Lyme Away
Somewhere in a New England resort town where Lyme Disease flourishes...
Bob: “Joe, you read about this? Some 76 year old guy in Florida posed as a doctor, went door to door giving free breast exams. Got away with it for a while...”
Joe: “Wow! What a great idea man, we shoulda’ thought of that.”
Bob: “Yea. Hey....wait a minute... what about Deer Tick Inspector?”
Joe: “Deer ticks...lyme disease... damn, Bob, that could work.”
Bob: “I got a doctor’s coat, stethoscope, I got a clip board too.”
Joe: “How come you got a doctors coat?”
Bob: “Ah..... Betty, she likes to play doctor - patient....it's one of her sex fantasies. I just put up with it....you know, just to keep her happy....”
Joe: “Oh, she likes to play doctor - patient now? Cool.... So, ah... can I have your old pirate and slave girl costumes for Lucy and me?”
Bob: “Oh sure, Joe. Anyway, we could give it try... Deer Tick Inspector Lyme Prevention Team... I like it...”
Joe: “ It won’t work... the local girls won’t go for it.”
Bob: “Yea, too smart, too bad.”
Joe: “But the tourists are coming...”
Bob: “Tourists...yea...what do they know?”
Joe: “This could really work, Bob.”
Bob: “We only got one coat.”
Joe: “We’ll take turns.”
Bob: “What’ll we tell them?”
A tourist answers the knock at the door of her summer cottage.
Joe: “Good afternoon Ma’am. Dr. Joe Smith. There’s a severe deer tick infestation in this area. I’m here from the Lyme Disease Prevention Board to give you a free inspection.”
Lady: “How nice, come in, look around.”
Joe: “I’m not here to inspect the house ma’am. I inspect your person. Please remove your clothes.”
Lady: “What? Are you crazy?”
Joe: “Lyme disease causes premature aging ma’am.”
Lady: “It does? Well, I’m sure it’s not that bad...”
Joe: “And it causes the reversal of any plastic surgeries you may have had. Like if you had a nose job, and got Lyme’s, you’re nose would grow back into it’s original form plus a half inch.”
Lady: “Oh my gawd!!!”
Joe: "And it has a strange effect on silicone, causing it to either shrink or explode....we can't figure it out..."
Lady: "Oh jeez!"
Joe: “Take it easy ma’am, no need to tear off your clothes, I can help you get them off. I’m a trained professional.”
Overheard in the neighborhood grocery store.
Lady 1: “...and they send out Lyme tick inspectors too. Such a nice place.”
Lady 2: “Did you pass inspection?”
Lady 1: “Yes. I passed once last week and twice this week.”
Lady 2: “How often do they have to check?”
Lady 1: “Frequently I guess. This lyme thing is a big problem here.”
In a doctor’s office in that New England resort town...
Doctor to patient: “What Deer Tick Inspection doctor?”
Jail cell in that same resort town...
Joe: “Damn, Bob, that was fun...”
Bob: “Are they gonna charge us or not?”
Joe: “Only if they can find a woman willing to testify in court against us.”
Bob: “Well, none of my ‘patients’ are gonna complain. If that cop hadn’t seen you in the white coat at that lady’s door, we wouldn’t be here now for trespassing...”
Joe: “Yup, you’re right. “
Bob: “So, is that lady gonna press charges now that she knows the truth?”
Joe: “No, she likes me. I inspected her quite a few times... in depth inspections.... I dont' think she'll press charges, but let’s just say, I’m definitely gonna need those pirate and slave girls outfits...”
Monday, April 24, 2006
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Spring, right on time...
Signs of Spring in Resort Areas, like Shelter Island
Well that’s it....the clocks have been turned forward, Easter and Passover are over, we’re all eating pastel colored egg salad sandwiches and leftover matzoh which means Spring is officially here!
Here's some signs of Spring where I live...
Daffodils and tulips are trumpeting their colors all over.
Tourists are already showing up. You can spot them on the ferries very easily, they hit their brakes when the ferry docks and race the gate to get off the ferry. But that sorta works out well, because when they race the gate, the ferry worker gets to hold up that all powerful hand and stop them with a face that says, “I don’t care if your car costs more than my house, this is Shelter Island and we all take turns and play nice, you moron.”
There’s tiny piles of dirt all over the lawn, new dirt means, the worms are building below.
Soon they’ll be big piles of new dirt above ground as we watch the new crop of McMansions spring up.
There''ll be new bunches of illegal aliens all over to build the McMansions.
Soon, we’ll hear the iron songbird of Spring, the John Deere riding lawnmower.
We’ll start hearing the latest round of “I don’t give a damn how they do it in the city....” stories of locals dressing down arrogant city people.
We’ll stand in line silently at the post office listening to someone from Florida demanding something impossible from our long suffering postal folk. We’ll wish that there was a separate line for locals, and knowing that it can’t be that way, we’ll size up the offending irritant as to whether we can fit their body into a small town bag because the large once cost more...
Men coated with spackle and paint will show up at deli’s with sandwich orders written on blocks of wood. I always wonder if their wives give them grocery shopping lists on planks...
The teenagers of Shelter Island increase the volume of their unceasing bain, “There’s nothing to do here” and “I’m bored.” My daughter always thought that these phrases constituted justification for drug indulgence. She didn’t realize that these phrases conjure up long lists of house and yard chores in the parental mind. These lists, coupled with the knowledge that they need our money for everything including drugs, gives us the leverage we need to get them to do anything at all, even though they can only do it halfway and half ass. It’s just as well. If they did anything start to finish, correctly, and the first time - the shock would kill us.
For me the greatest sign of Spring showed up on the side of my brother’s house. Clam rakes...two of them....nestled gently together in the morning sun. Their rusty baskets seemed to cry out, ”Clams...clams...give us clams....”
Oh yes, the best signs of Spring on Shelter Island, are the ones we can dip in butter.
Well that’s it....the clocks have been turned forward, Easter and Passover are over, we’re all eating pastel colored egg salad sandwiches and leftover matzoh which means Spring is officially here!
Here's some signs of Spring where I live...
Daffodils and tulips are trumpeting their colors all over.
Tourists are already showing up. You can spot them on the ferries very easily, they hit their brakes when the ferry docks and race the gate to get off the ferry. But that sorta works out well, because when they race the gate, the ferry worker gets to hold up that all powerful hand and stop them with a face that says, “I don’t care if your car costs more than my house, this is Shelter Island and we all take turns and play nice, you moron.”
There’s tiny piles of dirt all over the lawn, new dirt means, the worms are building below.
Soon they’ll be big piles of new dirt above ground as we watch the new crop of McMansions spring up.
There''ll be new bunches of illegal aliens all over to build the McMansions.
Soon, we’ll hear the iron songbird of Spring, the John Deere riding lawnmower.
We’ll start hearing the latest round of “I don’t give a damn how they do it in the city....” stories of locals dressing down arrogant city people.
We’ll stand in line silently at the post office listening to someone from Florida demanding something impossible from our long suffering postal folk. We’ll wish that there was a separate line for locals, and knowing that it can’t be that way, we’ll size up the offending irritant as to whether we can fit their body into a small town bag because the large once cost more...
Men coated with spackle and paint will show up at deli’s with sandwich orders written on blocks of wood. I always wonder if their wives give them grocery shopping lists on planks...
The teenagers of Shelter Island increase the volume of their unceasing bain, “There’s nothing to do here” and “I’m bored.” My daughter always thought that these phrases constituted justification for drug indulgence. She didn’t realize that these phrases conjure up long lists of house and yard chores in the parental mind. These lists, coupled with the knowledge that they need our money for everything including drugs, gives us the leverage we need to get them to do anything at all, even though they can only do it halfway and half ass. It’s just as well. If they did anything start to finish, correctly, and the first time - the shock would kill us.
For me the greatest sign of Spring showed up on the side of my brother’s house. Clam rakes...two of them....nestled gently together in the morning sun. Their rusty baskets seemed to cry out, ”Clams...clams...give us clams....”
Oh yes, the best signs of Spring on Shelter Island, are the ones we can dip in butter.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Chocolate Tax?
Easter Form 1040
Saturday, April 13, somewhere in America...
“Margaret, you can’t dye Easter eggs here. I need this table to do taxes.”
“You should’ve had the taxes done already, I need this table to dye eggs.”
“This is the only table and I need it for taxes. Taxes take precedence over Easter eggs.”
“Not to me and three kids it doesn’t. See the line in the middle of the table? You stay on your side, we’ll stay on ours.”
“Be careful with those cups of dye, will ya? I don’t want anything on these forms.”
“Okay kids, after we dip the eggs, let’s put them on the paper towels to catch the drips.”
“HOLY---! Margaret! The egg rolled over the 1099’s! Now they’re purple!”
“The table’s not level. Remember I told you that.”
“Yea, yea.... gimme some paper... I’ll fold a wedge and stick it under this leg... there.... no more eggs over the line, okay?”
“Okay, we’ll try. “
“And keep it down.”
“They’re kids, Joe. We’re doing the Easter eggs, they’re going to make noise.”
“Isn’t there some religious teaching about dying eggs in silence?”
“I don’t think there’s anything in the Bible that covers egg dying, Joe. I think that’s in your thin book series...Activities I’ve Done With My Children.”
“HEY! HEY! NO THROWING EGGS, GUYS! Margaret, make them stop that!”
“Okay, settle down, no throwing eggs! BRIAN!”
“OH @&#$)!! Margaret! Perfect! That egg just hit the 1040, and it’s my last one! Now it has a pink stripe and yolk on it. Get me a tissue.. geez... “
“Just wipe it off. The IRS doesn’t care if they get a return with a pink stripe, as long as they get the money. Besides, it’s their own fault for scheduling April 15th so close to Easter.”
“It’s an IRS tradition Margaret, they schedule April 15th around this time every year....”
“Well they should check the calendar first. Tax day should not collide with Easter.”
“Pass me a chocolate bunny.”
“Okay.”
“How come you got solid ones? I hate solid bunnies. Like trying to bite through rebar.”
“I’ll get you a knife.”
“No, then I’ll have little chocolate shavings all over. Next time get hollow bunnies.”
“I get what’s on sale, Joe.”
“Well find hollow bunnies on sale next year....the ones with the blue candy eyes...”
“Yellow bow or pink bow?”
“Don't start Margaret, just get the hollow ones. Everybody keep quiet. Color your eggs quietly or the Easter Bunny won't come.”
"Nice Joe. I can't tell you how much fun it is co-parenting with you."
Friday, April 21, in an IRS office....
“Oh man, Tom! This one is a real stinker....damn egg yolks. How are we supposed to get these returns done with all these egg smears and color streaks?”
“I don’t know what’s worse, Bob, the ones with the egg stink or the ones with the watercolor abstracts on them.”
“We can’t keep doing this. We have to come up with a solution.”
“Management is on it. They’re either banning Easter from April or moving the eggs and bunnies stuff to another holiday. They’re thinking of Memorial Day. Start a new tradition of dying eggs red, white and blue. And have chocolate flags.”
“How can they pull that off?”
“Hey Bob, we’re the IRS, the only government agency that audits itself. We can do anything we want. Shouldn’t take long to push an new bill through Congress making the change official. No more tie dyed Tax forms.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to change the tax deadline date to February or May to avoid the Easter collision?”
“We’re the Internal Revenue Service, Bob. We’re not here to serve the people.”
“I’m sorry Tom, what was I thinking?”
“It’s the sulfur fumes from the eggs. Happens to the best agents.”
Saturday, April 08, 2006
The Untuckables
The Untuckables
I live on an island. There are hundreds of islands off of both coasts of the Unitied States. Some have bridges, but most use ferries.
One of our ferry's has a new ticket system. It used to be that you exchanged money for a nice 3”x 4” postcard paper ticket (I scanned an actual ticket above) with the date and your trip choices punched out. Now they’re testing a new system, with a computerized handheld ticket machine about the size of a small tissue box, which is appropriate because it prints out a tissue thin ticket. If it were any thinner, it would be spray....
I watched the tickettaker punch in the codes for a round trip and then use a separate little printer on his belt to print out the tiny 2” square ticket. It took longer for him to enter the codes and wait for the ticket to be printed than it used to take to hand over cash and get a torn off ticket with your change. What’s going to happen when these little electronic machines gets hit with salt spray? Or are dropped? Not that either of those two things would happen on a ferry...
But here’s the real problem.... the tiny tickets!
Everyone on Shelter Island has a specific spot where they tuck their ferry ticket. Most people tuck it above the driver’s window where the frame joins the headliner. Some have elastic straps on their sun visors and tuck it there. Everybody has a spot and can ticket tuck by feel, in the dark, half asleep, while holding hot coffee, while arguing, anything, but the ticket has to be big enough and stiff enough to tuck. These new small, flimsy ones are untuckable tickets.
They wouldn’t tuck in my usual spot, so I had to drive with one hand while I searched for alternative ticket tucking locations. I’m an experienced ticket tucker, but I couldn’t secure this ticket anywhere. Plus, I could see that from my handling, the print — with my round trip fare on it — was smearing. It finally ended up in my wallet. Then I had to dig it out for the return trip.
But the problem is even bigger than that. You see, loose ferry tickets in the car serve a multitude of purposes in Island life:
You can write a note on a ferry ticket and wedge it in someone’s house door or car door, or leave it under the windshield wiper.
If it’s a long note, you can put a “1”, “2”, “3”, at the top of each ticket. You could write a novel if you have enough tickets.
You can write short grocery lists on the back of tickets.
In desperation, you can use the corner of a ferry ticket as a toothpick.
I have written absence excuses on the back of ferry tickets for the school because the nice note I wrote is still on the kitchen table.
You can play three games of ‘tic tac toe’ with bored kids on the back of each ticket.
As you’re driving and hear something on the radio you want to remember, you reach for a ferry ticket and pen and the ticket is just the right size to lay on the center of the steering wheel and write while you drive.
A ferry ticket can flatten and remove spiders from the car.
All of my bookmarksers are ferry tickets.
I asked a fellow school mom for an easy recipe she mentioned. She gave it to me on the back of a ferry ticket while we were in the parking lot.
It's not uncommon here to get in your car and find a note written on a ferry ticket waiting for you on the dashboard.
We can amuse ourselves on the ferry by looking at the shapes of the punches.
The old tickets could survive rain or coffee spills, but not the new ones. Three rain drops and you will be handing the ticket taker a lump of mush for a return ticker.
I know there’s no stopping progress. I know that computers make our lives better. I know that a computerized ticket is better for me than a tear off, I guess. I know all this, but I will sure miss those multipurpose ferry tickets.
Did I mention you can wallpaper with ferry tickets?
Friday, March 31, 2006
The Bar is Closed
“Thursday, March 23, 2006; SAN ANTONIO, Texas (Reuters) -- Texas has begun sending undercover agents into bars to arrest drinkers for being drunk, a spokeswoman for the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission said Wednesday.”
I knew this was coming! Last year, in this column, I said that I was opposed to banning smoking in bars because it’s part the bar scene and we all know it. Even though I’m a non-smoker, I felt that smokers have the right to smoke. If you can’t smoke in a bar, where can you smoke? I said pretty soon there’d be no drinking in bars and look.... it’s happening!
If they can ban getting drunk in a BAR in TEXAS then there’s no hope for the rest of the country! First no smoking, now no drinking, soon no chewing gum and no talking! Then no flirting and no dancing! Next, bars will serve only coffee so they don’t get sued for anything and then somebody will be sitting on a tiny stage playing acoustical guitar singing ‘Kumbaya’.
