Author Michael

Lucky chances

Michael 5 Comments

I don’t think they still do it but about 10 years ago, the people at BRAVO, put on a show called “Last Chance Kitchen,” that was a second chance for contestants knocked out of their Top Chef competition.

About that same time, Netflix was premiering a series called “Last Chance U” that followed the football programs at very small, community, and junior colleges, attempting to give the athletes there the chance at the exposure those at the major colleges receive.

A last chance saloon (in the wide west, not to be confused with the myriad cleverly named Last Chance Saloons scattered throughout the US and Canada, and the one in England (did you know myriad literally means a thousand?)) was supposed to be the saloon sitting in the border separating a “wet” territory from a “dry” one so folks could get that one more chance at a drink before it was too late.

All these last chances. You’d think Americans live by the “luck of the draw” system. I suppose many do, and even those who don’t, there is no mistaking the contribution luck or chance might have on our lives. That would be luck or chances. Nobody gets just one chance at anything. Really. Stop and think about it. I’m sure you can find a time in your life when you passed on an opportunity and then saw it come back around and sometimes even come back around again.

We looked at the chance of having a decided chance at things in this week’s Uplift, Try Try Again. As we said, “We cannot undo something already done, but we often get a chance to do something that was left undone.”

It’s a sign

Michael 11 Comments

There is an account on Instagram, Ian the Sign Guy (ianthesignguy), who posts short videos of himself cleaning road signs in England. (He is also on YouTube.) There is no background music, you rarely see him. The videos are just his brush scrubbing away the filth that accumulates in roadside traffic signs. Here is an example. I think it’s one of the greatest things on the internet today. Sort of a new go at cat videos.

Do I want to explain that? Sure. Why not? There is nobody screaming at you. No UNHINGED USE OF CAPITAL LETTERS, or ridiculously obvious lies to wade through. It’s not an innocent looking post trying to get you to buy something, agree with something, or watch and re-watch over and over to find the hidden meaning. It’s just a guy scrubbing away the dirt and grime of your basic traffic control signage.

I don’t recall ever seeing signs here as filthy as he finds there. Some of his pre-cleaned signs are barely legible, yet they seem to be on some major roadways. I suppose we haven’t yet stripped the Department of Transportation’s personnel budget of the sign scrubbers. It’s quite satisfying to watch the dirt melt away, to see the brush go scrub scrub scrub over the sign surface, and to hear the faint drone of whatever equipment he uses to get the water flowing through the brush head. I could watch video after video and be quite content with it and nothing more. A cat video for the 2020’s.

We need more of these. Yes, it is an unexpected joy to have a random Muppets video show up in your feed, and a daily dose or three of old Peanuts cartoons will surely turn surfing snarls into smiles. But no, they aren’t the sign guy, a real-life person out to make his part of his country a little cleaner so his fellow motorists can tell where they are going or how fast they should be going while getting there. It’s a new twist on “love your neighbor.”

Or perhaps he is the new superhero. Not a Superman dumped on our planet to avoid complete annihilation on his. Not a Spider-Man or a Hulk who happened to be around the wrong radioactive insect or experiment. Not like Aquaman getting the best genes from a human father and an Atlantilean mother. More like Batman, just a normal guy who happens to be incredibly wealthy and has a cool costume. I don’t know if Ian is incredibly wealthy, but on the rare occasion you get to see his work clothes, they seem to be top shelf.

It’s worth it to spend a few minutes or hours watching Ian tirelessly make England’s Motorways Glow Again. And no stupid red hat either.

Wordsmithing and the common man

Michael 4 Comments

Yesterday’s Uplift post at ROAMcare revolved around the word “common.” A comment had us thinking about how the meanings of words change. I thought about that a little more on my own and I was amazed at the number of words that once meant one thing now have little and sometimes no resemblance to their original meanings. I was also somewhat aghast at the temerity of humans to play willy nilly with established norms – although, at least with words, the norm established was established by humans so I guess humans can do what they want with them. It’s not like anybody is trying to change science. (People holding high government offices in Washington notwithstanding, given that I’m not so sure they are actually human anyway.)

