Good evening ladles and jellyspoons! In light of the current news whirlwind, my serious and saddened me thought seriously about being very solemn with this week’s “Happy Friday!!!” installment. However, my childlike, hopeful me thought it might be better to dig a happy story out of the dust closet (archives) for what I hope will be a catalyst for all of you to take a break from the news and maybe even smile a tiny bit.
So here’s a nice memory from way back in 2016. Our grandsons were much tinier back then… Oliver had just hit the ripe old age of 7, and Gabe was well on his way to enjoying his 3rd trip around the sun. Without any further ado, here’s a little story about…
What Matters Most
Three of the biggest kids in our family stayed up way too late watching cartoons again tonight. Our two grandsons and I were having a grand old time with Marvin The Martian, Heckle and Jeckle, The Tazmanian Devil, and some newer, computer animated cartoons we’d never seen before.
A couple hours before they were playing Star Wars games of some sort. The two brothers took our only small, reasonably kid proof flashlight into the bathroom and closed the door. In Ollie’s imagination, the flashlight served a dual purpose: illumination device and light saber.
Nini and I were on the couch and listened carefully, then I raised my voice a bit and asked what they were doing in there. No reply. I asked again, a little more loudly. “We’re just playing…” the response was audible at first and tapered off, which kicked in our Parent Spidey Senses. My magnifying mind had them mixing nail polish with toothpaste or something. These boys are the ripe old ages of 7 and 3 so there’s no telling what they’re gonna do.
I raised my voice a little more and bellowed, “open the door.” They were simply enjoying the fun a flashlight brings on the mirror and other shiny surfaces. Gabe, the 3 year old, came up to me with wide eyes and a very serious tone and said, “I need to go to the force!!” Apparently, “the force” was in the dark bathroom with the door closed.
“You need the force? I’ll make a big force!!,” I said. Then I got up and turned all the lights off; making the entire back of the house a dark force dwelling. That satisfied both of them; but one problem remained. There was only ONE flashlight.A quick trip to the store would solve that. “Make sure they are the same,” Nini urged. “Oh yes,” I replied.
I mean hey, I’m not as dumb as I look.
After the force was with them for a half hour or so, it was getting close to bed time. At our house, that means cartoons. It’s become a tradition: Nini (Granny) hits the hay earlier than us boys. She stretched out on the other couch and nodded off a couple times. After announcing once or twice, “I’m falling asleep,” she got up and kissed us all goodnight.
We watched a few funny animal videos, then switched to cartoons. As their normal bed time became a thing in the distant past, Ollie uttered his normal stalling sentence. “Just one more cartoon Papa. Please?”
OK. One more. And one more after that, and of course one last “one more.”
By this time it was very close to 10 PM, and both were so tired their brain waves where getting pretty wonky. Nice thing about them being dog tired though, is that neither of them fought when I tucked them in; and just a few microseconds after I said “good night,” they were out.
Nini and I are both very aware that our “rock star” status won’t last forever. As they mature, their friends will get much more of their free time than we will; so we’ve learned to stop everything in our world for what matters most.
We’re loving every minute of it.
As I mentioned earlier, we watched some of the “traditional” cartoons… like the kind Nini and I watched while we were growing up. Here’s a newer one we found that was pretty entertaining.
Because I’m old enough to remember when the Beatles came to the U.S. on the Mayflower, I’m also able to remember that 1969 was a pretty big year. So many really BIG things in the news! As with any other year, some of the news was pretty horrible. I’d rather not mention those stories if you don’t mind; these days I really need to maintain a positive attitude. Instead, some of the more positive stories were things like the Apollo 11 moon landing, and the New York Mets winning the World Series. Oh and yeah, and there was a pretty big music festival called Woodstock.
During that summer I was 15, and of
course I was paying close attention to the counterculture and the
world of popular music. My interest in all such happenings actually
sprouted several years earlier, when my grandparents gave me an 8
transistor radio for my 8th birthday (1962). Radio
provided a gateway to the world at large; and I kept that thing on
with great regularity. God bless our mother, she always made sure I
had a working 9 volt battery.
We were definitely a media driven family. By that I mean that the TV was always on; and when it wasn’t, there was the radio. We also had subscriptions to Time and Life magazines; so we had plenty of opportunities to keep up with current events. The 60s saw our country in some upheaval due to numerous protests. Large crowds were marching for causes like peace, civil rights, gender equality, and environmental concerns. Music of the day was evolving from doo wop to rock ‘n roll to psychedelic sounds. My mind was being strongly influenced by all of it.