People go to bars to achieve some level of inebriation. They say and do stupid things to blow off steam. Sometimes there’s a fight, sometimes a woman takes off her top, sometimes people cry on you. It’s a bar! Bar things happen in a bar. As long as you don’t drive drunk, what is the problem?
Summer 2006, in a bar somewhere in America
“I’m sorry sir, you’ve already had your two beer limit this evening. I can serve you coffee. We have a nice line of expressoes.”
“I want another beer! I’m not driving. I walked here from my hotel. I will be walking back.”
“I’m sorry. It’s our new policy. No drunks in the bar.”
“Can I buy a bottle and take it with me?”
“No, you’ll drink it once you get back.”
“No I won’t, I swear. Besides...uh.... it’s not for me. It’s for my mother. She came all the way from Italy on this vacation with me, sweetest woman in the world. It’s for her. She was going to come with me tonight, but she’s not feeling well. You wouldn’t want to punish her just because I’ve had my quota, would ya?”
“I can’t. I’m real sorry. But you know, you can take a cab from here and go to Lefty’s Elbow Room. You can have two more beers there. That’s what most customers do.”
“Oh, I get it.... I can go from bar to bar and have two beers in each bar...”
“Yup. The cab has a shuttle service going in a loop to every bar on the Island. Just sit out front and wait.”
Two men sitting in front of a bar waiting for a cab...
“Damn this is getting expensive! This cab is making a fortune off of me.”
“How many bars you been to so far?”
“Lets see, six beers.... three bars.”
“When did you start?”
“I started at seven o’clock. It’s ten now. The problem with this bar shuttle system is that you can’t drink your beers close enough together to get a buzz on, you know what I mean?”
“Do what I do. I start drinkin’ much earlier in the day now. That way you stay a head of the crowd and the cab can get you to the next stop much quicker.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I started at four o’clock today. It’s ten now. I’ve been to four bars and I feel great.”
“You’re not worried about the cab getting all your money?”
“Nah. I just took out my cash and gave him my wallet after the second bar. He takes my ATM card and gets cash from the bank and pays himself for me between pickups.”
“That’s very considerate of him.”
“It’s the new way to drink now. It’s not so bad really. Most of the women stay put and get better lookin’ everytime you loop through their bar.”
“Tomorrow night, I’m just gonna get me a bottle and drink at home on my sofa.”
“Can’t do that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Fire ordinance. No sitting at home and drinking. You might get impaired judgement and start smoking and set the sofa on fire. Or worse, you might drink and dial, and bore someone with a drunken rant.”
“Man, what has happened to this country? Used to be a man could have a couple beers with friends, smoke, flirt and maybe even score. Now, we’re being protected to death from things we don’t want protection from and another thing my friend....”
“Cab’s here.”
“Oh yeah... let’s go.”
“Thursday, March 23, 2006; SAN ANTONIO, Texas (Reuters) -- Texas has begun sending undercover agents into bars to arrest drinkers for being drunk, a spokeswoman for the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission said Wednesday.”
I knew this was coming! Last year, in this column, I said that I was opposed to banning smoking in bars because it’s part the bar scene and we all know it. Even though I’m a non-smoker, I felt that smokers have the right to smoke. If you can’t smoke in a bar, where can you smoke? I said pretty soon there’d be no drinking in bars and look.... it’s happening!
If they can ban getting drunk in a BAR in TEXAS then there’s no hope for the rest of the country! First no smoking, now no drinking, soon no chewing gum and no talking! Then no flirting and no dancing! Next, bars will serve only coffee so they don’t get sued for anything and then somebody will be sitting on a tiny stage playing acoustical guitar singing ‘Kumbaya’.
People go to bars to achieve some level of inebriation. They say and do stupid things to blow off steam. Sometimes there’s a fight, sometimes a woman takes off her top, sometimes people cry on you. It’s a bar! Bar things happen in a bar. As long as you don’t drive drunk, what is the problem?
Summer 2006, in a bar somewhere in America
“I’m sorry sir, you’ve already had your two beer limit this evening. I can serve you coffee. We have a nice line of expressoes.”
“I want another beer! I’m not driving. I walked here from my hotel. I will be walking back.”
“I’m sorry. It’s our new policy. No drunks in the bar.”
“Can I buy a bottle and take it with me?”
“No, you’ll drink it once you get back.”
“No I won’t, I swear. Besides...uh.... it’s not for me. It’s for my mother. She came all the way from Italy on this vacation with me, sweetest woman in the world. It’s for her. She was going to come with me tonight, but she’s not feeling well. You wouldn’t want to punish her just because I’ve had my quota, would ya?”
“I can’t. I’m real sorry. But you know, you can take a cab from here and go to Lefty’s Elbow Room. You can have two more beers there. That’s what most customers do.”
“Oh, I get it.... I can go from bar to bar and have two beers in each bar...”
“Yup. The cab has a shuttle service going in a loop to every bar on the Island. Just sit out front and wait.”
Two men sitting in front of a bar waiting for a cab...
“Damn this is getting expensive! This cab is making a fortune off of me.”
“How many bars you been to so far?”
“Lets see, six beers.... three bars.”
“When did you start?”
“I started at seven o’clock. It’s ten now. The problem with this bar shuttle system is that you can’t drink your beers close enough together to get a buzz on, you know what I mean?”
“Do what I do. I start drinkin’ much earlier in the day now. That way you stay a head of the crowd and the cab can get you to the next stop much quicker.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I started at four o’clock today. It’s ten now. I’ve been to four bars and I feel great.”
“You’re not worried about the cab getting all your money?”
“Nah. I just took out my cash and gave him my wallet after the second bar. He takes my ATM card and gets cash from the bank and pays himself for me between pickups.”
“That’s very considerate of him.”
“It’s the new way to drink now. It’s not so bad really. Most of the women stay put and get better lookin’ everytime you loop through their bar.”
“Tomorrow night, I’m just gonna get me a bottle and drink at home on my sofa.”
“Can’t do that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Fire ordinance. No sitting at home and drinking. You might get impaired judgement and start smoking and set the sofa on fire. Or worse, you might drink and dial, and bore someone with a drunken rant.”
“Man, what has happened to this country? Used to be a man could have a couple beers with friends, smoke, flirt and maybe even score. Now, we’re being protected to death from things we don’t want protection from and another thing my friend....”
“Cab’s here.”
“Oh yeah... let’s go.”
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Cyclone Larry
AP: Mon., March 20, 2006 SYDNEY, Australia -- The worst storm to hit Australia in decades, Cyclone Larry - a category five storm ... mowing down sugar and banana crops and leaving thousands of people homeless ... the airport was cleared to house thousands of people in tents. ... Snakes and Crocodiles Alerts; ... volunteers to help with the cleanup, were warned to be on their guard for deadly animals stirred up by the storm, AP reports. "Keep your kids away from flooded drains, be aware of snakes and crocodiles,".. "Those guys will have had a bad night too."
A Hurricane, a Typhoon and Cyclone are all the same kind of storm, just in different locations; hurricanes in the Atlantic, typhoons in the Pacific and cyclones in the southern hemisphere for Australia. Australia, of course, has to be different, so their storms spin clockwise. They reverse their seasons, drive on the wrong side of the road, speak english with the thickest accent they could possibly develop, they just go out of their way to be different than the rest of the world. We have normal names for our hurricanes; Alice, Louise, Nathan; they have stupid names for their storms; Larry, Dick, Bud....BUD? YES! They had Cyclone Bud! It was only a category two, so they called it - what else? Bud-lite!
Australians visit Shelter Island all summer. The Hamptons won’t let them in because they’re too redneck, so they all have to come here for their east coast experience.
I ran into a big clutch of them last summer at Wades Beach. They were talking loud, but I hardly understood a word. I was worried because they were drinking, (yes, it’s true) and I was sure somebody was going to drive on the wrong side of the road. So I stayed and monitored them for as long as I could. They lured me to their picnic with a plate of shrimp. I only ate the shrimp to be polite and to give me an excuse to get in close and find out what they might be up to. They were planning a trip to Las Vegas and trying to determine what ‘territory’ it was in. I told them it was in Indian territory, so they’d better be armed. A couple of the men were wearing calvary style straw hats with one side up, so I told them they could lead the charge since they already had the hats. Someone said something to which there was much laughter, if I had my Australian to English Dictionary with me, I’ve have gotten the joke. What I did discover, when they threw their heads back to laugh, is that there are no orthodontists in Australia, so if anyone wants to corner a market, I think there’s one waiting in the outback.
We got into a conversation about deer and they asked me what predators we had here for population control. I said just guns and cars. They were very excited that there was hunting on the island and I suddenly realized I’d said the wrong thing. So if anyone on the Island thinks they had a dream last August of Australians hunting among their hydrangeas, I apologize. They advised me that one wolf pack could take control our deer population. I promised to pass that along to our Town Board. I’m sure Wolf Pack Importation would go over really good on the agenda.
I pointed out that wolves present their own danger and might eat children. No one seemed alarmed, one man said, “Maybe a few.” Like that was an acceptable loss. But now I know how stupid I was to discuss dangerous predators with people who just advised the Cyclone Larry victims to "Keep your kids away from flooded drains, be aware of snakes and crocodiles,".. "Those guys will have had a bad night too.". Are they kidding?
“What ‘appened to yer little boy Johnny, Mavis?”
“Ow, lost ‘im to croc after Larry, we did. ‘e was standin’ too close to a flooded ditch and I yells out to ‘im, “Johnny, watch for crocs!” But ‘e didn’t ‘ear me.”
“I’m sorry Mavis.”
“Well, we ‘ave ‘is twin. So it’s just like ‘e’s ‘ere, except I don’t have to buy in doubles no more. So it all worked out in the end you might say.”
“Well, all’s well that ends well, cheerio!”
I don’t know if it’s all the sun, something in the kangaroo meat, the isolation from the rest of the world, or what, but Australians have a very different comprehension of ‘normal’ compared to the rest of the world. Just be prepared in case you need to fend them off this summer... I found the best thing is to tell them that beer in the Hamptons is half the price of Shelter Island’s, since ours is all imported...
Monday, March 13, 2006
St Patrick's Day SEASON?
St. Patrick’s SEASON???[Disclaimer: The St Patricks celebration photo on the right is not of me. I'd need much bigger shamrocks....]
Wow! What news! All over the media, they’re saying “St. Patrick’s Season”, not St. Patrick’s Day! Sure ‘n begora....when was the day expanded to a season? I mean, it’s always been that way for my family, we start drinking on the15th just to get a head start, but we didn’t want to force the rest of the country into it. And yet... here it is....
But why, why was the day expanded into a season?
Is it because we won the Civil War for the North? General Robert E. Lee was quoted saying to Grant, “The only reason your side won was because you had more Irishmen.” Is it because we build old New York, especially the Brooklyn Bridge? Is it because we brought River Dance here? Is it because we brought The Three Tenors?
Is it because we added colorful language to American english? Like, the Paddywagon = a police wagon to transport groups of unruly people; Donnybrook = a fight, usually followed by a paddywagon; Bushnells’ = Irish water of life, usually followed by a donnybrook and a paddywagon, Irish Flu = a hangover, usually preceeded by Bushnells, a donnybrook and a paddywagon.
Is it our colorful linguistic contradictions? A unique feature in the Irish and Irish American patois is our contradictions, everybody loves them. Here’s some I remember hearing growing up: “He’ll regret it to his dyin’ day, if ever he lives that long.” [translation - he is in soooo much trouble] “Don’t be in such a hurry that you arrive before you get there.”[translation - don’t rush] “If you get there first, leave a chalk mark in an obvious place. If I get there first, I’ll erase it.”[translation - whoever arrives first, just wait for the other one] “He’s on the wagon now... barely a bottle a week.” [translation - court ordered AA meetings] “Well, do your best to end up there in the first place.”[translation - give it your best shot]. I thought everyone understood this way of speaking until I saw “Waking Ned Divine” (a great movie by the way) with a southern friend and we were hitting “pause” every thirty seconds so I could explain to her what was just said!
Is it because we brought Marion Morrison (aka John Wayne), Bing Crosby, Maureen O’Hara? Grace Kelly, Gene Kelly, Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Cagney? Bill Murray, Ryan Stiles, Drew Carey? Jackie Gleason, Mickey Rooney, Art Carney? Daniel Doone, Davy Crockett? Henry Ford, John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan? How about Matthew McConnaghey, Liam Neeson, Pierce (my heart) Brosnan? And Sean Connery?.... I don’t care if he was raised in Scotland, he’s ours....
Is it our Irish Coffee? Alex Levine the writer said, “Only Irish coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat.” Is it our corned beef and cabbage? Our soda bread? Our terrific tea? And of course, our greatest contribution to mankind... beer. I know the ancient Egyptians brewed it and many other cultures as well, but nobody got it right till Guiness did. And there isn’t an Irish American family in this country that doesn’t have it’s own panel of experts to verify this.
Maybe it was our movies that got us a whole season of recognition.....The Quiet Man, Going My Way, The Bells of Saint Mary’s, Angela’s Ashes, My Left Foot, Finian’s Rainbow, Ryan’s Daughter, Michael Collins, Far and Away, and many more.
Our music perhaps? American blue grass is right out of Irish folk music. Danny Boy alone had to get us a few points... everyone thinks it’s a girl/boy love song. It’s not. It’s a father singing to his son whom the British conscripted into a far off war. That’s why it’s sung at police and firemen’s funerals, it’s a ballad for a fallen son in uniform. What about MacNamara’s Band? Everybody knows those words!
Maybe America is just tired of the party pooper atheists trying to squelch any holiday that has any religious connection. This could be just the beginning of an antipooper movement. There’s plenty of tragedy and suffering to go around, we need all the excuses to celebrate life we can get!
But, whatever the reason, we thank ‘e for the season, we’ll do a little drinkin’ and talk a little treason’ [translation - thanx for the party expansion, we’re gonna have a few extra and argue over everything].
May the road rise up to meet you and the wind be at your back... Happy St. Patrick’s Season!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Dachshunds, Worlds Most Annoying Dog...
My mother, who has three cats, decided she didn't have enough to do, so she adopted two young Dachshunds. They bark at everyone and anything that moves. They scare easily and pee when ever they get scared, which is often. I know that many people are dedicated to this breed, but I don't know why. They just pee and bark. They're cute, but so is a daffodil...
My mother says they're angels when no one is around and it's just the three of them. But this is the same woman who told me that fairies would pay money for my teeth, so her credibility is questionable.
But in fairness, there's nothing wrong with these two noisy little pee bags that couldn't be fixed by a taxidermist. I think they'd make wonderful bookends.
Here's my list of uses for a dachshund, stuffed or live, I don't really care:
Neck roll: If you have them stuffed with a nice latex foam, they'd make a great neck roll for lying on the couch.
Doorstop: How cute would this be? A dachshund, with that goofy little smile, filled with about five pounds of buckshot would hold open just about any sized door.
Coat collar: I know the fox collars of the 40s and 50s are out of style, but that's because foxes live in the wild and are hard to catch. Dachshunds live in people's houses and are relatively easy to catch with just a few doggie treats and a net. Dachshund collars could make an adorable fashion statement and I bet little kids would love to pet the doggie wrapped around Mommy's neck.
Tire Stop. Both ferries use chock blocks to push under your tires to limit movement on the ferry. A sand filled dachshund would make a perfect tire stop. Plus it's long enough that you could have "Welcome to Shelter Island" shaved into its fur.
Fair Event: They have Taber Tosses at some fairs, why not a Hound Hurl? Big men could swing dachshunds overhead by their tails and hurl them in a distance contest. For an extra challenge, live dachshunds could be used because they'd run as soon as they hit the ground and add the dimension of chase to the contest!