Some words haven’t quite yet made that complete flip, or flop if you prefer, and carry two meanings opposite each other. Oversight can mean examining for inconsistencies from expectations or the inconsistency itself. These are called contranyms. My favorite contranym is Handicap. – An advantage provided to ensure equality (think golf), or a disadvantage that prevents equal achievement. (Why is this my favorite? Because I am. I have a handicap. Because of reasons too abstruse to go into here, I walk with a cane. It may look cool and all swaggerish, but every time I need to carry or hold something I am limited to only one-half of my carrying and/or holding appendages. People want to call all those with handicaps disabled but we are just as able as anyone else, perhaps more so due to our handicaps, whihch might make that a contranym within a contranym.)

Other common contranyms are model (an exemplary original or a scaled copy), puzzle (a problem or to solve one), and for out baseball fans, strike (to hit or to miss).

And then there are the antagonyms, words that have completely changed meanings over time. Awful is a classic example of a word today meaning the opposite of what it was meant to be. Five hundred years ago a bully was more of a heartthrob, one of outstanding physical prowess. Now it means fake president of a used to be major power. Prestigious, as in renown, has only been a positive example for the last hundred years or so. Before that, a prestigious someone was an imposter who gained wealth by way of trickery (sort of like…oh, never mind).

But back to “common.” I’m not sure where that fits in. everyone’s first definition is something generally met with and of nothing special. But its root is the same as community and it is used to described things shared, like a common border. Or as we wrote in that post, a common good, and even common sense, which most people want to ascribe to individuals but really is knowledge derived from shared experiences. Take a look at it. We think it is uncommonly good.

Not so famous last words

Michael 11 Comments

There are entire books of famous last words. Most of them are famous solely because they were said by famous people rather than being famous because they were profound. There are some that are a little of both. Benjamin Franklin’s last words were, “A dying man can do nothing easy.” The back story – that was in response to his daughter telling him to turn over in bed so he can breathe more easily. Sort of profound on its own. Now that you know the story behind it, it sounds like something I’d say!

Anyway, most last words will never be remembered by someone other than to whom they were spoken, except for last words you see and hear every day.

An exceptionally famous set of last words seldom seen today, was de rigueur in a different century, early in a different century, was “the end,” seen on the last page of every book and last card of every movie.

Other last words often more memorable are the last words you see when that car passes you on the highway and you get a look at their license plate, license plate frame, or bumper sticker. There are some pretty clever examples of two of the above specifies at the links noted. I’ve not yet succumbed to a vanity license plate although the frame I have around the classic plate on Rosemary the Little Red Car reads, “Aged to Perfection. Old Guys Rule!”

I saw an interesting sight just yesterday that I had heard of but never had seen in the wild with my own eyes. A Tesla car with its stylized “T” removed and replaced with a lightning bolt. Not quite a last word but a lasting impression.

A particular type of last word I have a difficult time with is the one to end a text message conversation. Not a quick message like “on my way.” That doesn’t even require an answer. But the conversations that go back and forth for a while, the things that have taken the place of phone calls. Phone calls were easy to end. The last word typically was a simple “bye” plus or minus a dear, hon, or second bye. An e-mail’s last words are like any other correspondence. But a text message. No good way out of that and when you usually decide on a last word, it’s more likely an emoji.

Now I’m not sure what kind of last words would be best to tack on the end of these words. I think I’ll steal Michael Landon’s last words. On his deathbed, his son said to him, “I think it’s time to move on.” Landon’s reply – “You’re right. It’s time. I love you all.” Actually, it’s his last, last words that mean the most. I love you all.

Are you talking to me?