And I was by no means alone.
From where I and many of my peers
stood, a lot of what the crap that was going on in the world made
absolutely no sense. Pollution was destroying our air, water and
soils. Also, strong dependence on the use of poisonous chemicals
for pest and weed control was harming Mother Nature. War was killing
children and other living things. And to be “successful,” you
needed to be a Caucasian male. So protests and marches were staged
as efforts to raise consciousness and hopefully change things for the
better.
Some progress was made; but
unfortunately greed, ignorance, and intolerance seem to have gained
some ground over the last few years. Mother Nature is still being
treated very badly; and those interested in maintaining the status
quo are sparing no effort to prevent meaningful action that could
save our planet. Racial intolerance and gender inequality still rob
our souls of the peace and love our Creators intended for us.
The media is buzzing with horrible news of yet another assasination and yet another school shooting. Sadly, too much time is spent finger pointing on both sides of the political aisles, with nowhere near enough time being spent on how to prevent such madness.
Remember all that mention of 1969 at the beginning of this story? Well at that music festival called Woodstock, sanitation issues, scarce availability of food and water, and many other difficulties plagued the event; yet no violence erupted, and only 2 people died (one of an overdose, one killed accidentally by a tractor). Nearly a half million people gathered and showed the world that peace and love, in spite of adverse conditions, were indeed possible. There are still many children of the 60’s who cling to the belief that living in peace and love is more than just a dream. It’s a necessity.
We can do it. Together. We must face the fact that we are all children of God and we ALL have a right to be here. If we can embrace that fact, perhaps we can work together to prevent senseless violence, stop the senseless destruction of Mother Nature, and eliminate the utter selfishness that prevents us from doing so.
As Joni Mitchell’s famous song proclaims, “We’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”
I was a geek. I cannot help it, this was my lot in life. At least while I was working anyways. I was once a geekling, but then I became a much more proficient geek and so I guess even in retirement one could call me a full fledged geek person; although things are changing rapidly. I worked in computer support. This was the sad fact of life for me.
OK, yes I was very grateful I had a job that provided me with a good living. But sometimes the stress got to me and I tried to use toenail clippers for a shovel. One of my favorite examples of this was when our network croaked or maybe the internet died. Not exactly a happy time for the IT Department, because although things usually worked very wonderfully, things could and DID go wrong. This made the users sad and they called us. Many times. The phone rang a lot. There were several telephone calls. A whole lot of people were calling our phones. Somebody turn that stupid phone off. Is that thing ringing again?? Who the heck is that paging me?
And then there were the normal, every day things like: “Hi Ken, I can’t print. I don’t know how to log in. Is my password still ‘lulubelle’ or is it something else? Where are all my files? Are you guys busy at all?” And of course when I was on call I had to pay attention to e-mails from work and enjoy the happy indivisible dog food reflections. Then I came home and I actually had real life things to do!!
Sheesh!!
Stress would climb in the window and steam my watermelons. You know how it goes, you just get home from a long day at the soup regulator and you find out the dryer is broken. Then you get to eat all the dust inside to try to bring the dead motor out so you can replace it. This is a very happy time for a keyboard monkey, and when the cardboard is creamy enough you can smear light bulbs on the speaker sneakers. I had no problem dealing with stress. Why is my left nostril twitching, you ask? Why do I convulse while smiling? Why do I try to remember what day the lumber salad is due to arrive?? These are questions only a qualified sturgeon may be able to distribute.
“The network is slow.” “I can’t print.” “I’m missing a program.” “My wallpaper is gone.” “My account is locked out.” These were the refrains of all those poor souls who just wanted to get through the day with their computer behaving correctly; without any saturated animal crackers. To all of them I said with no electronic amplification: I am really busy these days weeks months, so I will get to you as quickly as my foot things will let me travel. If that is not acceptable, please feel free to smell my toe jam molecules. I cannot help the fact that our parent company wants you to enjoy asparagus ice cream. While you struggle with the all the computer happiness you are able to ingest, I will practice licking my eyebrows while I color all the walls a pleasant shade of cobble hobby. Now please excuse me, I have to send e-mail to all the nice birdies in the tree over there. They are taking me to lunch today, and I don’t want anyone to try to impede my hamper design activities. Clothes are people too, you know!!