Fireman's Wiener Dog Roast: Firemen have barbecues, how great to add a wiener dog roast? I estimate the average roasted dachshund could feed a family of six. And why not? This is the Year of the Dog and dog is a favorite meal in Communist China. We're importing everything else Chinese, why not a few more cultural recipes?
Water Toys: An air-filled dachshund, with sand in its feet for ballast will float in a standing position and look just adorable in your pool. Cup holders can be strapped to the back for drinks.
Moorings: I can't really recommend dachshunds for mooring. They're too squishy and wouldn't even last half a season.
Lawn Decor: Here's something dachshunds were born for! Imagine purchasing several stuffed doxxies from the garden shop and placing them all around your lawn. You can position them chasing a ball, jumping in the air, put one in a tree looking down and forlorn. You could change their positions every week and give the neighbors a treat every time they drive by.
Slippers: I had a pair of slippers once that were stuffed parrots. Why not dachshund slippers? Cute, warm... and silent! You can put them on the bed if you feel like you need four beady eyes staring at you in the morning. If you miss the sound of them, just go to annoyingdogbarks.com and download their sharp, nerve grating barks. If you play them at a slower speed, they sound like St. Bernards, speed it up and they sound like Chihuahua's.
Races: Dachshund races would be fun to watch. They look stupid when they run and they're so easily distracted, they'd never stay in their lanes... the races would quickly disintegrate into a dachshund donnybrook funny enough to rival Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl.
Speed Bumps: Everyone struggles to slow down people on their streets or even in their driveways. What better way than to install cement filled dachshunds? Everybody will brake, thinking they are about to hit some sweetie pie wiener dog. Only it will turn out to be the wiener dog from hell as it takes out their oil pan!
But... all kidding aside... I really do find these dogs annoying.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Greenport, NY Tourist Trap
Fish or cut bait
Whaling was a noble and necessary industry for centuries. It would still be today without the discovery of oil in the ground. Whaling provided lamp and heating oil, corset struts, perfume essence, ivory, and myriad other products. We butcher, eat and wear cattle and pigs and think nothing of it, but now whales are sacred cows. Greenport and Sag Harbor, New York, were famous whaling ports, but it looks to me like Greenport is a little embarrassed about its whaling past. But why?
Every time I take the ferry and look at Greenport, it gets a little more kitschy and a little less whaley. First they got rid of their only tall ship, the beautiful Regina Maris. A great symbol of the town, it could be seen from almost any point along the wharf or channel. Too whaley, it had to go. Then they installed this tourist trap glitzy carousel to give the place an amusement park atmosphere. What schlock! They spiffed up the area around it and that’s nice. Then they replanked the long fishing dock and that was great, until they went too far...
The fishing dock has these dunce cap white cones on the top of each mooring post, all the same height. Looks like a work by Christo, or a long row of white Hershey’s Kisses. I know why they did it.... to keep the seagulls from standing on the posts. The gulls can’t land on the cones. I guess the gulls had to go because they go with the whole whaling theme, ergo they-go.
It was always nice to come across on the ferry and see one seagull perched atop each post. Twenty or thirty in a row. All watching the ferry, thinking about where they can find French fries today, where should they have their taxes done, and all the other things seagulls think about while watching ferries. Now instead of a line of bird brains, I see a line of cone heads.
The cones have to go.
Mooring posts aren’t just for seagull perching, they are also essential for fishing. You cut bait on the top of the post. You jam your bait knife in the post so you know where it is. You stick hooks into the top so they don’t fall on the deck and get in somebody’s foot. The top of the post can hold two or three beers, or one sandwich and a coffee. When the top of the post splits a little, it increases the surface area and you can put a little cooler there.
But don’t the seagulls try to eat the bait and steal your sandwich? Absolutely! Battling seagulls for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is one of the first skills developed by shore line kids. It’s a developmental marker like learning to walk or talk. Even the smallest child quickly — and intuitively — learns how to wave his arms to protect his Oreo’s!
Bait Theft Prevention is a native skill for everyone who has ever dropped a line off a dock. The gulls circle and wait for any opening to get that bait! It adds to the challenge of dock fishing. A dock fisherman can catch the critters below the sea while fending off attackers from the sky! It’s all part of the thrill of the hunt!
But don’t the gulls poop on the dock? Of course they do. But fishermen love the smell of salty air and gull poop on the deck. Smells like....victory.
Maybe Greenport could uncap half of the posts as a compromise. Then, the tourists could have their pictures taken by the pointy cones that match their pointy heads and the fisherman could still enjoy fishing and cutting bait atop the posts.
It’s heart warming to see guys fishing off the dock in summer. People on the ferry wave to them and they wave back. Every one of them used the post for something. Now.... when they fish, the bait they cut will slide off the side of the cone. Their sandwiches will slide off and be eaten by gulls that can swoop faster than a man can catch. They’ll all kick their coffee over because it’s on the deck and not a post.
And there the fishermen will stand.... coffeeless, starving, baitless, with hooks in their feet, surrounded by an army of giant white kisses, looking lost and bewildered. The people on the ferry will point and laugh. Only the gulls will understand. Because the gulls know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And in a rare alliance of nature, gull and man will stand side by side as man gets out a screwdriver and pries off the killer kones of kitsch...
Whaling was a noble and necessary industry for centuries. It would still be today without the discovery of oil in the ground. Whaling provided lamp and heating oil, corset struts, perfume essence, ivory, and myriad other products. We butcher, eat and wear cattle and pigs and think nothing of it, but now whales are sacred cows. Greenport and Sag Harbor, New York, were famous whaling ports, but it looks to me like Greenport is a little embarrassed about its whaling past. But why?
Every time I take the ferry and look at Greenport, it gets a little more kitschy and a little less whaley. First they got rid of their only tall ship, the beautiful Regina Maris. A great symbol of the town, it could be seen from almost any point along the wharf or channel. Too whaley, it had to go. Then they installed this tourist trap glitzy carousel to give the place an amusement park atmosphere. What schlock! They spiffed up the area around it and that’s nice. Then they replanked the long fishing dock and that was great, until they went too far...
The fishing dock has these dunce cap white cones on the top of each mooring post, all the same height. Looks like a work by Christo, or a long row of white Hershey’s Kisses. I know why they did it.... to keep the seagulls from standing on the posts. The gulls can’t land on the cones. I guess the gulls had to go because they go with the whole whaling theme, ergo they-go.
It was always nice to come across on the ferry and see one seagull perched atop each post. Twenty or thirty in a row. All watching the ferry, thinking about where they can find French fries today, where should they have their taxes done, and all the other things seagulls think about while watching ferries. Now instead of a line of bird brains, I see a line of cone heads.
The cones have to go.
Mooring posts aren’t just for seagull perching, they are also essential for fishing. You cut bait on the top of the post. You jam your bait knife in the post so you know where it is. You stick hooks into the top so they don’t fall on the deck and get in somebody’s foot. The top of the post can hold two or three beers, or one sandwich and a coffee. When the top of the post splits a little, it increases the surface area and you can put a little cooler there.
But don’t the seagulls try to eat the bait and steal your sandwich? Absolutely! Battling seagulls for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is one of the first skills developed by shore line kids. It’s a developmental marker like learning to walk or talk. Even the smallest child quickly — and intuitively — learns how to wave his arms to protect his Oreo’s!
Bait Theft Prevention is a native skill for everyone who has ever dropped a line off a dock. The gulls circle and wait for any opening to get that bait! It adds to the challenge of dock fishing. A dock fisherman can catch the critters below the sea while fending off attackers from the sky! It’s all part of the thrill of the hunt!
But don’t the gulls poop on the dock? Of course they do. But fishermen love the smell of salty air and gull poop on the deck. Smells like....victory.
Maybe Greenport could uncap half of the posts as a compromise. Then, the tourists could have their pictures taken by the pointy cones that match their pointy heads and the fisherman could still enjoy fishing and cutting bait atop the posts.
It’s heart warming to see guys fishing off the dock in summer. People on the ferry wave to them and they wave back. Every one of them used the post for something. Now.... when they fish, the bait they cut will slide off the side of the cone. Their sandwiches will slide off and be eaten by gulls that can swoop faster than a man can catch. They’ll all kick their coffee over because it’s on the deck and not a post.
And there the fishermen will stand.... coffeeless, starving, baitless, with hooks in their feet, surrounded by an army of giant white kisses, looking lost and bewildered. The people on the ferry will point and laugh. Only the gulls will understand. Because the gulls know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And in a rare alliance of nature, gull and man will stand side by side as man gets out a screwdriver and pries off the killer kones of kitsch...
Monday, February 06, 2006
Betty Friedan Please don't go...
How could you leave us?
What a sad week... losing both Coretta Scott King and Betty Friedan, two of my personal heroes. I always loved Coretta for being a class act. She was definitely the strong, silent type, with opinions that would surprise you. She hated Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. She saw them as self serving opportunists who increased racial tensions. I agree with her on that. She challenged the finding of the court in her husband murder trial and sought to free the man whom she believed was innocent of the assasination of Martin Luther King, Jr. In my opinion, there’s no better role model for any woman who seeks truth than Coretta Scott King.
I heard Betty Friedan speak many times over the years. She is personally responsible for much of the aggravation I have caused my loved ones in the course of my life.
I was seventeen and about to become only the second person in my whole family who would graduate from high school. I wanted to go on to college. When I announced this to my family, they looked at me quizzically and my grandfather asked, “But don’t you want to get married?” I recall being dumbfounded at the realization that these two ideas were incompatible in their minds.
The Army recruiter had been to our school, and say what you will, it really it a great place for young people to get started. My stepfather blocked my scholarship to Oswego (but that’s another story). So one day, I found myself deep in a very bad section of Queens at a wig factory. They cut 38 inches of hair off my head and paid me $300. I bought two suitcases, clothes, new shoes, and then I enlisted to get the GI bill so I could get my education.
Fast forward one year. I’m serving at Fitzsimons Army Medical Center Psych Unit in Denver. Sergeants and officers make inappropriate comments and advances all the time. Cornering me in the linen room was a regular pastime for the married 40-something Major who ran the psych unit. Finally he said he was putting me on night shift and keeping me there (ignoring the six month rotation) until I was “nice” to him.
Fast forward eighteen months on night shift. I can’t get any quality sleep in the noisy barracks during the day. I’m punchy all the time. I worry about making mistakes constantly. Somebody leaves a copy of The Feminine Mystique in the lounge. I know it was God.
When I picked up the book, I’d never heard of sexual harassment and just accepted that this was how it was for women. By page 87, Betty said, we shouldn’t tolerate sexually manipulative behavior, and the Major is looking very bad. By page 192, Betty said, we have to speak up, so I went to the JAG (Judge Advocate General) to complain. They said I couldn’t prove what I claimed, so go away. By page 258, Betty said, we are not responsible for how men react to us, so I went to the Chaplain. He was nice, but told me it must be the way I dress (I’m in fatigues! We’re all in fatigues!) that’s provoking the Major. By page 317, Betty said, women must reach out to help and support each other, so I take a Chinese cooking course on post. Coincidentally, I noticed a Mrs. Weir on the sign up sheet. She turns out to be a great gal who, coincidentally, is married to General Weir who, coincidentally, is the General of the post. Gee... it was almost like I planned it....
Fast forward two months. I’m off nights. I have a new assignment as an aide in General Weir’s office. He makes me an editor of the post paper because he thinks I write “pithy humor” and he loves it! He insists I should become a writer, but I can’t imagine aspiring to anything so lofty. I do think of that pesky Major sometimes ...and wonder how’s he’s doing since he got reassigned to Guam...
Ever since reading The Feminine Mystique, I’ve been an irritant to any female friend or relative whom I think is tolerating mistreatment based on gender. I’ve caused marital arguments. I’ve gently enlightened male bosses. I’ve called women on seductive behaviors to manipulate bosses.
The feminist movement seems to be dormant these days. All the opportunities we marched for are here, yet young women today tolerate being called “ho’s” and “bitches”. Despite a plethora of birth control, abortions and illegitimate births are on the rise. There's absolutely no excuse for it. A woman must be responsible for her own fertility. And abortion is not to be taken lightly or casually used as birth control.
Psychologists document a steady increase in “battered girlfriend” syndrome where young women are being controlled by guys they are just dating! They all need to read The Feminine Mystique, because Betty said, one generation must teach the next.
Fond farewell Betty and Coretta, I’ll see you on the other side.
What a sad week... losing both Coretta Scott King and Betty Friedan, two of my personal heroes. I always loved Coretta for being a class act. She was definitely the strong, silent type, with opinions that would surprise you. She hated Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. She saw them as self serving opportunists who increased racial tensions. I agree with her on that. She challenged the finding of the court in her husband murder trial and sought to free the man whom she believed was innocent of the assasination of Martin Luther King, Jr. In my opinion, there’s no better role model for any woman who seeks truth than Coretta Scott King.
I heard Betty Friedan speak many times over the years. She is personally responsible for much of the aggravation I have caused my loved ones in the course of my life.
I was seventeen and about to become only the second person in my whole family who would graduate from high school. I wanted to go on to college. When I announced this to my family, they looked at me quizzically and my grandfather asked, “But don’t you want to get married?” I recall being dumbfounded at the realization that these two ideas were incompatible in their minds.
The Army recruiter had been to our school, and say what you will, it really it a great place for young people to get started. My stepfather blocked my scholarship to Oswego (but that’s another story). So one day, I found myself deep in a very bad section of Queens at a wig factory. They cut 38 inches of hair off my head and paid me $300. I bought two suitcases, clothes, new shoes, and then I enlisted to get the GI bill so I could get my education.
Fast forward one year. I’m serving at Fitzsimons Army Medical Center Psych Unit in Denver. Sergeants and officers make inappropriate comments and advances all the time. Cornering me in the linen room was a regular pastime for the married 40-something Major who ran the psych unit. Finally he said he was putting me on night shift and keeping me there (ignoring the six month rotation) until I was “nice” to him.
Fast forward eighteen months on night shift. I can’t get any quality sleep in the noisy barracks during the day. I’m punchy all the time. I worry about making mistakes constantly. Somebody leaves a copy of The Feminine Mystique in the lounge. I know it was God.
When I picked up the book, I’d never heard of sexual harassment and just accepted that this was how it was for women. By page 87, Betty said, we shouldn’t tolerate sexually manipulative behavior, and the Major is looking very bad. By page 192, Betty said, we have to speak up, so I went to the JAG (Judge Advocate General) to complain. They said I couldn’t prove what I claimed, so go away. By page 258, Betty said, we are not responsible for how men react to us, so I went to the Chaplain. He was nice, but told me it must be the way I dress (I’m in fatigues! We’re all in fatigues!) that’s provoking the Major. By page 317, Betty said, women must reach out to help and support each other, so I take a Chinese cooking course on post. Coincidentally, I noticed a Mrs. Weir on the sign up sheet. She turns out to be a great gal who, coincidentally, is married to General Weir who, coincidentally, is the General of the post. Gee... it was almost like I planned it....
Fast forward two months. I’m off nights. I have a new assignment as an aide in General Weir’s office. He makes me an editor of the post paper because he thinks I write “pithy humor” and he loves it! He insists I should become a writer, but I can’t imagine aspiring to anything so lofty. I do think of that pesky Major sometimes ...and wonder how’s he’s doing since he got reassigned to Guam...
Ever since reading The Feminine Mystique, I’ve been an irritant to any female friend or relative whom I think is tolerating mistreatment based on gender. I’ve caused marital arguments. I’ve gently enlightened male bosses. I’ve called women on seductive behaviors to manipulate bosses.