Michael 2 Comments

There are times when the things I think I think are stranger than the things I think and that I know. Like the other day, I was reading for enjoyment, yes a novel concept and every now then I do get the chance to take on such an inviting task. As is typical for my leisure activities, murder played a major role. Another major role was played by a major. A retired major I would assume because he was described as a “gentleman with a private income” and became a major (sorry) suspect. Now here’s what I think I think about that. At least I think I thought this.

Stories, whether played on pages, screen, or stage, set anytime through the early twentieth century and/or in England through modern days, are filled with captains, majors, colonels, and the occasional admiral or general (or brigadier (across the pond)). I think it would cool to actually see that happen in practice and/or real life. (And for all I know, it does – across the pond.)

Except for the odd “Mr. Michael” from a barely English speaking customer service phone representative, I never am never offered any honorific, haven’t hear a title associated with my name since I left hospital practice. But if people were to start introducing, and speaking of and to me as “Captain,” I could get along with that. And I promise I wouldn’t ever give reason to suspect me as the murderer. Everybody knows the butler always did it. (I wonder if I could still fit in my old uniforms. I’m sure the hat would still fit me.)

There is absolutely no way to tie this in with yesterday’s Uplift post other than to say it’s Thursday, it must be time for my shameless weekly plug. So…shamelessly speaking, if you know where you’re going and you know how to get there, trust that you will get there. Knowing where you’re going is more important than how fast you get there. You might even get there at the speed of popcorn. Check out, You’re a Pop Star at ROAMcare.org, this week’s Uplift offering.

Cite your sources

Michael 12 Comments

Somewhere sometime someone is having a crisis. It’s me!

I’m having a crisis. I am losing touch with the part of the world that feeds me information and I’m worried I am starting to sound like a one of those people who spouts so-called facts that you know aren’t true. Their verity may be questioned without question because they (the facts) are so ludicrous that nobody but a Dimwit Donny Disciple (DDD) would believe them (e.g., did you know gas is only $1.98/gallon), or because they (the fact-spouters) are DDDs or DD hisself.

Believe it or not, this is not a political post. It’s a true personal crisis. I’m forgetting not things, but that which made me aware of the thing. Don’t question. Just read on. It will become clear.

It came to me when I mentioned to my daughter, “I just read somewhere that keeping cut fruit in the fridge in glass containers will add at least 2 days to their use by date versus storing them in plastic.” This isn’t something I dreamed or something I overheard in the produce section while working my way around the gaggle of grocery gals gathered in front of the mango display. This was a real “read somewhere” moment, but I can’t recall where. If it was say in Food Network Magazine, then it’s probably a pretty good tip. Likewise in the food section of the newspaper or a real food expert’s social site. On the other hand, if I read it in the comments section of an online recipe or in the social site of the dingy broad who records entire recipes in 30 seconds and posts them to a site known for lip-synched videos and blasphemous AI generated images, it likely is as true as claims of sub $3.00 eggs (per dozen, not apiece).

This worries me because I always would be able to recite the source of my information as readily as the information. I know I found the cut fruit tidbit in a respected, responsible source, but not being able to recite that source feels like I should be being fitted for a red hat. (By the way, why does the Dummy in Chief always have those stupid hats on its desk in the Oval Office. Is there a merch table at the back of the room to visit between acts?) if I should be challenged in the fresh fruit freshness extension tip, I wouldn’t be able to cite my source other than to say, “I read it somewhere.” Well, that’s not an answer. I might as well expound on the sphericalosity of the earth without doing the math.

So you now understand my crisis. (You do, don’t you?) How will I ever be taken seriously again. How will I ever take myself seriously again. I won’t be long before I begin a conversation with, “I saw somewhere that someone did something that I thought was interesting. What do you think?” My sole reasonable conversation partners will be clairvoyants, mediums (It is mediums not media when you’re speaking of those who communicate with dead, right?) (I figure they’d be a decent one to chat with considering by then I’d be at least brain dead), or DDDs (because they are experienced in listening to unfounded, unproven, unreliable sources of disinformation).