As you can see, I was coping really well. Never mind the fact that I could smell strange colors and my ears could see flying pine trees in the pencil sharpener. I even learned to use magazines for socks. I surmised that nail polish would make excellent pudding. I tried to greet everyone I saw with great conflagration, and I often wondered why they stared at me with such flatulent potato modules. Breadsticks were in the bathroom and nobody could tell me why. I desperately needed to get something from somewhere and find out just what the heck it really is.
As I said, I was grateful to have my job. In the interest of career advancement, I decided to start applying my skills to all the want ads that ask for experienced hallucinators or maybe I’d just go to the high level staff meetings and speak in tongues: “Jadies and lentilmen, the Microsoft aversion snibble krammik toe-zaley giboo. Ommma zoggnick, morp crantiss flayben. Yes, absoluteny crantiss flayben.” Participation of this nature would certainly assure my indecency for the donation of my career.
If I had one piece of advice to any of you who were thinking of going into IT as a line of work, it would be this: Change lanes now while you still have the cranberries.
Holy MOLY I’m happy to be retired. However, I still get the “opportunity” to help friends and family, and sometimes even complete strangers (who are no longer strangers) with computer issues.
May I have my dessert now?
Thank you.
With all this AI stuff, I sure hope nobody is too naughty with thieving drones…
Yew no, even inn this day of spell
checkers and grandma checkers, lots of writing is on display awl over
the place that is just plane inn correct. Weather it’s the youse
of the wrong word ore sum thing is spelt badly, computers wheel only
help yew two a certain egg stent, and then hay, ewe gist half two no
how to spell and yews proper grandma. Shore, the spell checker will
help yew often. Butt if you use words that our inn the diction
aerie, and their all sew spelled write, the spell checker thinks
everything is honky donkey.
Oh and hay, don’t four get about punctuation!! Gist ask my family: eye used two get total lee up set when eye saw apostrophes used badly. Yew no, like when sum won uses one to make a word plural; witch is knot watt an apostrophe is four at awl.
Egg sample: “Open 12 – 8 Monday’s
through Friday’s”
Oh golly that makes me crazy. OK maybe craziER. Their should bee know apostrophe inn those words… there is no contraction nor possession.
ANYWAY… enough of such soap boxing (I never really enjoyed boxing soap anyhow). On with the topic at hand, “Sines of the Thymes.,” like the tight AL says. Sum of the sines yew sea these days are gist plane funny. Haven’t seen won in a long while, butt one of my favorites over the years has been:
“BANANAS .49 CENTS PER POUND”
First of all, how can they make any money if they only sell bananas for not quite ½ cent per pound??? Second of all, are the farmers giving away bananas and paying for the freight??? Yes, eye no they are two lay Z right the price correctly. Probably they mean $.49 (49 cents) butt it steel looks pretty funny.
On the other hand, yew have the very expensive beer sines, like:
“BUD LIGHT $1899 A CASE”
Wholly carp eye say two yew, who kin a
ford two bye a case of beer for $1899 or watt ever?? That’s all
most the prize of a cheep car!! Well OK knot much of a car for that
kind of money these daze. Butt yew no what eye mean.
My most favorite egg sample of a goofy sine came to me from Comedy Heaven sum years ago, when I had to go to Plumbs for a few groceries. Thanks two mod urn technology, eye was a bull two get a pretty good pitcher of it sew I could Cher it with awl of yew:
Is that two cool or watt?? Knot only
was cheese on sale for a pretty good price, butt yew kin all sew use
them to patch yore roof!! Eye confess, I’ve never herd of shingles
made of cheese bee four. Their they were though, so I bought one
pack of pepper jack and one pack of Swiss. When I got them home I
figured, watt the heck and I tried some.
THEY TASTED JUST LIKE CHEESE!!! No shingle flavor at all!!!
Knot shore how many rains they could
take though… they looked pretty floppy. Don’t think I could
really walk on them either.
Well, I wheel bee on the lookout for moor funny spellings and word miss usage. Eye reel E love thee ability two snap a photo when eye find a funny sine. And of coarse, I’m steel a bit chagrined when eye sea something in print that I’m pretty shore sum won checked with the spell checker but is steal a mess. Oh well… that’s my anal retentive spelling and grandma snootiness four yew.