The feminist movement seems to be dormant these days. All the opportunities we marched for are here, yet young women today tolerate being called “ho’s” and “bitches”. Despite a plethora of birth control, abortions and illegitimate births are on the rise. There's absolutely no excuse for it. A woman must be responsible for her own fertility. And abortion is not to be taken lightly or casually used as birth control.
Psychologists document a steady increase in “battered girlfriend” syndrome where young women are being controlled by guys they are just dating! They all need to read The Feminine Mystique, because Betty said, one generation must teach the next.
Fond farewell Betty and Coretta, I’ll see you on the other side.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Muslim Cartoons ; It's about time!
"I gotcha jihad right here baby...."
I can't believe the Muslims, who want the rest of the world to see them as peaceful and rational people are rioting over cartoons! By rioting, they are validating everyone fears that they are uncivilized, fanatical nutcases! A Danish newspaper publishes 12 cartoons (one above) that they don't like, and for that there are riots all over the world?
These people need to lighten up! Neither the Christian or Jewish world riots or goes crazy
when Islamic newspapers run anti-Christian (example from a Muslim publication of Jesus cuddling a bomb) or anti-Jewish cartoons. What... they can make fun of Jesus, Moses, the Pope and anyone they like in the Judeo-Christian world and we can't make fun of Muhammed? Guess again Mr Urban Turban...I think it's time the Muslims had a little quid pro quo. You get the respect you give.
I know that Christians engaged in brutal Crusades to cleanse the world of the infidel for over 100 years in anticipation of Christ's return at the first millenium in the Christian calendar. I know that as the Islamic calendar approaches it's first millenia, Muslim's are doing the same thing. Their crusades to purify the world of infidel are called Jihads, but it's the same mission.
But the Crusades were fought with swords on horseback. Jihads are fought with serious bombs and sophisticated weapons that can kill far more than a bunch of knights on horseback. The world is just too grown up for this nonsense..... we can't have Crusades or Jihads anymore and that's just the way it has to be.
Christ didn't come back at the thousand year mark and Muhammed isn't coming back at the thousand mark either, so just get a grip on yourself Muslims. If your spiritual growth is contigent on murder, than you're no better than the Crusaders who thought the same thing. There's no such thing as a holy handgrenade. The Hindu's, the Buddhists, the Jews and the Christians have all figured this out, so please try to catch up with the rest of the class.
The Muslims, whom I once respected, are like petulant children to me now. They want their turn to slaughter the infidel just because the Christians had their turn first. I know the Muslims are still pissed off about the Crusades because September 11, 1529 was the day the Christians, in the Battle of Vienna, drove the Muslims decisively out of Europe. Naturally they picked that date to make their big comeback...and I haven't forgotten the images of the Muslims celebrating the 3000 dead Americans or the Palestinians urinating on the American flag on Sept 11, 2001.
As far as all the furor about these cartoons is concerned, there's a saying among New York Italians that is very appropo here....
"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke..."
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
The Fray over Frey
Just like everything else in life.....there are rules for lying.
The author James Frey lied in his best selling book “A Million Little Pieces”. Oprah Winfrey did the best thing she could when she realized she was duped. She acknowledged it and asked for pardon, which was duly granted because she didn't waste any time asking for it.
Americans can handle the truth, whatever it is, and wherever it takes us, but we hate deceit. Deceit is a specific type of lie that embezzles our loyalty, sympathy, or money under false pretenses. For this, Americans will either kill you or put you in the Whitehouse.
Deceit is not to be confused with other types of lying. Example, if Frey had lied about his IQ, no one would care because we had no investment in it. It’s still a lie, but it doesn’t cost us anything either way, which puts it in the “white lie” category. Frey’s mistake was putting down in writing, facts that were easily disproved; like saying he was in jail for 87 days when it turned out to be 3 hours.
Lesson #1: Don’t put lies on paper....unless you attach someone else’s name to it!
Lying is not terrible, deceit is. We’ve all had to lie our asses off at some point in our lives to prevent a crisis. I have a clear memory of lying to a boss for a coworker to prevent a big problem for her. I hated doing it and I let her know later. But I lied so well, the boss reassigned the task to me!
Lesson #2: When speaking of things of which you have absolutely no knowledge, you must sound completely calm and certain.
Lying to family and loved ones is essential to familial harmony. These are what I call the ‘pink fuzzy lies’. If your hubby wants to know if you still think he’s “a hunka hunka burnin’ love”, the answer must always be yes. Just as he must never mention weight gain, new hair color, foo foo bed pillows, et. al. To all these, his answer must be, “I love it!”
Lesson #3: If you love me, tell me pink fuzzy lies.
Addendum; this does not extend to any lies told to cover broken commandments. Those lies fall in the deceit category and are usually very expensive.
Teenagers lie as a rule, but for some reason, parents feel compelled to respond with the truth.
LIE: “Sorry about the car, Dad. Tommy was driving without my permission.”
TRUTH: “That’s gonna cost me $800 to repair, son.”
LIE: “I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for the damage. I’ll get a part time job after school.”
TRUTH: “No son, just get good grades and don’t let anyone else but you drive the car.”
LIE: “I promise, Dad. I love you. You’re a great guy.”
Lesson #4: You only have to give as much truth as you get.
There’s a Turkish saying, “He who tells the truth had better have one foot in a stirrup.” The truth must only be told sparingly and with great care. Breaking someone’s delusion can be very painful. I have a really pretty size 14, Diane von Furstenburg, bathing suit in my underwear drawer. It’s been there for more than 20 years and still has the Neiman’s tag on it. If I need to hear any truth about that, I’ll let you know.
Lesson #5: Truths and lies can live peacefully side by side.
There’s a French saying, “In goes the wine, out comes the truth.” This is so true - and sometimes it’s a good thing, like if you need to know who’s in their will. But it can be a bad thing, like if they ask to use your cell phone to cancel the hit they put out on you.
Lesson #6: When using a martini to uncover a lie, be careful not to choke on the olive of truth.
I was talking with a great gal named Meghan, the other day. Meghan was telling me about her grandmother from Ireland who lived to be 92. I said, “She must’ve had great stories.” And she responded, “Yea, and they got better every time she told ‘em”. Now, was her sainted grandmother lying? Never! The Irish don’t lie. We just decorate the truth a little each time we tell it.
Which brings us back to Mr. Frey, which I think is an Irish name... Mr. Frey just lost his way. If he’d have kept his addiction story in a bottle of Bushnell's, it would have gotten better with time and Oprah and I wouldn’t be mad at him.
Lesson #7 Truth is in the ear of the beholder.
The author James Frey lied in his best selling book “A Million Little Pieces”. Oprah Winfrey did the best thing she could when she realized she was duped. She acknowledged it and asked for pardon, which was duly granted because she didn't waste any time asking for it.
Americans can handle the truth, whatever it is, and wherever it takes us, but we hate deceit. Deceit is a specific type of lie that embezzles our loyalty, sympathy, or money under false pretenses. For this, Americans will either kill you or put you in the Whitehouse.
Deceit is not to be confused with other types of lying. Example, if Frey had lied about his IQ, no one would care because we had no investment in it. It’s still a lie, but it doesn’t cost us anything either way, which puts it in the “white lie” category. Frey’s mistake was putting down in writing, facts that were easily disproved; like saying he was in jail for 87 days when it turned out to be 3 hours.
Lesson #1: Don’t put lies on paper....unless you attach someone else’s name to it!
Lying is not terrible, deceit is. We’ve all had to lie our asses off at some point in our lives to prevent a crisis. I have a clear memory of lying to a boss for a coworker to prevent a big problem for her. I hated doing it and I let her know later. But I lied so well, the boss reassigned the task to me!
Lesson #2: When speaking of things of which you have absolutely no knowledge, you must sound completely calm and certain.
Lying to family and loved ones is essential to familial harmony. These are what I call the ‘pink fuzzy lies’. If your hubby wants to know if you still think he’s “a hunka hunka burnin’ love”, the answer must always be yes. Just as he must never mention weight gain, new hair color, foo foo bed pillows, et. al. To all these, his answer must be, “I love it!”
Lesson #3: If you love me, tell me pink fuzzy lies.
Addendum; this does not extend to any lies told to cover broken commandments. Those lies fall in the deceit category and are usually very expensive.
Teenagers lie as a rule, but for some reason, parents feel compelled to respond with the truth.
LIE: “Sorry about the car, Dad. Tommy was driving without my permission.”
TRUTH: “That’s gonna cost me $800 to repair, son.”
LIE: “I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for the damage. I’ll get a part time job after school.”
TRUTH: “No son, just get good grades and don’t let anyone else but you drive the car.”
LIE: “I promise, Dad. I love you. You’re a great guy.”
Lesson #4: You only have to give as much truth as you get.
There’s a Turkish saying, “He who tells the truth had better have one foot in a stirrup.” The truth must only be told sparingly and with great care. Breaking someone’s delusion can be very painful. I have a really pretty size 14, Diane von Furstenburg, bathing suit in my underwear drawer. It’s been there for more than 20 years and still has the Neiman’s tag on it. If I need to hear any truth about that, I’ll let you know.
Lesson #5: Truths and lies can live peacefully side by side.
There’s a French saying, “In goes the wine, out comes the truth.” This is so true - and sometimes it’s a good thing, like if you need to know who’s in their will. But it can be a bad thing, like if they ask to use your cell phone to cancel the hit they put out on you.
Lesson #6: When using a martini to uncover a lie, be careful not to choke on the olive of truth.
I was talking with a great gal named Meghan, the other day. Meghan was telling me about her grandmother from Ireland who lived to be 92. I said, “She must’ve had great stories.” And she responded, “Yea, and they got better every time she told ‘em”. Now, was her sainted grandmother lying? Never! The Irish don’t lie. We just decorate the truth a little each time we tell it.
Which brings us back to Mr. Frey, which I think is an Irish name... Mr. Frey just lost his way. If he’d have kept his addiction story in a bottle of Bushnell's, it would have gotten better with time and Oprah and I wouldn’t be mad at him.
Lesson #7 Truth is in the ear of the beholder.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
The X Files
It’s three weeks after Christmas and Hanukah and all over the country, new computers sit in boxes because Microchip Challenged men obstinately refuse to learn any computer skills. I have three brothers with computers who impatiently sit in front of them swearing in frustration while REFUSING to be taught. They sit there cursing the cursor (I think that’s how it got its name) and being totally chipped off because the computer can’t scan their little minds and instantly know what they want it to do!
What is it about so many men that makes computer learning anathema to their whole being? It took me awhile... but I figured it out.
A brain is a non-expandable hard drive. It’s only so big and there’s only so many neurons and when the memory banks are full, that’s all folks. You can only work with the RAM and that’s why these men function just fine with all the knowledge that they already have, but there’s no extra space in their hard drives for new stuff - like how to work a computer. Makes sense to me...
Solution? Some neurologist somewhere has to develop, and patent - and I get 50% for thinking of it - a neuro suction machine. I say, if medicine can suck fat, it can suck memory. If we can send a man to the moon, then we can send him in for neurosuction to delete obsolete files and free up some memory in his head.
I have done an extensive study and developed an excellent starting list of files that need to be deleted from any man’s brain. Number One - the biggest file in their heads - porn and ridiculous fantasies, the X Files. They’ve all read too much Penthouse Forum. At no time in their lives will they ever be held against their will by a Swedish Bikini Team and forced to perform until there’s nothing left of them but their shoelaces! Deleting this and thousands of other ridiculous fantasies, centerfold pictures, and all porn related material will free up nearly 50% of a man’s mind... impressive.
Just neurosuctioning the out porn alone will be enough for most men, but if you still need more memory space, here’s some additional delete options: Sports statistics, fanatic devotion to sports teams, fishing stories, golf stories, memories of youthful debauchery (wouldn’t it be nice never to hear the stories of how much they drank and who they threw up on again?), and memories of all lovers prior to you. If you clear out the porn and these other files, you will have recovered at least 90% of his mind.
But as long as he’s already in the neurosuction machine, you can pay the neurologist a little extra to flip the switch and input some practical programs...you might as well...why waste the trip?
I recommend downloading any basic religion program first. Anything that promotes love, tolerance and patience is fine, plus all those programs come with Pornblocker.
Here’s a list of some additional great downloads: “Prompt and Competent Home Maintenance”; “I Love to Paint Walls” (the Martha Stewart edition); “Housework Won’t Kill Me”; “I Live to Buy Her Jewelry”; and one that says “101 Ways to Have Better Sex” on the box, but the disc inside reads “I Hate Football”.
There’s a small program I can’t recommend enough called “I Can Find It Myself” that gives men a constant prompt every five minutes that tells them where they left their keys, glasses, wallet, cigarettes, lighter, and watch. Plus, you can custom program three more items for them to track, like the location of a toddler for example.
The same company puts out a "I Can Dress Myself" application, but I can't give it a good rating. The program can tell them that mango will clash with hunter green, but it presupposes that they can identify shades of colors. My exhusband thought all blues got together, all greens got together, etc. So when he came out wearing a mint green shirt with sage green corduroys, I just had to suffer. Sears used to have a "Geranimals" system where kids could match their clothes according to matching animals on the labels. Men need the same system, just with pictures of tools. Screwdriver shirts can be worn with screwdriver pants, et. al. This would work, but this assumes they'll take the time to look at labels in their clothes...which would mean effort.... well, we can forget that!
I'm afraid no computer or simple matching program will work. If you want your man to look nice, do what I did, only buy him clothes that match no matter what he pulls out of the closet. That way he can think he dressed himself without anybodies help and you won't be embarassed.
There’s a small but really great little application called, “I Love You, Honey” that prompts them to say "I Love You, Honey" once a day at a preprogrammed time. Just pay attention to the AM/PM setting so they don’t blurt out “I love you, honey” at 11 AM while they’re at work. The same company sells an “I’m Sorry Honey” program, but it never works. Instead of saying, “I’m sorry, honey” when you say the trigger phrase, the guy’s brain just seizes and he starts hitting his head against a wall, which acts as a restart button and soon he’s okay again, but you never hear the “I’m sorry, honey”.
So the mystery is solved. The Microchip Challenged men need our help. Their brains are jam packed with obsolete files and until someone develops a neurosuction machine, we’re just going to have to do all their typing and internet research for them..... I have a strong suspicion they wouldn’t have it any other way...
Sunday, January 08, 2006
The REAL Brokeback story...
Brokeback
A friend of mine threw his back out dragging a Christmas tree out of the house a few days ago. It was his first significant back injury. I told him to take heart, there’s an upside to back injuries that few people realize. I had my first experience two Januarys ago. I was shoveling snow off my top step, when suddenly... I became airbourne.... and then I cleared off the remaining steps as I slid down on my back. Up till then, I always respected people who said they suffered from back pain, but I never really understood it. But even in those first hours the news wasn’t all bad. I herniated a few discs, but hey...I got six good looking firemen to pick me up with a single phone call....
So for those who will suffer from back pain this winter, let me share the upside.
Mattress testing: Nothing will give you a clearer indication of the status of your mattress than the level of pain and rigor mortis you experience upon waking on it. If you can get up with less than five minutes of slow movement and groans, your mattress is great. If you keep your pain meds by the bed and have to take one 30 minutes before you even TRY to move, your mattress is bad and you are justified in getting a new one. If you wake to find your back has seized like a superheated V-6 and you are laying on your bed completely rigid like the Tinman, and your spouse has to spray your joints with WD-40 just work them loose, your mattress is shot! You are authorized to sleep anywhere you want until the new one arrives.