Anyway, I read somewhere than fresh cut fruit stored in glass containers will extend its life. That all I had to say.

Looking for the Helpers

Michael 7 Comments

Where I am was affected greatly by the derecho. I had never heard that term before. According to weather.com it is an inland hurricane. According to the National Weather Service, we experienced winds of 81mph with heavy rain and hail. Unfortunately, there were 3 deaths in the area. Damage is still being added up. The most immediate impact was lost of power. Some, like my daughter, are not expecting restoration for 5-7 days. Some, like myself, were in the dark only a matter of hours. And we are a mere quarter mile apart.

It was a great opportunity for people to help others. That it was not as devastating as a tornado or an actual hurricane may have embolden people to act like asses and make their bat shit brethren proud.  Comments to newspaper articles (why they allow them I’ll never know), (anti)social media, and some news shows included things like the repair people are sitting on their hands so they can soak up the premium time by delaying repairs until the weekend, and there’s plenty of electricity, they just don’t want to turn it on. Honestly, if some people weren’t halfwits they’d be no wits.

You wouldn’t know it by the preponderance of ignorance and stupidity, but apparently people are meant to be social animals, working toward the good of the species. Love is generally considered the innate virtue while apathy and outright hatred are learned qualities. It is no wonder Mr. Rogers encouraged people to “look for the helpers” when they were in trouble, helping being so terribly out of fashion that is doesn’t simply flow from people.

Yesterday’s Uplift post Born Helpers explored some amazing acts of self sacrifice and love for mankind carried out in of all places, a prisoners of war camp. It is a remarkable and moving tribute to the helpers. You really should read it.

Undressed for Success

Michael 14 Comments

Okay guys, buckle up.  This is one if those posts. I know some if you will, “just don’t look,” but I’ll say, “then don’t go out in public like that.” The public was a doctors’ office waiting room. Yes, that’s doctors plural. One of those places with 45 different physicians with 45 different sub-specialties. So there are usually a couple dozen patients, some with the entourages, filling up the chairs placed with about as much attention to spatial management as the average airport gate area.

The”who” who couldn’t be overlooked was a 50-60ish woman about as skinny as a dining room table leg. Seriously thin. But of above average height. I would say about 5’10” – 5’11” and she carried about 20 pounds. I’ve seen sacks of potatoes heavier and dowel rods chunkier. Some how, she managed to find clothes tight enough to look painted on those legs that could be the literal “pins” as slang for women’s legs going back to the 1500s. Capri style naturally. But that wasn’t the eye catching portion of her body. At least it was t the part that caught my eye.

She walked in – no, she wobbled in on strappy sandals, the type you might find cruising the runway if your local fashion shoe, except they sported a 4 inch platform adding to her obvious natural height. But we still haven’t gotten to the eye catching part.

Stuffed into those sandals (and I’m not sure how you “stuff” something into somewhere that is built mostly of leather straps, but stuffed they wear) were foot so long the entire length of all 10of her toes extended beyond the front edge of the footwear. Made more noticeable by the lime green nail polish.

In 99.7% of my interactions with other humans, including the just see and be seen variety, I am a live and let live, you do you, whatever floats your boat, play it as you like it. Every now and then comes the other 0.3%. And she was it.

I am the first to admit, even before other people see me, that I a, not a fashion plate of the male variety. There were, are, and never will be pin-up pictures of me gracing the insides of women’s lockers, and I dress a tad more conservatively for the 21st century than the average male. But I do dress, and I cover all my parts, including the parts that don’t comfortably fit within the confines of clothing, sometimes even breaking down and being a larger size of said clothing if the current occupants of my closet are not up to the challenge. Is that too much to ask for of my fellow planet sharers.

I think you for the chance to get that off my chest. If you’ll excuse me, I must now write apology letters to all those when saw me at dinner last Saturday wearing a half-Windsor knotted tie when a Kelvin was definitely the least acceptable.