In the meantime, pleas have a lovely day and eye shore hope you don’t fall for those $1899 beer “sale” prices or the .49 cents per pound bananas.
Crazy, yes?
Well ’tis that time of year when lots of county fairs are happening. It’s a great tradition and fun for the whole family. My girlfriend and I went to the Berrien County Fair today and I had a deliciously monstrous Italian sausage sandwich with peppers and onions. It was yummy for my mouth but my gut is still not happy with me. Now that the heat has died down, I think we’ll go back and maybe get some more of that County Fair food so I can really mess up my gut.
If you haven’t been to one, please go. This week’s cartoon shows exactly what the fair is all about.
I had a blast from the past clunk me in the eyeballs the other day. I saw a woman at the grocery store wearing a Hooters t-shirt. Maybe I’m a prude, but I am not the kind of guy who thinks Hooters is in any way complimentary to women.
For those of you who live in a cave with no contact to the outside world, Hooters is a franchise-type bar that serves food. Like Chucky Cheese, the Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, and other places; Hooters has a “theme.” The “theme” is, to put it bluntly, breast meat. And we ain’t talkin’ chicken here. Even if chicken WAS what Kathy (a.k.a. Mrs. Wifeyperson), our Brother From Another Mother, Mike, and I had to eat there several years ago.
Sure, they try to hide the fact that they are marketing the female anatomy by using an owl as a logo. But unless you’re blind, one step inside and it’s pretty obvious what the deal is. Now, before you call me Mr. Prevert or Kenny Krumbum, let me say this about that: IT WASN’T MY IDEA.
Ya, right…
No, really!! My wife was the lovely person who thought up the whole cockamamie scheme. She paid the bill and everything! Tip and all!! She was strangely curious about the place, but I suspect her curiosity was primarily focused on how she assumed Mike and I would react. I think Kathy wanted to snicker at us when our lower jaws hit the table and the tongues rolled out three feet. Her favorite quip weeks before we went was, “I wanna watch you guys drool.”
I can’t speak for Mikey, but I distinctly remember that the ladies didn’t have much effect on my salivary output. Neither did the food. Nor did the drunks sitting a few tables down, who were obviously shared a different paradigm than Mike and I. Sure, the gals were pretty, and were dressed in little Hooter suits which might be nice for fancy pajamas, but weren’t really practical for much more. Didn’t even show any cleavage! The sad reality was that the food wasn’t very good, and the atmosphere was blatantly exploitative.
I’ll never go to another Hooters, thank you very much.
And then there’s the REALLY sad part: the owners are getting filthy rich!! But so are the folks who own Chucky Cheese and Planet Hollywood. Of course, my warped brain just HAD to come up with some franchise names of my own. So here they are, first the names, then the description…
HEATERS: Trained personnel cook your food at your table on a hot plate while climate control sales staff try to sell you a new furnace.
HONKERS: A prerequisite for staff members is that they have very large noses. Also, horns of all types are sounded when you arrive; as well as on the half hour.
HOOKERS: You pay enormous prices for very small, poorly cooked portions. However, for an extra large tip the waitress or waiter will go home with you.
HITTERS: Flies are raised in great numbers because the kitchen waste is kept in a large wooden vat in the back room. Guests are issued flyswatters at the door, and whoever hits over 50 flies in 30 minutes gets dinner for free.
HECKLERS: Known for excellent food, but this restaurant chain is not for those with low self-esteem. Specially trained staff yell insults at you from across the room while you dine.
HOOPERS: This is for the basketball fans. Your food is pleasantly slam-dunked through strategically placed nets at each table. If the servers miss, you may try to take the rebound and get free dessert.
HOPPERS: Guests are required to adopt bunnies and other abandoned or injured wildlife. Sit back and enjoy the fun while the extra large screens display Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit, and Energizer Bunny videos.
HAMMERS: Don’t put your hands on that counter! HA HA! Too late!! Free icebags to go.
HINTERS: Can you guess what’s on the menu tonight?? Sly and sneaky staff play 20 questions with you to see if you can guess what’s for dinner: “Ok, settle down Mr. Krumplemeyer… now let’s start from the beginning. Smaller than a breadbox… yes, it’s animal…”
HELPERS: Excessively helpful staff swarm about you as soon as you’re in the parking lot. Comments like, “No, sir! I insist you allow me to feed you!” are all too common. Guests often ask to stay overnight, but are “helped” out by muscular hunks with names like Vinnie, Rocco, and Lars.