Lazy-Boy Command Center: I never owned a lazyboy chair before I hurt my back. They are amazing! You can sleep in them, eat in them, direct family traffic, watch TV, talk on the phone, hurl objects in anger. It’s fantastic! Almost anything you can do standing in pain, you can do from the chair with a 50% pain reduction. And bonus... you can set up a command center! That’s an end table next to the chair with glasses, books, crossword puzzle books, pens, meds, coffee & sandwich, TV remote, DVD remote and Cable remote. My ex always had a lazyboy and a command center, but I wasn’t allowed in his chair and his command center was surrounded by electrified razor wire. I was stationed on the side of the sofa closest to the kitchen because I was the designated “fetcher”.
Social Skills: When your back is out, you develop a keen awareness, nearly a sixth sense, of who is heading for the kitchen. You develop exceptional diplomacy and courtesy as you quickly think of what to ask them to bring to you. You even carefully decline their offer to bring you something every fifth offer, so they won’t know how much you need them. Because if they knew that, then they’d try to control you with their superior mobility....
Acting Skills: Even if you’ve never acted before, back pain will help you hone your skills to act stoic as you reluctantly let people bring you a pillow, some meds, chocolate, crab cakes, manicure set, pitcher of dacqueri’s, etc. I recommend studying the film Camille to pick up tips on that, "I hope I don't disturb you as I lay here and die in agony," technique.
Medication Evaluation: Pharmaceutical companies could save a fortune on research by letting people with back pain evaluate their products for them. I picked up great tips for pain relief concoctions from other people in the back pain club. Aspirin and tylenol work great together, but aspirin and ibuprofen negate each other, a tylenol with codeine and a margarita will give you a great four hour nap, but a margarita with a Vicodin will blast you off faster than the space shuttle.
Shower Massage Acquisition: It never fails, if you have a back injury, someone gives you a new shower massage shower head. The sounds you will make in the shower as that hot water jets onto the sore spots will make the neighbors think there’s group sex happening in your bathroom...But trust me, a shower massager is far better than group sex... uh... so I’ve heard....I should probably state here that whatever anyone has heard about me and the crew of the Nimitz is a lie. That’s not how I hurt my back, I fell down the stairs... honest.
And speaking of sex... if you have back pain you can always get out of sex, or you can get to be on the bottom with no obligation to move! It's great! You can get laid and watch Home & Garden TV at the same time. If you're a guy, you can get your needs filled while you recline in your lazy-boy.... wait a minute... nothing new there.... (I always found it ironic that no matter how a woman reads up on techniques to excite her man, an American man's favorite sexual position is just getting a blow job in a lazyboy... preferrably at half time and hopefully she keeps her head low so you can watch the show...).
Chore reduction: This is my favorite part of back pain. I am justified to do anything I must to get my children to do chores to save my back. If my teenage daughter refuses to do the dishes saying, "It's your job. I'm not your slave." I have mastered a hook shot with my shoe that can turn a corner and hit her right in the back of her MTV watching head - and it's not child abuse if you are in pain and need the help!
Officer: "What happened Ms Flynn?"
Me: "Well sir, I've been confined to this chair since I herniated some back discs. I sit here in pain worrying about keeping a nice house. I just wanted my daughter to do the dishes, that's all."
Officer: "I've had back pain myself and I have worthless teenagers as well. I understand completely."
Me: "Bless you, sir."
Officer: "I'm leaving you my revolver. If your daughter gives you any lip next time, shoot her."
Me: "Bless you, sir."
I always thought child abuse was just parental self defense anyway. Only people without children or "experts" who have never been on the front lines day after day with children fail to understand this, but I digress... oh yes.. back pain.
And so my friends, don't fear thinking you can still do a back flip on the neighbors trampoline without injuring yourself. Go ahead, enjoy the moment and remember that every Ace bandage has a silver lining...
A friend of mine threw his back out dragging a Christmas tree out of the house a few days ago. It was his first significant back injury. I told him to take heart, there’s an upside to back injuries that few people realize. I had my first experience two Januarys ago. I was shoveling snow off my top step, when suddenly... I became airbourne.... and then I cleared off the remaining steps as I slid down on my back. Up till then, I always respected people who said they suffered from back pain, but I never really understood it. But even in those first hours the news wasn’t all bad. I herniated a few discs, but hey...I got six good looking firemen to pick me up with a single phone call....
So for those who will suffer from back pain this winter, let me share the upside.
Mattress testing: Nothing will give you a clearer indication of the status of your mattress than the level of pain and rigor mortis you experience upon waking on it. If you can get up with less than five minutes of slow movement and groans, your mattress is great. If you keep your pain meds by the bed and have to take one 30 minutes before you even TRY to move, your mattress is bad and you are justified in getting a new one. If you wake to find your back has seized like a superheated V-6 and you are laying on your bed completely rigid like the Tinman, and your spouse has to spray your joints with WD-40 just work them loose, your mattress is shot! You are authorized to sleep anywhere you want until the new one arrives.
Lazy-Boy Command Center: I never owned a lazyboy chair before I hurt my back. They are amazing! You can sleep in them, eat in them, direct family traffic, watch TV, talk on the phone, hurl objects in anger. It’s fantastic! Almost anything you can do standing in pain, you can do from the chair with a 50% pain reduction. And bonus... you can set up a command center! That’s an end table next to the chair with glasses, books, crossword puzzle books, pens, meds, coffee & sandwich, TV remote, DVD remote and Cable remote. My ex always had a lazyboy and a command center, but I wasn’t allowed in his chair and his command center was surrounded by electrified razor wire. I was stationed on the side of the sofa closest to the kitchen because I was the designated “fetcher”.
Social Skills: When your back is out, you develop a keen awareness, nearly a sixth sense, of who is heading for the kitchen. You develop exceptional diplomacy and courtesy as you quickly think of what to ask them to bring to you. You even carefully decline their offer to bring you something every fifth offer, so they won’t know how much you need them. Because if they knew that, then they’d try to control you with their superior mobility....
Acting Skills: Even if you’ve never acted before, back pain will help you hone your skills to act stoic as you reluctantly let people bring you a pillow, some meds, chocolate, crab cakes, manicure set, pitcher of dacqueri’s, etc. I recommend studying the film Camille to pick up tips on that, "I hope I don't disturb you as I lay here and die in agony," technique.
Medication Evaluation: Pharmaceutical companies could save a fortune on research by letting people with back pain evaluate their products for them. I picked up great tips for pain relief concoctions from other people in the back pain club. Aspirin and tylenol work great together, but aspirin and ibuprofen negate each other, a tylenol with codeine and a margarita will give you a great four hour nap, but a margarita with a Vicodin will blast you off faster than the space shuttle.
Shower Massage Acquisition: It never fails, if you have a back injury, someone gives you a new shower massage shower head. The sounds you will make in the shower as that hot water jets onto the sore spots will make the neighbors think there’s group sex happening in your bathroom...But trust me, a shower massager is far better than group sex... uh... so I’ve heard....I should probably state here that whatever anyone has heard about me and the crew of the Nimitz is a lie. That’s not how I hurt my back, I fell down the stairs... honest.
And speaking of sex... if you have back pain you can always get out of sex, or you can get to be on the bottom with no obligation to move! It's great! You can get laid and watch Home & Garden TV at the same time. If you're a guy, you can get your needs filled while you recline in your lazy-boy.... wait a minute... nothing new there.... (I always found it ironic that no matter how a woman reads up on techniques to excite her man, an American man's favorite sexual position is just getting a blow job in a lazyboy... preferrably at half time and hopefully she keeps her head low so you can watch the show...).
Chore reduction: This is my favorite part of back pain. I am justified to do anything I must to get my children to do chores to save my back. If my teenage daughter refuses to do the dishes saying, "It's your job. I'm not your slave." I have mastered a hook shot with my shoe that can turn a corner and hit her right in the back of her MTV watching head - and it's not child abuse if you are in pain and need the help!
Officer: "What happened Ms Flynn?"
Me: "Well sir, I've been confined to this chair since I herniated some back discs. I sit here in pain worrying about keeping a nice house. I just wanted my daughter to do the dishes, that's all."
Officer: "I've had back pain myself and I have worthless teenagers as well. I understand completely."
Me: "Bless you, sir."
Officer: "I'm leaving you my revolver. If your daughter gives you any lip next time, shoot her."
Me: "Bless you, sir."
I always thought child abuse was just parental self defense anyway. Only people without children or "experts" who have never been on the front lines day after day with children fail to understand this, but I digress... oh yes.. back pain.
And so my friends, don't fear thinking you can still do a back flip on the neighbors trampoline without injuring yourself. Go ahead, enjoy the moment and remember that every Ace bandage has a silver lining...
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Selecting the PERFECT Christmas Tree!
Tree Trek
Soon all across the country, it will begin....men will go on Tree Trek.... the infernal quest for the perfect tree. I was married to a Tree Trekker. I still attend Tree Trek-Anon.
Tree Trek only affects men who insist on a real tree. It begins slowly. Their mates suggest a nice artificial tree. Many of the new ones are beautiful. They make the argument that an artificial tree saves the life of a noble fir. They are fire resistent, reuseable. They don't shed any sharp nettles that she is still vacuuming out of the carpet in May. She doesn't have to nag him to take it down and schlepp it away to the dumps since we have no garbage pick-up here. She makes a good case, but nooooOOOOooooo. HE has to have a 'real tree'......
First he has to decide when to get it. Can't get it too soon or your pay full retail. Can't get it too late or you'll have no selection. Tree Trekkers usually won't buy a tree until less than a week before Christmas, by then they figure the prices will be starting to drop.
Next, where to get the tree? It must be the as FAR as you can POSSIBLY drive in a day and still get back home by nine! And this trip can not be made alone..... After all, it is Christmas and picking the tree is a tradition! You WILL go with him and you WILL enjoy it. So Mama packs the kids in the car with toys, pampers and enough food for three days. The kids are excited about getting the tree as you put them in the car. As the car leaves the driveway, they begin to ask, "Are we there yet?"
The tree must be purchased from the same place where they got 'such a deal' last year. It may also be purchased from where a co-worker said they got a great deal. Many Tree Trekkers go to tree farms where the workers chop down the one HE picks. Trekkers can spend hours looking at over 5000 potential candidates before they find the perfect tree which is always the furthest possible point from the entrance! Severe Tree Trekkers even insist on chopping down their own trees. A Tree Farm worker's favorite entertainment is watching Weekend Warriors prove to themselves that they are still men of the Great Outdoors by trying to chop down their own trees and perform a traumatic amputation of their leg at the same time....
The next funfilled event is tying the tree on top of the car while all the passengers wait inside the car...big fun. This must be done when the kids are at their hungriest and grumpiest peak. A freezing cold night adds to the festive atmosphere. The tree is tied tight enough to keep the it in place, but loose enough not to break any branches. Years of practice have honed the Tree Trekkers skills. He performs this task with mathmatical precision, taking into account the aeronautical lift of an evergreen traveling at 75 miles an hour, the weight of the car, the drag caused by the door handles, and the air speed velocity of a coconut laden sparrow (you have to watch Monty Python's Holy Grail to get that joke).
Finally, with his kill tied atop his car, the Trekker heads home. He is jubilant. He retells the tale of how he got the best tree and for five dollars less than they were charging yesterday. This joyous occasion reminds him of treks past. He reminensces about when his father took him and his Mom and siblings on tree treks. While he's lost on memory lane, his wife who has combated tired, bored children for the past eight hours, discreetly takes her Stress Tabs (M&M's) out of the diaper bag, turns towards the window and eats them.
At last, the tree is home! She wrangles the kids to bed, changes to bedclothes and steels herself for the final assault of the Tree Trekker...
The tree must be put up tonight and it must be plumb! When she gets to the living room, he is spinning the tree around to determine the best side. She dutifully gets behind tree, the nettles poke through her flannel gown and get damn personal. Her hands are full of sticky sap. He stands across the room.
"Okay, tilt it to the right. No, that's too far, back a little. Nope, too far, I said a little bit, not a foot. Okay, that's better. Now hold it." He runs to another corner of the room and starts again.
"Oh man, it's way off from this angle. Lean it forward, little more..... you're not going to fall into the tree...c'mon, a little more, STOP. Don't move." He runs to back to the first corner...... this goes on for quite awhile until she threatens to give Lorena Bobbitt his name and a thousand dollars. Now all she has to do is hold this big tree perfectly still while he lays under the tree and screws the tree into the stand.
I recall once when I was eight months pregnant and too big to move the tree around, I got to lay on the floor and turn the screws. I couldn't get under the low branches and ended up tipping the tree over. My Tree Trekker was so mad, he wouldn't help me get off the cold linoleum floor. If I hadn't found a Lego table to help me to my knees, I'd be there still.
Hallelujah, the tree is up ! Things go smoothly after that, the tree gets decorated and the Christmas shows up on time. The next battle is how long the Tree Trekkers wants the tree up.
My ex insisted on having the tree up until after the Super Bowl. After the "Stupor Bowl" I would strip the tree and offer to help him take it down and drag it outside. He would put me off and warn me not to nag him. Well, I'm a patient woman.
Valentines Day. I would offer to hire someone to take the tree down. He refused, as a dedicated Tree Trekker, he would take care of that himself. Sort of completing the circle, he chopped it, he would drag it to the curb.
St. Patrick's Day. I would start to feel very discouraged. Most of the nettles were gone and what was left was totally brown. I used to worry what people would think of us with a tree up in March, then I remembered, he hated people in the house, we never had company......what a relief!
My ex's record for having a stripped, brown, nettleless Christmas tree up was June 6. On that day I rebelled and hired a man to haul it out of the house. He said not a word, but went straight to his work.... Dragged out the tree and said, "Who's the jerk?"
Someday I may find the courage to date again. Among my list of qualifying questions, right after, 'Breathing, owns a boat, likes board games, will take me back to Venice', and I will add, 'likes artificial trees'.
Soon all across the country, it will begin....men will go on Tree Trek.... the infernal quest for the perfect tree. I was married to a Tree Trekker. I still attend Tree Trek-Anon.
Tree Trek only affects men who insist on a real tree. It begins slowly. Their mates suggest a nice artificial tree. Many of the new ones are beautiful. They make the argument that an artificial tree saves the life of a noble fir. They are fire resistent, reuseable. They don't shed any sharp nettles that she is still vacuuming out of the carpet in May. She doesn't have to nag him to take it down and schlepp it away to the dumps since we have no garbage pick-up here. She makes a good case, but nooooOOOOooooo. HE has to have a 'real tree'......
First he has to decide when to get it. Can't get it too soon or your pay full retail. Can't get it too late or you'll have no selection. Tree Trekkers usually won't buy a tree until less than a week before Christmas, by then they figure the prices will be starting to drop.
Next, where to get the tree? It must be the as FAR as you can POSSIBLY drive in a day and still get back home by nine! And this trip can not be made alone..... After all, it is Christmas and picking the tree is a tradition! You WILL go with him and you WILL enjoy it. So Mama packs the kids in the car with toys, pampers and enough food for three days. The kids are excited about getting the tree as you put them in the car. As the car leaves the driveway, they begin to ask, "Are we there yet?"
The tree must be purchased from the same place where they got 'such a deal' last year. It may also be purchased from where a co-worker said they got a great deal. Many Tree Trekkers go to tree farms where the workers chop down the one HE picks. Trekkers can spend hours looking at over 5000 potential candidates before they find the perfect tree which is always the furthest possible point from the entrance! Severe Tree Trekkers even insist on chopping down their own trees. A Tree Farm worker's favorite entertainment is watching Weekend Warriors prove to themselves that they are still men of the Great Outdoors by trying to chop down their own trees and perform a traumatic amputation of their leg at the same time....