There goes that fox again

Michael 4 Comments

Why can’t the lazy brown dog have jumped over the quick fox? Wait, what? The lazy blue fox jumped over the quick brown dog. No. That’s not it. Well… isn’t it. I mean if the purpose is to test all the letters of the keyboard, either of those works as well as the quick brown fox doing the jumping over the lazy dog, even if I want to make the dog blue. On the other hand, none of them work because they only check letters and don’t stray into the numbers and symbols. What about them?

Imagine being a typing teacher in the classic 1960s classroom in front of a bunch of 1960s high schoolers and having to answer questions like that. Actually, there wouldn’t be any answering. Back then the teacher would have simply slapped her yardstick across the black board (or did you call them chalkboards?) and sputter out, “Because I said so!”

None of that has anything to do with what I was going to write this morning. I sat down and stared at a blank screen looking for the perfect opening when I heard my inner Warhol say, “Don’t think about art. Just get it done.” And that’s what fell out of my fingers.

I was going to talk about the first time I ever talked in front of “civilians.” It was way back in a different century. We, the people I worked with, had put together a program to increase awareness that there are pharmacies in hospitals. We were going to do a “brown bag” where people would put all the prescriptions in a bag and bring them to us and we’d check for duplicates, interactions, out dates, and some other etceteras. I went on a local talk radio show to promote the program. I got there for my 15 minute time spot and the producer asked if I could stay and do a second spot, they just had a scheduled guest call in to say he couldn’t make it. I was thrilled!

Everything went fine for the first 3 minutes when I did my prepared comments. And then the host said “Let’s open the phone lines for your questions.” And boy did they have questions! Everything from vitamins to flu shots to why can’t they invent something to work on Aunt Bessie’s daggum headaches. To say I wasn’t ready for that broad of a discussion would have misused “understatement.” It was a humbling experience.

We talked about humbling experiences and why humility is a virtue too few consider a virtue in this week’s Uplift, Out of Town Experts. I think you’ll like it. Check it out.

The things people do

Michael 11 Comments

People watching should be an official event. I’m not sure if it should be a sport or a game or an unstructured pastime, but it needs to be something. I was convinced of this when we went out to lunch yesterday. The entire restaurant was in people watching mode, and personally, I can’t think of a better way to pass the time.

Nobody doesn’t mind their own business but somehow, it works. From the moment we walked in the restaurant we heard it (and we knew we were among our people). Murmurs of, “Such cute sandals!” “Look at that skirt, the one with the print!” “I want those earrings!” (Nobody said anything about my tie. Bummer.) After we were seated, we were able to join in. “Look, is that the crab cake or the crab cake salad?” “I don’t know but I’m definitely getting that for dessert…The one over there.” “I don’t see that on the menu, be sure to ask if it’s one of today’s specials.”

The best part of people watching in a restaurant is that people are constantly coming and going, so there are always new things to ooh and aah over. And unlike just a few years ago, it’s all open and above board. Nobody is sneaking around anymore trying to catch a glimpse of how the filet is served. If you can’t tell, you just lean over and ask your table neighbors.

Yes, the restaurant is THE place to people watch.

I’m a people watcher from way back. Back in the day we had to hide our watching or at least be minimally circumspect of who we were watching. Bars were always a good place because you can blame the 1,000 mile stare when you can’t believe someone would come out in public like that by blaming it on being over-served. Pools were reasonable people spotting spots mostly because anybody who went to one was planning on being watched anyway. Of course, they were also sort of the classic double-edged sword. People didn’t mind being watched, but they never did anything worth watching. Yes, for sheer volume of sights, bars were the place to be. Not late night. After work happy hour was the best time.

That was then though. This is now, and now the place is a restaurant, a little crowded, preferably mostly filled with people who don’t get out much. (You know. My people.) And for maximum participation, wear the dangling earrings and order the special.