HOWLERS: Home of the famous “Canine Chorus.” Dogs are trained to sit at your table and yodel during your meal. Forget about “doggie bags.” Simply place your plates on the floor when you’re finished, or earlier if you get tired of the dog noise.
HAMPERS: The only food available is chips and dip, fruit plates, and other appetizers; but regular patrons acquire the privilege to dump dirty clothes in personalized hampers. Laundry is done on Tuesdays.
Well, I could continue, but that’s probably more than enough. If any of you want to invest in one of these truly interesting ventures, send me lots of money and I’ll make sure it is put to good use as a supplement to my retirement.
Thank you.
Now for the video hooting cartoon…
I had a blast from the past clunk me in the eyeballs the other day. I saw a woman at the grocery store wearing a Hooters t-shirt. Maybe I’m a prude, but I am not the kind of guy who thinks Hooters is in any way complimentary to women.
For those of you who live in a cave with no contact to the outside world, Hooters is a franchise-type bar that serves food. Like Chucky Cheese, the Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood, and other places; Hooters has a “theme.” The “theme” is, to put it bluntly, breast meat. And we ain’t talkin’ chicken here. Even if chicken WAS what Kathy (a.k.a. Mrs. Wifeyperson), our Brother From Another Mother, Mike, and I had to eat there several years ago.
Sure, they try to hide the fact that they are marketing the female anatomy by using an owl as a logo. But unless you’re blind, one step inside and it’s pretty obvious what the deal is. Now, before you call me Mr. Prevert or Kenny Krumbum, let me say this about that: IT WASN’T MY IDEA.
Ya, right…
No, really!! My wife was the lovely person who thought up the whole cockamamie scheme. She paid the bill and everything! Tip and all!! She was strangely curious
about the place, but I suspect her curiosity was primarily focused on how she assumed Mike and I would react. I think Kathy wanted to snicker at us when our lower jaws hit the table and the tongues rolled out three feet. Her favorite quip weeks before we went was, “I wanna watch you guys drool.”
I can’t speak for Mikey, but the ladies didn’t have much effect on my salivary output. Neither did the food. Nor did the drunks sitting a few tables down, who were obviously shared a different paradigm than Mike and I. Sure, the gals were pretty, and were dressed in little Hooter suits which might be nice for fancy pajamas, but weren’t really practical for much more. Didn’t even show any cleavage! The sad reality was that the food wasn’t very good, and the atmosphere was blatanly exploitative.
I’ll never go to another Hooters, thank you very much.
And then there’s the REALLY sad part: the owners are getting filthy rich!! But so are the folks who own Chucky Cheese and Planet Hollywood. Of course, my warped brain just HAD to come up with some franchise names of my own. So here
HEATERS: Trained personnel cook your food at your table on a hot plate while climate control sales staff try to sell you a new furnace.
HONKERS: A prerequisite for staff members is that they have very large noses. Also, horns of all types are sounded when you arrive; as well as on the half hour.
HOOKERS: You pay enormous prices for very small, poorly cooked portions. However, for an extra large tip the waitress or waiter will go home with you.
HITTERS: Flies are raised in great numbers because the kitchen waste is kept in a large wooden vat in the back room. Guests are issued flyswatters at the door, and whoever hits over 50 flies in 30 minutes gets dinner for free.
HECKLERS: Known for excellent food, but this restaurant chain is not for those with low self-esteem. Specially trained staff yell insults at you from across the room while you dine.
HOOPERS: This is for the basketball fans. Your food is pleasantly slam-dunked through strategically placed nets at each table. If the servers miss, you may try to take the rebound and get free dessert.
HOPPERS: Guests are required to adopt bunnies and other abandoned or injured wildlife. Sit back and enjoy the fun while the extra large screens display Bugs Bunny, Roger Rabbit, and Energizer Bunny videos.
HAMMERS: Don’t put your hands on that counter! HA HA! Too late!! Free icebags to go.
HINTERS: Can you guess what’s on the menu tonight?? Sly and sneaky staff play 20 questions with you to see if you can guess what’s for dinner: “Ok, settle down Mr. Krumplemeyer… now let’s start from the beginning. Smaller than a breadbox… yes, it’s animal…”
HELPERS: Excessively helpful staff swarm about you as soon as you’re in the parking lot. Comments like, “No, sir! I insist you allow me to feed you!” are all too common. Guests often ask to stay overnight, but are “helped” out by muscular hunks with names like Vinnie, Rocco, and Lars.