The next funfilled event is tying the tree on top of the car while all the passengers wait inside the car...big fun. This must be done when the kids are at their hungriest and grumpiest peak. A freezing cold night adds to the festive atmosphere. The tree is tied tight enough to keep the it in place, but loose enough not to break any branches. Years of practice have honed the Tree Trekkers skills. He performs this task with mathmatical precision, taking into account the aeronautical lift of an evergreen traveling at 75 miles an hour, the weight of the car, the drag caused by the door handles, and the air speed velocity of a coconut laden sparrow (you have to watch Monty Python's Holy Grail to get that joke).
Finally, with his kill tied atop his car, the Trekker heads home. He is jubilant. He retells the tale of how he got the best tree and for five dollars less than they were charging yesterday. This joyous occasion reminds him of treks past. He reminensces about when his father took him and his Mom and siblings on tree treks. While he's lost on memory lane, his wife who has combated tired, bored children for the past eight hours, discreetly takes her Stress Tabs (M&M's) out of the diaper bag, turns towards the window and eats them.
At last, the tree is home! She wrangles the kids to bed, changes to bedclothes and steels herself for the final assault of the Tree Trekker...
The tree must be put up tonight and it must be plumb! When she gets to the living room, he is spinning the tree around to determine the best side. She dutifully gets behind tree, the nettles poke through her flannel gown and get damn personal. Her hands are full of sticky sap. He stands across the room.
"Okay, tilt it to the right. No, that's too far, back a little. Nope, too far, I said a little bit, not a foot. Okay, that's better. Now hold it." He runs to another corner of the room and starts again.
"Oh man, it's way off from this angle. Lean it forward, little more..... you're not going to fall into the tree...c'mon, a little more, STOP. Don't move." He runs to back to the first corner...... this goes on for quite awhile until she threatens to give Lorena Bobbitt his name and a thousand dollars. Now all she has to do is hold this big tree perfectly still while he lays under the tree and screws the tree into the stand.
I recall once when I was eight months pregnant and too big to move the tree around, I got to lay on the floor and turn the screws. I couldn't get under the low branches and ended up tipping the tree over. My Tree Trekker was so mad, he wouldn't help me get off the cold linoleum floor. If I hadn't found a Lego table to help me to my knees, I'd be there still.
Hallelujah, the tree is up ! Things go smoothly after that, the tree gets decorated and the Christmas shows up on time. The next battle is how long the Tree Trekkers wants the tree up.
My ex insisted on having the tree up until after the Super Bowl. After the "Stupor Bowl" I would strip the tree and offer to help him take it down and drag it outside. He would put me off and warn me not to nag him. Well, I'm a patient woman.
Valentines Day. I would offer to hire someone to take the tree down. He refused, as a dedicated Tree Trekker, he would take care of that himself. Sort of completing the circle, he chopped it, he would drag it to the curb.
St. Patrick's Day. I would start to feel very discouraged. Most of the nettles were gone and what was left was totally brown. I used to worry what people would think of us with a tree up in March, then I remembered, he hated people in the house, we never had company......what a relief!
My ex's record for having a stripped, brown, nettleless Christmas tree up was June 6. On that day I rebelled and hired a man to haul it out of the house. He said not a word, but went straight to his work.... Dragged out the tree and said, "Who's the jerk?"
Someday I may find the courage to date again. Among my list of qualifying questions, right after, 'Breathing, owns a boat, likes board games, will take me back to Venice', and I will add, 'likes artificial trees'.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
N.A.H., America’s Party of Poopers
Denver recently renamed it’s annual Christmas Parade the “Winter Holiday Parade”. All symbols of Chanukah and Kwanzaa are allowed, I’m not sure if they decided to allow Santa, but no Nativity symbols are allowed and no “religious holiday songs” are allowed either so that cuts down the selection to Frosty the Snowman and a few others. Booooorriiiinnng......
According to Newsweek, roughly 92% of America is Christian, 4% is Muslim and 3% are Jewish and 1% are atheist. I’ve never met anyone of any faith who objected to other people celebrating their faith. People of faith celebrate faith itself. Last time I checked, attending a Christmas or Hanukah party doesn’t mean you adhere to that faith, it means you are sharing the joy of other’s holiday’s. Chanukah celebrates the rededication of the Temple after history’s first recorded war fought for religious freedom. Chanukah, which took place 163 years before Christmas, made Christmas possible. Without that victory, is it possible the Jewish diaspora would have started in 163 B.C instead of 63 A.D. Joseph never would have met Mary and the rest wouldn’t be history.
Besides, a Chanukah party is tremendous fun, as is a Christmas party and Kwanzaa is coming up fast as a great holiday that celebrates family and community and also fills in the gap nicely between Christmas and New Years. Denver, in it’s attempt to offend no one, offends everyone by pretending that Christmas doesn’t have a religious component. I think it’s safe to say that both Christmas and Chanukah have religious components (duh!) and thank G-d they do!
If everyone in America has to stifle their celebrations to avoid offending the atheists, let's give them their own holiday. Let March 11th be National Atheist Holiday, NAH, for short. Why March 11th? Because I checked the calendar and not a damn thing is going on anywhere in America on March 11th. The atheists can get together and not sing, not drink and not put up any decorations. They can not cook any special foods, not give any gifts and not get any time off from work. They can put up images of Jean Paul Satre in their windows and not be nice to any one for no apparent reason. If that doesn’t work I say we tie them to giant candy canes and shoot their asses to the North Pole. I am sick of them being the national party poopers!!!
One lousy atheist objected to prayer in schools and we changed our national policy. Now they’re coming after Christmas.... I say we head them off at the pass and drown them in eggnog. Okay, maybe drowning people doesn’t quite fit into the Christmas theme...how about Ebenezer Scrooge’s suggestion... we boil them in their own Christmas pudding and bury them with a stake of holly through their hearts! Still a little too strident? Alright... how about we make them spend the night after Christmas in Santa’s barn with all the reindeer who have been eating cabbage all night? The gas will make them beg for mercy.
Could you imagine being a kid with atheist parents at this time of year? Not even a shot at a present....
“That’s right Johnny, we believe in NAH. We are the official Party Poopers of America, designated to make sure no one is having more fun than us. There’s no G-d, no Santa, no Easter Bunny, none of that nonsense. You’re here until your dead and that it. So get that Toys R Us flyer with the circled toys off of my bed, you get nothing. You can’t stay up late because there’s nothing to watch for, I took us off Santa’s mailing list. Why are you crying?”
Wait a minute... wait a minute... atheist parents don’t have to go broke at Christmas buying presents... they don’t have to make an effort to be nice to relatives they’re not fond of... they don’t have to cook any big holiday meals.... they don’t have to do all that expensive drinking... they don’t have to find last years Christmas decorations...they don’t have to find the right tree.... they don’t have to argue about where to spend Christmas Day....they don’t have to return gifts...they don’t have to keep gifts they hate and use them so as not to offend the giver....they don’t have to vacuum pine needles out of their carpets till May....maybe I spoke too soon... there’s a lot of advantages to this atheist stuff....
Nah, just say nah to NAH. The fun of the holidays far outweighs the aggravation, and if it doesn’t, add rum in the eggnog till it does! As for me, I will sit by the window and look into the night as I do every year until I hear, “MERRY CHRISTMAS to all and to all a good night....”
Denver recently renamed it’s annual Christmas Parade the “Winter Holiday Parade”. All symbols of Chanukah and Kwanzaa are allowed, I’m not sure if they decided to allow Santa, but no Nativity symbols are allowed and no “religious holiday songs” are allowed either so that cuts down the selection to Frosty the Snowman and a few others. Booooorriiiinnng......
According to Newsweek, roughly 92% of America is Christian, 4% is Muslim and 3% are Jewish and 1% are atheist. I’ve never met anyone of any faith who objected to other people celebrating their faith. People of faith celebrate faith itself. Last time I checked, attending a Christmas or Hanukah party doesn’t mean you adhere to that faith, it means you are sharing the joy of other’s holiday’s. Chanukah celebrates the rededication of the Temple after history’s first recorded war fought for religious freedom. Chanukah, which took place 163 years before Christmas, made Christmas possible. Without that victory, is it possible the Jewish diaspora would have started in 163 B.C instead of 63 A.D. Joseph never would have met Mary and the rest wouldn’t be history.
Besides, a Chanukah party is tremendous fun, as is a Christmas party and Kwanzaa is coming up fast as a great holiday that celebrates family and community and also fills in the gap nicely between Christmas and New Years. Denver, in it’s attempt to offend no one, offends everyone by pretending that Christmas doesn’t have a religious component. I think it’s safe to say that both Christmas and Chanukah have religious components (duh!) and thank G-d they do!
If everyone in America has to stifle their celebrations to avoid offending the atheists, let's give them their own holiday. Let March 11th be National Atheist Holiday, NAH, for short. Why March 11th? Because I checked the calendar and not a damn thing is going on anywhere in America on March 11th. The atheists can get together and not sing, not drink and not put up any decorations. They can not cook any special foods, not give any gifts and not get any time off from work. They can put up images of Jean Paul Satre in their windows and not be nice to any one for no apparent reason. If that doesn’t work I say we tie them to giant candy canes and shoot their asses to the North Pole. I am sick of them being the national party poopers!!!
One lousy atheist objected to prayer in schools and we changed our national policy. Now they’re coming after Christmas.... I say we head them off at the pass and drown them in eggnog. Okay, maybe drowning people doesn’t quite fit into the Christmas theme...how about Ebenezer Scrooge’s suggestion... we boil them in their own Christmas pudding and bury them with a stake of holly through their hearts! Still a little too strident? Alright... how about we make them spend the night after Christmas in Santa’s barn with all the reindeer who have been eating cabbage all night? The gas will make them beg for mercy.
Could you imagine being a kid with atheist parents at this time of year? Not even a shot at a present....
“That’s right Johnny, we believe in NAH. We are the official Party Poopers of America, designated to make sure no one is having more fun than us. There’s no G-d, no Santa, no Easter Bunny, none of that nonsense. You’re here until your dead and that it. So get that Toys R Us flyer with the circled toys off of my bed, you get nothing. You can’t stay up late because there’s nothing to watch for, I took us off Santa’s mailing list. Why are you crying?”
Wait a minute... wait a minute... atheist parents don’t have to go broke at Christmas buying presents... they don’t have to make an effort to be nice to relatives they’re not fond of... they don’t have to cook any big holiday meals.... they don’t have to do all that expensive drinking... they don’t have to find last years Christmas decorations...they don’t have to find the right tree.... they don’t have to argue about where to spend Christmas Day....they don’t have to return gifts...they don’t have to keep gifts they hate and use them so as not to offend the giver....they don’t have to vacuum pine needles out of their carpets till May....maybe I spoke too soon... there’s a lot of advantages to this atheist stuff....
Nah, just say nah to NAH. The fun of the holidays far outweighs the aggravation, and if it doesn’t, add rum in the eggnog till it does! As for me, I will sit by the window and look into the night as I do every year until I hear, “MERRY CHRISTMAS to all and to all a good night....”
Sunday, December 11, 2005
My Christmas Wish List
Is It Too Much To Ask?
I’m one of those people who never sleeps through the night. At around 3:30 am, without fail, I get up and prowl. I check E-mail, read, and of course, watch TV. I have all the informercials memorized. I love gizmo’s, but it’s time they invented some things that I really want. So here is my Christmas wish list.
I want someone to invent flat LCD panels that attach to cabinet surfaces and give me a readout of all the foodstuffs in the cabinet. If there’s a hidden can of water chestnuts, I want to know about it before I get a new one. I want it equipped with a cereal and snack level monitor so I know how full all the boxes are.
I want a milk and egg alarm in the fridge. I want a blinking warning light to go on when there’s only a quart of milk or six eggs left in the fridge.
I want an electric shock to fry the hand of anyone who puts an empty or nearly empty carton back in the fridge.
I want a vacuum, any vacuum, that works as good as it’s commercials.
I want that vacuum to have these settings: Regular Dirt, Damp Dirt, Sand, Pet Hair, Christmas Pine Needles, and a special sonar beam that spreads out ahead of the vacuum and beeps an Earring Found! alarm.
I want expandable shoes for children. If my luggage has an zipper that expands the volume two inches, I want a tab I can peel away, like a plastic milk tab, that extends shoes one inch in length. That gives a parent a two paycheck lead on getting new shoes for the kid.
I want America to manufacture again. I am tired of supporting the Chinese economy. I don’t want Wall (of China) Mart to be the only place with bargain prices. I will pay a little more to know I am supporting another American worker.
I want a fragrance that will last the whole work day.
I want someone to invent an electric blanket that has pet zones on it that can be individually heated. For those of us who sleep with pets, usually not by choice, think how great it would be to hit the “Pet Zone” button on the blanket control and then the cat or dog would sleep on the warm spot and not against your legs so you can’t turn over!
I want flashing runway lights for men using the bathroom in the dark...if you live with a man, I don’t need to explain further.
I want soft bottom tubs. If they can give a pool a soft bottom why not a tub?
I want people who make glasses to invent a ‘soft focus’ coating for men’s glasses to prevent them from seeing our wrinkles clearly.
I want rolling luggage carts with seats at the airport so we can all sit and be comfortable while we wait for hours in an attempt to keep our airports secure in spite of our borders being wide open. It’s like locking the car on the ferry, absolutely pointless.
I want someone to invent a cat food that cannot vomited by any cat unless they are outside.
I want a Deer Locator display on my dashboard. No deer dies of natural causes on Shelter Island. It’s death by bow, bullet, or Buick.
I want mini vans to have a fold out changing table and drying station in the back to always have a clean place to change the baby and a way to dry off kids at that beach.
I want the grocery stores to have a separate lane for impatient people. A lane that will surreptitiously mist valium vapors at them while they wait so they don’t get irritable. We’ll call it the Regis Philbin lane. I adore his show. He puts the crank in cranky.
I want ‘reality shows’ to go away. I have enough reality. It’s all around me when I wake up and follows me around the whole day. Reality I’ve had, it’s mindless fun fantasy I need. Bring back Designing Women and Remington Steele.
It seems like the only time we’re allowed to enjoy fun fantasy shows is during the holiday season. Not fair I say! Bring on all the holiday specials and keep that light and happy spirit going! What? Is it too much to ask?
I’m one of those people who never sleeps through the night. At around 3:30 am, without fail, I get up and prowl. I check E-mail, read, and of course, watch TV. I have all the informercials memorized. I love gizmo’s, but it’s time they invented some things that I really want. So here is my Christmas wish list.
I want someone to invent flat LCD panels that attach to cabinet surfaces and give me a readout of all the foodstuffs in the cabinet. If there’s a hidden can of water chestnuts, I want to know about it before I get a new one. I want it equipped with a cereal and snack level monitor so I know how full all the boxes are.
I want a milk and egg alarm in the fridge. I want a blinking warning light to go on when there’s only a quart of milk or six eggs left in the fridge.
I want an electric shock to fry the hand of anyone who puts an empty or nearly empty carton back in the fridge.
I want a vacuum, any vacuum, that works as good as it’s commercials.
I want that vacuum to have these settings: Regular Dirt, Damp Dirt, Sand, Pet Hair, Christmas Pine Needles, and a special sonar beam that spreads out ahead of the vacuum and beeps an Earring Found! alarm.
I want expandable shoes for children. If my luggage has an zipper that expands the volume two inches, I want a tab I can peel away, like a plastic milk tab, that extends shoes one inch in length. That gives a parent a two paycheck lead on getting new shoes for the kid.
I want America to manufacture again. I am tired of supporting the Chinese economy. I don’t want Wall (of China) Mart to be the only place with bargain prices. I will pay a little more to know I am supporting another American worker.
