it. It is hilarious. One of the funniest lines from that story was about how hard-hitting the sport was: "They run up and down that cow pasture and hit one another, and smashed one another, and run over one another; and as fast as one of 'em would get hurt, they'd tote him off and run another one on!" But... I digress!
College quarterbacks haven't learned how to whine yet. And so the sport is, in my humble lopsided opinion, much more exciting to watch. I think there must be a "course" during the pro football combine that teaches quarterbacks how to do it. Eli certainly carries the whiny baby look well. Drop a pass? Here comes the head roll and the "aw, man, why didn't you catch it?" look.
It must be difficult these days to be a defensive player. When rushing the quarterback, you cannot hit him above the chest or below the knees. You cannot make contact with his head, which is covered by a helmet, when attempting to deflect the ball. You cannot make contact with him after the ball has been thrown or handed off to another player. You cannot untie his shoes or say his name under your breath 3 times.
Instead of crying like some Academy Award-seeking actor because somebody looked at you the wrong way, maybe you need to put on your big-boy panties and play football. C'mon, Man!
HERE IT IS!! Andy Griffith's original skit - What It Was, Was Football http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNxLxTZHKM8
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Sunday, January 8, 2012
...About Glitter
In my lifetime, I would really appreciate the opportunity to meet the guy who invented glitter. Holidays are made more festive; Birthday cards are more appealing; toys for small children are more eye-catching; Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without glitter-covered candles, and wrapping paper, and cards, and garland, and what-nots, and things, and stuff, and everydamnthing you ever owned. EVERY.DAMN.THING.YOU.EVER.OWNED! Covered, I mean absolutely COVERED in damn glitter. And I'm not talking rhinestone kinda glitter. I'm talking glitter the size of an amoeba! The tiniest particles known to exist in the great and vast universe in which we carry on this meager happenstance we call "life." (That's pretty good, huh?)
I am married to the greatest woman I could hope to find. She is vastly talented. She can use post hole diggers and set 8' 4x4s perfectly straight and plum in concrete, vacuum the pool, build a pantry in the kitchen, make a wedding cake from scratch that is to die for, wash a load of clothes, and make a perfect souffle -- all before lunch! She can take 2 bobby pins and some double-sided carpet tape and make a pot roast! We looked at replacing the Formica counter tops in the bathrooms with granite. HA! $$Cha-Ching$$! She added moulding to the fronts and did a faux painting job that looks so close to marble, that my buddy put his nose on it trying to see the difference. It is really beautiful. But... I digress!!
Man, when she decorates the house for the holidays, it is a magnificent work of art! And guess what one of the main ingredients would be. You guessed it - ANYTHING smathered with glitter. Oh, it's a beautiful thing to see, don't get me wrong. Let me put it this way...... She decided to take it all down and store it; it's time. Today, I stopped her at a point and said, "Here, honey, let me have that vacuum, and I'll do that for you. You can move on to something else. I got this." [*ahem*] WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING??!!" All she decorated this year (with the house for sale) was the mantle over the fireplace. I have worked for almost an hour trying to get all the glitter cleaned up. [I say "have worked" because I'm not finished yet - I was so aggravated, I stopped to write this blog!!] Every time you move the slightest amount, the light catches another crystal of red, or green, or blue, or clear. BAM! Hit that thing with the vacuum head! "Die, you gravy-sucking pig!" I caught myself bobbing and weaving like Muhammad Ali trying to hit the light just right to see the next one. This may take forever.
I say that I'd like to meet the guy who invented glitter. Read that as, "I'd like to punch the guy who invented glitter in the schnozola!" I would just about bet that he was Chinese. I don't mean that in an ugly way. Everything we have now was made in China. I think it is the great plan the Chinese have for taking over the world! When they have everything ready, they will wait until about the first weekend in January and make their attack. They know that every male will be doing the right thing by helping their "other" clean the glitter. Chinese glitter. We will all be so aggravated and woozy-eyed that we'll never see them coming. Attack complete, take-over accomplished, and not a shot fired!
I think what I'm gonna do is mandate to my wife that she can NEVER AGAIN use anything with glitter.
As my buddy Mark says, "Yeah, OK, Paul. Let me know how that works out for you."
Uh, oh. Here she comes. I gotta go.
-
I am married to the greatest woman I could hope to find. She is vastly talented. She can use post hole diggers and set 8' 4x4s perfectly straight and plum in concrete, vacuum the pool, build a pantry in the kitchen, make a wedding cake from scratch that is to die for, wash a load of clothes, and make a perfect souffle -- all before lunch! She can take 2 bobby pins and some double-sided carpet tape and make a pot roast! We looked at replacing the Formica counter tops in the bathrooms with granite. HA! $$Cha-Ching$$! She added moulding to the fronts and did a faux painting job that looks so close to marble, that my buddy put his nose on it trying to see the difference. It is really beautiful. But... I digress!!
Man, when she decorates the house for the holidays, it is a magnificent work of art! And guess what one of the main ingredients would be. You guessed it - ANYTHING smathered with glitter. Oh, it's a beautiful thing to see, don't get me wrong. Let me put it this way...... She decided to take it all down and store it; it's time. Today, I stopped her at a point and said, "Here, honey, let me have that vacuum, and I'll do that for you. You can move on to something else. I got this." [*ahem*] WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING??!!" All she decorated this year (with the house for sale) was the mantle over the fireplace. I have worked for almost an hour trying to get all the glitter cleaned up. [I say "have worked" because I'm not finished yet - I was so aggravated, I stopped to write this blog!!] Every time you move the slightest amount, the light catches another crystal of red, or green, or blue, or clear. BAM! Hit that thing with the vacuum head! "Die, you gravy-sucking pig!" I caught myself bobbing and weaving like Muhammad Ali trying to hit the light just right to see the next one. This may take forever.
I say that I'd like to meet the guy who invented glitter. Read that as, "I'd like to punch the guy who invented glitter in the schnozola!" I would just about bet that he was Chinese. I don't mean that in an ugly way. Everything we have now was made in China. I think it is the great plan the Chinese have for taking over the world! When they have everything ready, they will wait until about the first weekend in January and make their attack. They know that every male will be doing the right thing by helping their "other" clean the glitter. Chinese glitter. We will all be so aggravated and woozy-eyed that we'll never see them coming. Attack complete, take-over accomplished, and not a shot fired!
I think what I'm gonna do is mandate to my wife that she can NEVER AGAIN use anything with glitter.
As my buddy Mark says, "Yeah, OK, Paul. Let me know how that works out for you."
Uh, oh. Here she comes. I gotta go.
-
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