HOWLERS: Home of the famous “Canine Chorus.” Dogs are trained to sit at your table and yodel during your meal. Forget about “doggie bags.” Simply place your plates on the floor when you’re finished, or earlier if you get tired of the dog noise.
HAMPERS: The only food available is chips and dip, fruit plates, and other appetizers; but regular patrons acquire the privilege to dump dirty clothes in personalized hampers. Laundry is done on Tuesdays.
Well, I could continue, but that’s probably more than enough. If any of you want to invest in one of these truly interesting ventures, send me lots of money and I’ll make sure it is put to good use as a supplement to my retirement.
Thank you.
Here’s an oldie but a goodie… we ALL should really give a hoot.
Upon first glance, the title of this week’s blog entry might seem a bit naughty. Well please allow me to reassure you: words like sexagenarianism and mastication are just as natural as a deep fried cabbage omelette hovering over a frolicking herd of buffalo wings during the Great Snorkeling Festival..
Reminds me of a time when I was still working. We had a pot luck; and one nice man said he was bringing “a cabbage salad.” Although there is probably no such thing as a vegetable will not eat, I took the smart alec approach and blurted out, “I can’t eat that, I’m a sexagenarian!!” I went on to explain that my Beautiful Wife (God rest her soul) and I did a stint of several years as vegetarians (we excluded meats but ate dairy and eggs). We’ve eaten pretty much every vegetable you can think of, and I’ve also grown quite a few. At first, Mr. Cabbage Salad gave a confused grin, then he said, “Wait a minute… isn’t that a person who’s in their sixties??”
Yes, by golly that’s right. A sexagenarian is a person whose age is from 60 to 69 years old. Ha ha on you if you thought otherwise!! Of course, I no longer fit in that category because I’m 71 now; but see how naughty I am?? Maybe I fooled you!! And maybe I didn’t!! And if I didn’t, ha ha on me!! And also, I’m using way too many exclamation points again!! Ha ha!!!
Anyway, back to the fun at the potluck. I got a nice helping of the guy’s cabbage salad, then I sat there and masticated right in front of God and everybody!! Again with the exclamation points!! And again I am using words that are in no way naughty, but kinda sound like they might be!! I mean, if I’m masticating in front of God and everybody, doesn’t that make me a public masticator?? Oh Holy Mackerel and pickled foghorns!! That guy is masticating!! In front of God and everybody!! Wait, what?? To masticate means to chew? As in chewing food?? So a public masticator is a person who chews his or her food in front of God and everybody??
Yes. Please don’t clunk me for being so almost naughty with you.
So… I didn’t forget; there’s still this business about the underwear test. Well I read about it in the Old Farmers Almanac a while back. I’m sure all of you have heard of soiled underwear; and maybe you’ve even soiled a pair or two of undies in your lifetime. One thing I was neveraware of: according to one gardener who wrote in to the Almanac, you can actually test your garden soil with a pair of white cotton undies!!
Yes!! All you need to do is bury the briefs 6 or 8 inches in the soil; then dig them back up again a couple months later. Supposedly, if the underwear decompose (with the exception of the elastic), then your soil is rich with microorganisms and such. In other words, your soil is healthy.
Ummm… well that’s all well and good, but I don’t think I’ll be burying my undies any time soon. With my luck (and partly because I’m now a septuagenarian), I’ll forget where they were buried. Then I’ll plant potatoes on top of them and have a very interesting masticastion experience when some of the elastic gets lodged inside one of my potatoes.
No thanks. I’ll keep my undies on my hiney and out of the soil, thank you very much.
Well this week’s video has nothing to do with the story, but since I’m now a septuagenarian I’ve had the privilege of growing up watching some of the masters of comedy. And this, in my professional opinion, is one of their funniest short films. Without any further ado…
Meteors will be zooming about in large numbers toward the end of July and into August. Please, if you go out between midnight and during a meteor shower, wear a heat resistant head bone protector. A nice metal bucket will work well, or of course you could go for better coverage and just carry a large hunk of sheet metal over head as you walk outside. If you’re adventurous, you could also wear a pair of steel reinforced oven mitts and try to catch some as they come zooming toward you. And of course there’s the old silly trick of deflecting some of them with a specially made tennis racquet.