I want a fragrance that will last the whole work day.
I want someone to invent an electric blanket that has pet zones on it that can be individually heated. For those of us who sleep with pets, usually not by choice, think how great it would be to hit the “Pet Zone” button on the blanket control and then the cat or dog would sleep on the warm spot and not against your legs so you can’t turn over!
I want flashing runway lights for men using the bathroom in the dark...if you live with a man, I don’t need to explain further.
I want soft bottom tubs. If they can give a pool a soft bottom why not a tub?
I want people who make glasses to invent a ‘soft focus’ coating for men’s glasses to prevent them from seeing our wrinkles clearly.
I want rolling luggage carts with seats at the airport so we can all sit and be comfortable while we wait for hours in an attempt to keep our airports secure in spite of our borders being wide open. It’s like locking the car on the ferry, absolutely pointless.
I want someone to invent a cat food that cannot vomited by any cat unless they are outside.
I want a Deer Locator display on my dashboard. No deer dies of natural causes on Shelter Island. It’s death by bow, bullet, or Buick.
I want mini vans to have a fold out changing table and drying station in the back to always have a clean place to change the baby and a way to dry off kids at that beach.
I want the grocery stores to have a separate lane for impatient people. A lane that will surreptitiously mist valium vapors at them while they wait so they don’t get irritable. We’ll call it the Regis Philbin lane. I adore his show. He puts the crank in cranky.
I want ‘reality shows’ to go away. I have enough reality. It’s all around me when I wake up and follows me around the whole day. Reality I’ve had, it’s mindless fun fantasy I need. Bring back Designing Women and Remington Steele.
It seems like the only time we’re allowed to enjoy fun fantasy shows is during the holiday season. Not fair I say! Bring on all the holiday specials and keep that light and happy spirit going! What? Is it too much to ask?
Monday, December 05, 2005
The Thermostat Wars Have Begun!!!
Therm Warfare
While everyone is pulling out their Christmas, Hanukah and Kwanzaa decorations, there is a silent war, a true ‘cold war’, going on in nearly every household in America. Even more so now, since fuel prices have soared thanks to the Halliburton frontmen in the Whitehouse, the Thermostat Wars have begun...
It’s a biological fact that when men get cold, blood flow increases to their extremities; arms, legs, hands and feet get an extra circulation boost to stay warm and continue hunting. When women get cold, blood flow decreases to their extremities and increases in their abdomen, to keep any fetus that might be lurking in there, at an even temperature. This evolutionary adaptation, really great during the Stone Age and all the metal ages, lost it's advantage around 1100 AD, when we began to see chimneys being built in northern Europe, which allowed people to go inside and get warm.
My research found a diary from that time recording the seminal moment when the concept of the chimney was born...
“September 1100AD.
Just taking a moment for myself this morning after stitching deerskins, before I make soap and start a venison roast for dinner. Jakob Hoffensnuffer proposed again. Such a nice man, but I told him, “Castle, schmastle. Figure out an indoor heating system or I might as well stay in this cave with my mother.”
“October 1100AD.
Moving today! Jakob invented a chimney! It's a funnel you put over a fireplace to draw off the smoke and keep the heat in the castle. Everyone’s coming to see it. Mother and I will be hanging tapestries all week and getting ready for the big cook-in next Thursday. Mother says it’s the best thing she’s seen since the wheel. What’s next? Sliced bread?”
99% of all the men I’ve ever met live comfortably between 65 and 70 degrees. It’s us gals that are the problem I’m afraid. Our internal thermostats go up and down with different stages of life and drive those around us nuts.
When we’re first married and prior to the kids coming, we fight with our spouses about keeping the heat up. The men plead, “Just wear a sweater!” But who wants to wear a sweater when we’re trying to look sexy 24/7? We know damn well this firm body is time limited so we better enjoy it now before child bearing forever flabs out our flat stomachs, nursing deflates our boobs and gravity wrecks the rest!
It’s at this age we learn to pop the heat as soon as he leaves the house. We develop an ability to hear his car coming down the street over anything. We can hear it over TV, stereo, phone calls, even in the shower. And as soon as we hear his car, we race through the house clearing jumps over furniture like an Olympic hurdler to reach that thermostat and turn it to down 65.
Then, we race to a neutral spot in the house, far enough away from the thermostat to throw off any suspicion he might have that we had the heat up the whole time he was gone, and just turned it down 2 seconds before he walked in the door. And when he says, “Geez, it’s hot in here!” We say, “Not really. I think the heat is on 65, you’re just cold from outside.” We give him a welcome home kiss and he realizes that we would never try to deceive him... Mission accomplished.
Then we get pregnant, also because of the thermostat.
Anytime a woman alone in a house with a man complains that she’s cold, he offers his favorite solution......sex (which seems to be a cure-all in his mind for anything a woman needs)... And sometimes we’re so cold, we say, ‘fine’. But now we’re warm and pregnant! Some solution!
But now, for the first time, we are finally warm, really warm....now HE’S begging to turn up the thermostat. I recall going to the movies with my hubby one November when I was seven months pregnant. It was 38 degrees outside. I was in a tee shirt, capri pants and sandals. He was freezing and I was comfortable for the first time in seven months.
During the child raising years, the thermostat wars rage. The men are too hot, the women are chilly, the kids are freezing. The heating bill arrives and the fights are huge. The thermostat is moved to 62 degrees and a machete is hung by the thermostat as a reminder that anyone who touches it will have their hands chopped off. That lasts until Dad leaves for work, then Mom pops the heat, and all the kids learn how to turn the knob down when they hear his truck....
Then... and here is where I genuinely pity the men.... menopause and all the years that lead up to it arrive. Personally, I can now sleep on a block of ice next to an air conditioner. If the temperature nears 65, I get anxious. At 70, I’m cranky and aggitated. If it hits 80 degrees, I’m stripping to my sunglasses. At 90 degrees, I go rabid and the fire department hoses me down and chains me to a tree so I don’t kill anyone. My children throw ice cubes at me which hiss as they melt on contact...
I have to admit, men are the noble long suffering victims of therm warfare. God bless them, everyone...
While everyone is pulling out their Christmas, Hanukah and Kwanzaa decorations, there is a silent war, a true ‘cold war’, going on in nearly every household in America. Even more so now, since fuel prices have soared thanks to the Halliburton frontmen in the Whitehouse, the Thermostat Wars have begun...
It’s a biological fact that when men get cold, blood flow increases to their extremities; arms, legs, hands and feet get an extra circulation boost to stay warm and continue hunting. When women get cold, blood flow decreases to their extremities and increases in their abdomen, to keep any fetus that might be lurking in there, at an even temperature. This evolutionary adaptation, really great during the Stone Age and all the metal ages, lost it's advantage around 1100 AD, when we began to see chimneys being built in northern Europe, which allowed people to go inside and get warm.
My research found a diary from that time recording the seminal moment when the concept of the chimney was born...
“September 1100AD.
Just taking a moment for myself this morning after stitching deerskins, before I make soap and start a venison roast for dinner. Jakob Hoffensnuffer proposed again. Such a nice man, but I told him, “Castle, schmastle. Figure out an indoor heating system or I might as well stay in this cave with my mother.”
“October 1100AD.
Moving today! Jakob invented a chimney! It's a funnel you put over a fireplace to draw off the smoke and keep the heat in the castle. Everyone’s coming to see it. Mother and I will be hanging tapestries all week and getting ready for the big cook-in next Thursday. Mother says it’s the best thing she’s seen since the wheel. What’s next? Sliced bread?”
99% of all the men I’ve ever met live comfortably between 65 and 70 degrees. It’s us gals that are the problem I’m afraid. Our internal thermostats go up and down with different stages of life and drive those around us nuts.
When we’re first married and prior to the kids coming, we fight with our spouses about keeping the heat up. The men plead, “Just wear a sweater!” But who wants to wear a sweater when we’re trying to look sexy 24/7? We know damn well this firm body is time limited so we better enjoy it now before child bearing forever flabs out our flat stomachs, nursing deflates our boobs and gravity wrecks the rest!
It’s at this age we learn to pop the heat as soon as he leaves the house. We develop an ability to hear his car coming down the street over anything. We can hear it over TV, stereo, phone calls, even in the shower. And as soon as we hear his car, we race through the house clearing jumps over furniture like an Olympic hurdler to reach that thermostat and turn it to down 65.
Then, we race to a neutral spot in the house, far enough away from the thermostat to throw off any suspicion he might have that we had the heat up the whole time he was gone, and just turned it down 2 seconds before he walked in the door. And when he says, “Geez, it’s hot in here!” We say, “Not really. I think the heat is on 65, you’re just cold from outside.” We give him a welcome home kiss and he realizes that we would never try to deceive him... Mission accomplished.
Then we get pregnant, also because of the thermostat.
Anytime a woman alone in a house with a man complains that she’s cold, he offers his favorite solution......sex (which seems to be a cure-all in his mind for anything a woman needs)... And sometimes we’re so cold, we say, ‘fine’. But now we’re warm and pregnant! Some solution!
But now, for the first time, we are finally warm, really warm....now HE’S begging to turn up the thermostat. I recall going to the movies with my hubby one November when I was seven months pregnant. It was 38 degrees outside. I was in a tee shirt, capri pants and sandals. He was freezing and I was comfortable for the first time in seven months.
During the child raising years, the thermostat wars rage. The men are too hot, the women are chilly, the kids are freezing. The heating bill arrives and the fights are huge. The thermostat is moved to 62 degrees and a machete is hung by the thermostat as a reminder that anyone who touches it will have their hands chopped off. That lasts until Dad leaves for work, then Mom pops the heat, and all the kids learn how to turn the knob down when they hear his truck....
Then... and here is where I genuinely pity the men.... menopause and all the years that lead up to it arrive. Personally, I can now sleep on a block of ice next to an air conditioner. If the temperature nears 65, I get anxious. At 70, I’m cranky and aggitated. If it hits 80 degrees, I’m stripping to my sunglasses. At 90 degrees, I go rabid and the fire department hoses me down and chains me to a tree so I don’t kill anyone. My children throw ice cubes at me which hiss as they melt on contact...
I have to admit, men are the noble long suffering victims of therm warfare. God bless them, everyone...
Friday, December 02, 2005
Santa Baby, I'd Like a Man....
Every year, those of us gals without guys to buy us expensive gifts at Christmas, lament our loss and secretly ask Santa to leave us a man under the tree....
What I Want in a Man, Original List, age 22 :
1. Handsome
2. Charming
3. Financially successful
4. A caring listener
5. Witty
6. In good shape
7. Dresses with style
8. Appreciates finer things
9. Full of thoughtful surprises
10. An imaginative, romantic lover
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 32)
1. Nice looking
2. Opens car doors, holds chairs
3. Has enough money for dinner at a place that has cloth napkins
4. Listens more than he talks
5. Laughs at my jokes
6. Carries bags of groceries with ease
7. Owns at least one tie
8. Appreciates a good home-cooked meal
9. Remembers birthdays and anniversaries
10. Tries something romantic to get sex at least once a week
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 42)
1. Not too ugly
2. Doesn't drive off until I'm all the way in the car
3. Works steady and splurges on dinner out occasionally, even if we only go to the restaurant HE chooses
4. Nods head when I'm talking and look conscious
5. Usually remembers the punch lines of his own jokes
6. Is in good enough shape to rearrange furniture and paint a room
7. Wears a shirt that covers his stomach
8. Learned from his first DWI it's better to drink at home because you don't need a license to drive a couch
9. Remembers to put the toilet seat down
10. Shaves and showers on the weekend if he intends to beg for sex
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 52)
1. Keeps nose and ear hair trimmed
2. Doesn't belch or scratch anything in public
3. Can operate an ATM without my assistance
4. Doesn't nod off to sleep while I'm venting
5. Doesn't retell the same joke unless he takes the time to embellish it
6. Is in good enough shape to get off couch on weekends
7. Can find his own damn glasses, wallet, watch and keys!
8. Appreciates a good TV dinner
9. Remembers my name high on the list of names he goes through when calling somebody
10. Doesn't bother me for sex unless he actually has a usable erection, or has taken viagra
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 62)
1. Doesn't scare small children
2. Remembers where bathroom is
3. Doesn't require much money for upkeep
4. Only snores lightly when asleep
5. Remembers why he's laughing
6. Is in good enough shape to open the door for the repairman I called
7. Usually wears some clothes around the house
8. Likes soft foods
9. Remembers where he left his glasses and teeth
10. Doesn't even think about sex unless he's showered, shaved and has a damn good piece of jewelry or gift certificate to Macy's ready at the bedside next to the lube.
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 72)
1. Breathing
2. Doesn't miss the toilet.
3. Has a fantastic life insurance policy
What I Want in a Man, Original List, age 22 :
1. Handsome
2. Charming
3. Financially successful
4. A caring listener
5. Witty
6. In good shape
7. Dresses with style
8. Appreciates finer things
9. Full of thoughtful surprises
10. An imaginative, romantic lover
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 32)
1. Nice looking
2. Opens car doors, holds chairs
3. Has enough money for dinner at a place that has cloth napkins
4. Listens more than he talks
5. Laughs at my jokes
6. Carries bags of groceries with ease
7. Owns at least one tie
8. Appreciates a good home-cooked meal
9. Remembers birthdays and anniversaries
10. Tries something romantic to get sex at least once a week
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 42)
1. Not too ugly
2. Doesn't drive off until I'm all the way in the car
3. Works steady and splurges on dinner out occasionally, even if we only go to the restaurant HE chooses
4. Nods head when I'm talking and look conscious
5. Usually remembers the punch lines of his own jokes
6. Is in good enough shape to rearrange furniture and paint a room
7. Wears a shirt that covers his stomach
8. Learned from his first DWI it's better to drink at home because you don't need a license to drive a couch
9. Remembers to put the toilet seat down
10. Shaves and showers on the weekend if he intends to beg for sex
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 52)
1. Keeps nose and ear hair trimmed
2. Doesn't belch or scratch anything in public
3. Can operate an ATM without my assistance
4. Doesn't nod off to sleep while I'm venting
5. Doesn't retell the same joke unless he takes the time to embellish it
6. Is in good enough shape to get off couch on weekends
7. Can find his own damn glasses, wallet, watch and keys!
8. Appreciates a good TV dinner
9. Remembers my name high on the list of names he goes through when calling somebody
10. Doesn't bother me for sex unless he actually has a usable erection, or has taken viagra
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 62)
1. Doesn't scare small children
2. Remembers where bathroom is
3. Doesn't require much money for upkeep
4. Only snores lightly when asleep
5. Remembers why he's laughing
6. Is in good enough shape to open the door for the repairman I called
7. Usually wears some clothes around the house
8. Likes soft foods
9. Remembers where he left his glasses and teeth
10. Doesn't even think about sex unless he's showered, shaved and has a damn good piece of jewelry or gift certificate to Macy's ready at the bedside next to the lube.
What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 72)
1. Breathing
2. Doesn't miss the toilet.
3. Has a fantastic life insurance policy
Friday, November 25, 2005
Wild Turkey was supposed to mean the whiskey!
Wild Turkey, not wild turkey!
Here it comes... the day we look forward to all year... Thanksgiving!
It all began when the Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts in search of religious freedom. There was little food their first winter since most of the seeds that survived the trip from England, didn’t take to the American soil. Many of the settlers died that first winter. But in the spring, Squanto, a native, walked out of the woods and into their settlement speaking fluent English! He had been taken to England as a slave years earlier and returned to America by Monks who taught him to speak english. Talk about your lucky break!!! It makes you wonder about Divine intervention..... If Squanto hadn’t shown up to teach them what to grow and how to prepare it, the colony likely would have failed and history might have been very different.