That’s right friends, we’re gonna get some free fireworks this summer. The Delta Aquarids meteor shower will peak on July 29 and 30. Best time to watch the Delta Aquarids is late evening until dawn, with peak viewing around 2 AM. The Perseids meteor shower brings peak viewing on August 12 and 13, beginning at 11 PM until dawn. Both meteor showers are already in progress, and will last until about August 24.
Hopefully The Weather Peoples will cooperate and keep the sky free of clouds so we can all enjoy this summer spectacular. If you plan to stay up late enough to enjoy the show, try to situate yourself in an area where there are few city lights. If you can see all 7 stars in the Big Dipper then you should be able to see lots of meteors. Those who can’t escape the lights of the city will probably still see some shooting stars, but not nearly as many as those who enjoy a dark night sky.
All these meteors are from debris scattered about from a couple of comets. This year, Earth began passing through the comets’ debris fields beginning around July 12 and will finish up around August 24; so you may see shooting stars well before the peak time; which varies a bit each year.
So, get a nice lawn chair; sit somewhere dark; look into the northeast sky, and enjoy the show. And again, don’t forget to have some fun with it all… have your Heat-Away Meteor Resistant Oven Mitts ready to catch one as it plummets to Earth. Wear your Captain Zognord Protective Meteor Helmet. And of course be ready with your Deluxe Vector Brand Cosmic Comet Dust Bonking Racquet.
And above all, don’t listen to any of my silliness about protective gear and racquets and such. Just enjoy the cool show please.
So there I was, minding my own business, picking black raspberries with my new girlfriend, at her place way down south in the Berrien Springs Universe, when I was told “There are lots of good ones back there but it might be hard to get to them;” so I replied, “No worries, I know how to blaze a trail!” and I proceeded to do a very interesting walk through the brambles with my short pants on and I really think this run-on sentence is more than long enough.
Don’t you agree??
Yes, of course you do.
About a month before, my new girlfriend, her son, her doggie and I were traipsing through the network of trails she carved into the woods with her Monster Big John Deere Mowing Machine. Along the way I was warned that an uninvited crop of poison ivy was thriving rather nicely… and they pointed them out so I wouldn’t mistakenly try to eat the leaves or rub them on my ears and into my nostrils. I successfully avoided catastrophe! I mean, hey, I’m not as dumb as I look.
Or am I??
Fast foward to the aforementioned berry picking time which was something like two weeks ago. I was very focused on picking a really good batch of black raspberries… you know, more in the bucket than what went into my mouth. I’ve picked raspberries and blackberries numerous times in short pants, the result of which would be what resembled a wildcat trying to remove the skin off my legs. But I didn’t care… I was after berries!!
Yeah well I plum ignored the possibility that maybe during my trail blazing in pursuit of those outlying berries, some poison ivy might be lurking in the thickets. Took several days, but my ignorance produced a pretty good size rash on the front of my left leg and a smaller one on the back of my right leg. Also I noticed that both of these rashes were really uncomfortable!! What a surprise!!
No. No surprise at all. The discomfort I mean. But fooey… I’ve gone berry picking in shorts many, many times but never ever had any encounters with this poison named Ivy. Just color me grateful after hearing horror stories about people getting poison ivy all over their faces, hineys, or much worse.
So Ivy and I are not friends. I waited 71 years to have this experience, and it would have been very OK with me to wait at least 190 years more. The rash seems to be subsiding now… but it still looks like I have a pretty severe radiation burn on that left leg. I think maybe I should wear long pants next time I go trail blazing in the woods around my girlfriend’s house. Or perhaps I could just stick to the trail her Monster Big John Deere Mowing Machine makes. I’ll just try not to be as dumb as I look next time.
I wonder if these guys wrote this song special for me…
I’m not afraid admit it: I’m an antique. When we were kids, Mom would literally tell us “go watch television” to get us out of her hair. Mind you this was mostly when it was too crummy to go outside; but we grew up spending some time in front of the TV.
When family life got stressful, I found myself clinging to the relief provided by good old black and white TV programs and movies. I mostly enjoyed black and white programs because, well, that’s all we had at our house until well into the ‘70s.
Abbott and Costello, The Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy, the Marx Brothers, oh and of course there was Our Gang, the Bowery Boys, Bug Bunny, Felix the Cat, Betty Boop…
I could go on for a very long time.
I count myself as one of a privileged generation who were blessed to be wowed by the old time greats, yet also blessed by newer talents of today.
But when life gets really icky, I find myself reaching for the Three Stooges or Marx Brothers DVDs. Or maybe Monty Python. OK, Monty Python episodes were not filmed in glorious black and white, but you get the idea.
So there I was, 10,000 feet in the air, no plane, no parachute… oh wait… different story.
So there I was, whining about the woes of the world, being grumpy, not being very grateful. Silly me, a spoiled American, being grumpy because the world leaders are not behaving exactly the way I know they ought to. Many, MANY people in this world would be very happy to have the high-class problems I have. However, I’m human and therefore I get grumpy from time to time.
For me, one of the best remedies for stress is laughter.
Therefore, I’m going to treat you to one of my favorite black and white stress relievers.
Please remember that it’s always better to be you than for you to be me; and although you can count to it, “eight” is a word.
Rather weird title to a story, right?? I mean, nobody has ever asked whether my car was a professional wrestler. Come to think of it, nobody has ever asked whether my cordless drill is a veterinarian; nor has anyone wondered if my antique radio is related to the Queen of England. And I have absolutely no idea what any of that is all about, but it was fun to write those silly things with my typing fingers.
OK… so one might (or might not) ask, why would I tell all of you that my car is not a professional wrestler? Well you see it’s like this: my car is a minivan named Sienna. I only recently learned that she is female; but when I went to the Google to look up her name, the photo of a woman from Detroit popped up on the side of the screen. Apparently, Sienna the wrestler is quite accomplished in the professional wrestling field. I never met her, but I’m thinking I’d never want to make her angry.
No, my Sienna is from a factory in Princeton, Indiana. A few years ago we found her sitting in a lot in Holland, Michigan. Her appearance was very timely; because at the time my brand new 2001 Chrysler Town and Country was starting to behave rather badly. I don’t know if the Chrysler was a boy or a girl, but I dubbed it “Old Rattle-Bonken” because of the strange noises the suspension made when going over even the smallest bumps. I was hoping to drive it a couple more years, so we got the transmission rebuilt. Then the speedometer started dancing strangely and my brain started worrying about what was next. Therefore, Old Rattle-Bonken was traded in for Sienna.
When we first got the Town and Country, we thought we had something really special. Heated seats, leather interior, electric sliders, no rust… very clean. But then came this crazy Toyota thing in 2016 (I think). All kinds of bells and whistles, many of which I still don’t know how to use. It even warns me when cars are coming if I’m backing up!! Warns me if somebody is next to me in my blind spot!! Has a navigation system!! Moon roof!! VERY QUIET!! One of the quietest cars we’ve ever owned. It’s been serving me well as both an 8 passenger minivan and “truck.”. Its towing capacity is rated at 2500 pounds, so it pulls my utility trailer nicely. I’ve given it a few booboos over the years but it still runs great.
Just like the Chrysler, Sienna has steering wheel controls for the radio. Also has even more… I can connect my smellphone to her brain with bluetooth. Such a marvelous thing to be able to talk on the phone to Uncle Waffleheimer while trying to avoid being killed on the expressway!! Then one day I noticed this strange picture of a face with its mouth open on one of the little buttons on the steering wheel. I pressed it… a menu came up on the dashboard, and a woman started talking to me!!
“Blah blah blah… voice recognition… blah blah commands blah blah help.” I was so amazed I only comprehended bits and pieces of what she was saying. Then she went silent and the menu disappeared from the display screen. My experience with computers started to kick in, and I pressed the button again. More voice command stuff… but this time after she quit talking I said, “Play the CD please.” She replied “disk,” and I answered, “Yes.” Then she said “Yes;” and VOILA!! the CD started to play. Then I said, “FM radio,” and she echoed my command, and I said “yes” and she said “yes” and the FM radio started to play.
Was this cool or what??
Then I got more adventurous: “Tune to 720 AM.” She replied, “Pardon?” Hmm… ok let’s try FM… “Tune to 90.3 FM.” “Pardon?” she responded. I guess some commands just don’t register. Tried to go to the Google again and look for a list of voice commands that work but came up dry. Oh well, I’ll just keep trying. Maybe I’ll scour the interwebs some more to see what I can find. I’ve often wondered how safe some of this high tech car stuff might be, but looks like it might actually be helpful.