The first Thanksgiving records they had “goose, codfish, lobster and wild turkey”. When I read that, I wondered.... if lobster and goose were on the first menu, shouldn’t we stick with tradition? The Wild Turkey obviously referred to the whiskey and not some bird because you already had the poultry dish covered with the goose. Besides, you have to have something to drink in that cold weather, but who made the mistake of thinking they meant the bird and not the whiskey?
There have been other mistakes associated with Thanksgiving as well. In 1934, the Detroit Lions thought it would be fun to have a football game every Thanksgiving. Bad idea. In 1966 the Dallas Cowboys played the first Thanksgiving Day football game on TV and that was the last year that men sat at the dining room table with the family for Thanksgiving. This led to the rapid development of the TV tray table and nachos and noshes before the game.
Today, the men come to the table for the presentation of the bird. Someone says an awkward blessing and you can just tell that the men are controlling themselves long enough to get a plate and head back into to living room, leaving the women to create a meaningful event with the children while football blares in the background.
Sometimes there’s a delay in their plans if they have a man carving the turkey who wants to slice it nicely. Sometimes there is a delay because of the ‘passing of the carving knife’ ritual where a young man goes through the rite of passage of being given the privilege of carving the bird. This is always fun to watch. The poor guy gets instructions from four men at the table simultaneously telling him their method. No matter what he tries, it’s a hack job. Still, the men are glad it’s over so they can fill that plate and leave.
I know there are men who don’t watch football. Who stay and the table and help with gravy dripping on little chins. At least, I believe there are men like that. I’m sure I read it somewhere....
But that’s the real reason to have Wild Turkey with the wild turkey. While the men are whoopin’ and hollerin’ in the living room, the Mom’s can discreetly knock back a few, and then the urge to throw the turkey through the TV screen eases. The desire to pulverize the remote with a potato masher subsides. The silly urge to see the men interact in a sensitive and meaningful way with the kids for three consecutive hours dissipates.
Sarah Josepha Hale, the editor of the magazine, Godey’s Lady’s Book in the 1800’s lobbied for forty years for a national day of thanks. She is the one to be credited with the creation of Thanksgiving as we know it today. In 1863 President Abraham Lincoln decreed that America would observe “a national day of thanks for all the bounty America has been given”.
OUR NATIONAL THANKSGIVING BLESSING
by Sarah Josepha Hale 1853
"All the blessings of the fields,
All the stores the garden yields,
All the plenty summer pours,
Autumn's rich, o'erflowing stores,
Peace, prosperity and health,
Private bliss and public wealth,
Knowledge with its gladdening streams,
Pure religion's holier beams --
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise."
Mrs. Hale’s blessing is the best Thanksgiving blessing I ever read. I am adding it to be read at out table starting this year. God Bless You and have a wonderful day!
Here it comes... the day we look forward to all year... Thanksgiving!
It all began when the Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts in search of religious freedom. There was little food their first winter since most of the seeds that survived the trip from England, didn’t take to the American soil. Many of the settlers died that first winter. But in the spring, Squanto, a native, walked out of the woods and into their settlement speaking fluent English! He had been taken to England as a slave years earlier and returned to America by Monks who taught him to speak english. Talk about your lucky break!!! It makes you wonder about Divine intervention..... If Squanto hadn’t shown up to teach them what to grow and how to prepare it, the colony likely would have failed and history might have been very different.
The first Thanksgiving records they had “goose, codfish, lobster and wild turkey”. When I read that, I wondered.... if lobster and goose were on the first menu, shouldn’t we stick with tradition? The Wild Turkey obviously referred to the whiskey and not some bird because you already had the poultry dish covered with the goose. Besides, you have to have something to drink in that cold weather, but who made the mistake of thinking they meant the bird and not the whiskey?
There have been other mistakes associated with Thanksgiving as well. In 1934, the Detroit Lions thought it would be fun to have a football game every Thanksgiving. Bad idea. In 1966 the Dallas Cowboys played the first Thanksgiving Day football game on TV and that was the last year that men sat at the dining room table with the family for Thanksgiving. This led to the rapid development of the TV tray table and nachos and noshes before the game.
Today, the men come to the table for the presentation of the bird. Someone says an awkward blessing and you can just tell that the men are controlling themselves long enough to get a plate and head back into to living room, leaving the women to create a meaningful event with the children while football blares in the background.
Sometimes there’s a delay in their plans if they have a man carving the turkey who wants to slice it nicely. Sometimes there is a delay because of the ‘passing of the carving knife’ ritual where a young man goes through the rite of passage of being given the privilege of carving the bird. This is always fun to watch. The poor guy gets instructions from four men at the table simultaneously telling him their method. No matter what he tries, it’s a hack job. Still, the men are glad it’s over so they can fill that plate and leave.
I know there are men who don’t watch football. Who stay and the table and help with gravy dripping on little chins. At least, I believe there are men like that. I’m sure I read it somewhere....
But that’s the real reason to have Wild Turkey with the wild turkey. While the men are whoopin’ and hollerin’ in the living room, the Mom’s can discreetly knock back a few, and then the urge to throw the turkey through the TV screen eases. The desire to pulverize the remote with a potato masher subsides. The silly urge to see the men interact in a sensitive and meaningful way with the kids for three consecutive hours dissipates.
Sarah Josepha Hale, the editor of the magazine, Godey’s Lady’s Book in the 1800’s lobbied for forty years for a national day of thanks. She is the one to be credited with the creation of Thanksgiving as we know it today. In 1863 President Abraham Lincoln decreed that America would observe “a national day of thanks for all the bounty America has been given”.
OUR NATIONAL THANKSGIVING BLESSING
by Sarah Josepha Hale 1853
"All the blessings of the fields,
All the stores the garden yields,
All the plenty summer pours,
Autumn's rich, o'erflowing stores,
Peace, prosperity and health,
Private bliss and public wealth,
Knowledge with its gladdening streams,
Pure religion's holier beams --
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise."
Mrs. Hale’s blessing is the best Thanksgiving blessing I ever read. I am adding it to be read at out table starting this year. God Bless You and have a wonderful day!
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Symptoms of Bird Flu
Bird Flew
For years the medical community has made a BIG DEAL about getting a flu shot every year. Last year, there wasn’t enough serum, so they amended their recommendations to ‘only the frail’ should get the flu shot. This year, we’re being bombarded with dire predictions about a Avian flu pandemic, but my doc says I can’t get a flu shot because Aventis Pharmaceuticals screwed up the serum order and there is a severe shortage of vaccine available in Suffolk County where I live. Then he said, “You don’t really need a flu shot if you’re healthy”.
So let me get this straight.... if the serum is available, we need the flu shot, if the serum isn’t available, we don’t need the flu shot. Makes perfect sense.
We’ll all just have to be on the lookout for bird flu symptoms. I thought I’d better make a list for everybody, as a public service of course. If you exhibit ALL of the following symtoms, call your doctor, otherwise don’t bother him.
BIRD FLU SYMPTOMS - IN ORDER OF PROGRESSION OF SEVERITY:
1. Headache
2. Fever and Chills (Shake and Bake)
3. Body Aches
4. Sudden fear of cats.
5. Joint Pain
6. Picking at your food.
7. Fatigue
8. Urge to bath under the sprinkler in the front yard.
9. Crankiness
10. Passing up Playboy for seed catalogs.
11. You keep turning south when driving the car.
12. Saving bits of string.
13. Fascinated by shiny objects.
14. Blessing yourself when you pass a Kentucky Fried Chicken.
15. Running into the living room to watch Big Bird on TV.
16. Playing bird call CDs on auto repeat all day.
17. Taking undue notice of freshly washed cars.....
18. A meal of gummie worms look great to you.
19. You were removed from the pet store for opening all the canary and parakeet cages and you can’t explain your actions.
20. Attention span is six seconds.
21. Toes are turning in when you walk.
22. Now taking undue notice of the windshields of freshly washed cars.....
23. Building Osprey platforms in your backyard.
24. Googling “How to build a better Osprey nest” on your computer.
25. Calling the Fire Department to get you down from your nest.
26. Aversion to eating eggs.
27. Rising just before dawn whistling loud enough to wake up the whole house.
28. Feeling an overwhelming urge to poop on the freshly washed windshields of freshly washed cars....
29. Skipping work to see the movie “Chicken Little”.
30. Unconsciously standing on one leg while waiting in lines.
31. Being called a ‘bird brain’ is happening more often, but it doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
32. Being taken into custody for eating french fries off the ground in a parking lot.
33. Throwing your teenagers off your roof while shouting, “You can do it!”
34. Cocking your head to one side, then the other, when people talk to you.
35 Inability to tell if a sliding glass door is open or closed until you shatter it with your head.
36. You make an appointment to see the doc and tell him you are so sick, you’re “coming in on a wing and a prayer.”
For years the medical community has made a BIG DEAL about getting a flu shot every year. Last year, there wasn’t enough serum, so they amended their recommendations to ‘only the frail’ should get the flu shot. This year, we’re being bombarded with dire predictions about a Avian flu pandemic, but my doc says I can’t get a flu shot because Aventis Pharmaceuticals screwed up the serum order and there is a severe shortage of vaccine available in Suffolk County where I live. Then he said, “You don’t really need a flu shot if you’re healthy”.
So let me get this straight.... if the serum is available, we need the flu shot, if the serum isn’t available, we don’t need the flu shot. Makes perfect sense.
We’ll all just have to be on the lookout for bird flu symptoms. I thought I’d better make a list for everybody, as a public service of course. If you exhibit ALL of the following symtoms, call your doctor, otherwise don’t bother him.
BIRD FLU SYMPTOMS - IN ORDER OF PROGRESSION OF SEVERITY:
1. Headache
2. Fever and Chills (Shake and Bake)
3. Body Aches
4. Sudden fear of cats.
5. Joint Pain
6. Picking at your food.
7. Fatigue
8. Urge to bath under the sprinkler in the front yard.
9. Crankiness
10. Passing up Playboy for seed catalogs.
11. You keep turning south when driving the car.
12. Saving bits of string.
13. Fascinated by shiny objects.
14. Blessing yourself when you pass a Kentucky Fried Chicken.
15. Running into the living room to watch Big Bird on TV.
16. Playing bird call CDs on auto repeat all day.
17. Taking undue notice of freshly washed cars.....
18. A meal of gummie worms look great to you.
19. You were removed from the pet store for opening all the canary and parakeet cages and you can’t explain your actions.
20. Attention span is six seconds.
21. Toes are turning in when you walk.
22. Now taking undue notice of the windshields of freshly washed cars.....
23. Building Osprey platforms in your backyard.
24. Googling “How to build a better Osprey nest” on your computer.
25. Calling the Fire Department to get you down from your nest.
26. Aversion to eating eggs.
27. Rising just before dawn whistling loud enough to wake up the whole house.
28. Feeling an overwhelming urge to poop on the freshly washed windshields of freshly washed cars....
29. Skipping work to see the movie “Chicken Little”.
30. Unconsciously standing on one leg while waiting in lines.
31. Being called a ‘bird brain’ is happening more often, but it doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
32. Being taken into custody for eating french fries off the ground in a parking lot.
33. Throwing your teenagers off your roof while shouting, “You can do it!”
34. Cocking your head to one side, then the other, when people talk to you.
35 Inability to tell if a sliding glass door is open or closed until you shatter it with your head.
36. You make an appointment to see the doc and tell him you are so sick, you’re “coming in on a wing and a prayer.”
Monday, November 07, 2005
2 boats vs. A CRUISE SHIP ???
GODZILLA vs. Bambi
In the "What were they thinking?" catagory.... A small group of idiots on two little speed boats decided they could commandeer a giant cruise liner, the Seabourn Spirit. They were probably thinking David and Goliath... I'm thinkin'...Bambi meets Godzilla....
Two weeks ago, somewhere in a cafe in Somalia....
“I KNOW we can pull it off, Jama. David took Goliath, we’ll take the cruise ship and be famous! We got two fast boats, AK-47 machine guns, and a grenade launcher....I got my cousins. We’ll be like Rambo. There must be thousands of dollars worth of money and jewelry from the passengers and then we’ll sell the ship to the highest bidder.”
“Yes Dido, but people will know she’s a stolen ship.”
“We will put new decals on the back, fool.”
“But she is big, Jama. The Seabourn Spirit is 440 feet long and 63 feet wide. 10,000 tons. Our boats are only 25 feet long...”
“But Dido... but we will have the element of surprise!”
"Yes... like the mouse who scares the elephant..."
"Yes Dido... we shall be the elephant of surprise..."
"The elephant of surprise... yes, that would be more surprising than an element....I like it, Jama."
Saturday, Nov 5 05:30 AM
“Captain, there’s two boats approaching us. They’re waving machine guns! And they have some kind of a rocket launcher too!”
“Okay Jim, order all the passengers into the center of the ship. Give me the bull horn.”
The Captain at the railing to the boats below, “Hi there! Good Morning! What are you guys doing?”
“We are pirates! You are surrounded! We are taking over your ship! Stop your ship now and throw down a rope so we can board and take you prisoner!”
“You sure you want a rope? I think we have a nice ladder...”
“This is not a joke you fool! Our guns and grenade launcher are pointed straight at your ship and we will not hesitate to shoot if our demands aren’t met!”
“So you plan to attack and overpower the ship with those weapons? All nine of you? Well, I hope you brought lunch and flashlights.”
“What are you talking about, fool? Why do we need lunch and flashlights?”
“Because it’s gonna take you all day and all night to attack this ship!”
“Dido! Shoot the grenade at them!”
(explosion heard as a grenade hits the side of the ship)
“You see Captain, we are serious. Now surrender and we will not harm the passengers.”
“You took out half a room. We got 208 rooms on this ship, how many grenades you got? You know our lifeboats are bigger than the boats you’re in....(laughing) Okay listen, we’ll surrender. Let me bring the ship closer so you can take us over. Stay right there. (turning to his First Officer) Okay Joe, take us in closer!”
“STOP! STOP! What are you doing, dog? You’re going to ram us!!!”
“We can’t steer, the ships too big.... you’d better move!”
“This is your last warning! We are smaller and can fly around you like a bee! We can do 30 knots (about 35 mph)!”
“For how long?”
“WHAT?”
“I said for how long, scooter?”
“What does it matter how long? Throw down your ropes! Prepare to be boarded!”
“We can only do 20 knots (about 24 mph), but we can do it for three weeks....how bout you boys? Brought enough petrol? You’re already more than a hundred miles off shore...how far do you think you can go?”
“Enough of your foolishness! OPEN FIRE!” (machine guns spray the ship)
(the captain shouting down through the bull horn) “Uh oh! You chipped our paint! We’d better run for cover! (turning to his First Officer) Okay Joe! Open her up full throttle, head for the open sea! Let’s see how fast they can go in the big chop....”
“Turn your ship around, dog! We will criss cross in front of your bow!”
“I don’t think so, scooter...”
Saturday, Nov 5 06:30 AM, heard over the loud speaker in the Dining Hall.
“This is your Captain speaking. Our pirates turned back for shore at 06:12 AM.
I understand that congratulations are in order for Mr. Harry Felder of Colorado for winning the pool on the exact time the pirates would head back (applause in the dining hall).
We apologize to the Wrights whose room was ruined by the grenade and we will be offering them a complete new wardrobe from the ship’s stores plus a free cruise.
We apologize for any inconvenience anyone suffered as a result of this event and are happy to announce that everything can go on as scheduled. There will be a tour of the grenaded room at 16:00 hours. Thank you.”
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