Category Humor

Color My World

Michael Leave a comment

First the good news. I’m out of the hospital. Now the bad news. We are in a color rut.

While I was in the hospital my daughter would bring get well cards that popped up in either of our mailboxes. I don’t know about anybody else but I have hard time with cards in the hospital. There’s so little room to begin with and what space is there is loaded with stuff. Hospital stuff. Bags and bottles, water and tissues, and those funny machines you breathe in on to keep you from getting pneumonia. But it was nice to see them, read them, and call the well wishers when I had a few moments. But the cards went back home so they would not be lost or thrown away.

When I got home I had a chance to take them all out and really read them and the notes so many had added. Then my daughter noticed it. “Are they color coding greeting cards?” She had observed, and observed correctly, that the vast majority of the get well cards were contained in yellow or some shade of yellow envelopes. There were also about half as many white, two brown, and one lowly blue card cover.

20190617_150159

Naturally this led to other occasions and what is used to wrap those greetings. Some were easy and unanimous (although with only two of us participating in the survey, unanimity was hardly conclusive). Envelopes for St. Patrick’s Day cards while we aren’t certain why they exist exist in green, usually swaddling a card portraying a drunken cartoon leprechaun or somebody presumably more than a little tipsy wearing beer goggles. Yellow envelopes when not paired with get well cards wrap themselves around Easter cards. Valentines come with red envelopes, Hanukkah cards are festooned in blue, First Communion, Confirmation, and Wedding cards get white envelopes, and Halloween cards, which confound us as much as St. Patrick’s Day cards, are distributed with orange envelopes. And although we’d think a black envelope for a sympathy card could catch on, they always seem to be in a plain white wrapper.

Some cards have standard colors but more than one. Christmas cards can be counted on the be in red or white envelopes with an odd green cover tossed in now and then. Thanksgiving is usually celebrated in brown or other earth tone shade although an orange envelope apparently left over from Halloween may pop up. Baby shower cards have the predictable pink or blue or the unpredictable white enclosure.

And some cards make no sense at all. Although you can almost count on a Mother’s Day card being in a pink envelope, a Father’s Day card might be in almost any color cover. And birthday cards exist with a rainbow of choices of envelope color.

I suppose somehow it all makes sense and although it’s rather formulaic it’s the system we’ve gotten used to. My question is who responsible and if I want to corner the market on Waffle Iron Day cards (which is coming up on May 29) do I have to submit an envelope color proposal before I willy nilly make them maple syrup amber?

 

Lighten Up! (Hospital Style)

Michael

It’s high time to lighten things up around here. Just because I am still, yes still(!) in the hospital doesn’t mean there aren’t things to poke fun at. In fact, much of what goes on around here is worth poking fun at.

So far, nobody woke me to offer me a sleeping pill. Yes it has been done. However I have had the same person offer me a laxative literally (seriously I’m going to use literally as it literally is intended) right after helping me back from the bathroom with … well, you figure it out but Adrian Cronauer would have credited it to a cup of strong cappuccino.

Diets are an interesting phenomenon in hospitals particularly when one has abdominal surgery. You start out with nothing but sips of water. You progress through clear liquids to full liquids to soft and then regular food. All the while each step gets modified to meet your specific health needs like a cardiac or renal or diabetic diet. I have yet to figure out why. When you’re on clear liquids you barely have the strength to left spoon to mouth so that goes right back barely touched. By the time you can eat solid food you’re chowing down on the sandwiches and cookies your family is smuggling past the nurses station and you’re too full to bother with the hospital’s offerings. And their food always tastes bad. You know it’s bad but if you had to describe what is bad about it you find those words have yet to be invented. I’m on Day 17 of this hospitalization so I’ve had some time to think about this. I’ve decided it’s the taste equivalent of when you walk into an elevator and you know somebody was there wearing a cologne more suited to a Turkish whorehouse than anywhere else on earth. So I suspect.

20190610_185905-2You recall my rants regarding remote controls. Too many buttons, too little function! Back in the 70s (yes, I really am that old) nurse call bells were pretty much that. In fact, the first hospital I worked at kept actual bells to distribute to patients in the event of a power failure. Today’s call bell alert mechanisms control lights, television power channel and volume, bed position, sleeping alarms, and might actually summon assistance by way of a two-way radio communication with a disembodied voice from somewhere deep in the building. My particular remote control/Dick Tracy wrist radio gets a lot of abuse pulled across the room, dropped on the floor, and otherwise tortured. This is an absolute true story. All of them are but you are going to say “Oh come on now!” when you read this so just keep in mind, this is an absolute true story. Among other things, my call button controls the room light (button A), controls a reading lamp (button B), controls the TV (TV), and summons assistance (stick figure of some bald dude). I was ready to call it another unsuccessful day and pressed button B to turn the reading lamp off but instead the main room light came on. Checking that I was indeed pressing the right button I tried again and the main light went off. Then I pushed button A because why not and the TV came on. Pressing button A a second time yielded no results so I pressed the stick figure button to report my equipment malfunction but instead of lighting up indicating a call had been initiated, the TV went off and the reading lamp came on. At this point I was back to having the reading lamp on and everything else off. I figured I could fall asleep under those circumstances and left well enough alone. Eventually someone would be in to check my blood pressure and I would report the broken control then.

I could go on with other curiosities like footwear particularly among the anesthesia staff, status boards, and isolation procedures but I might need some lighter topics next week too.

By the way, if I follow you and you haven’t heard a peep from me and are concerned, some sites I can reach through the hospital guest WiFi, some I cannot, and some change day to day. I am better and just waiting for some labs to stabilizer before I can be set free on the world again. I’ll catch up with my required reading then.

Hurry Up and Wait

Michael 3 Comments

It is annual exam time and I’ve been spending a lot of time in doctors’ offices this week. A fixture of doctors’ offices is the waiting room. Some waiting rooms are actually nice pleasant places to be that make lasting impressions on the patients there. I recall from my youth the dentist who had fish tanks, aquaria even, with sunken pirate ships, treasure chests, and probably fish but as a six year old boy I mostly remember the pirate stuff. Some waiting rooms are actually one eyebrow raising (which I have never been able to master) like the gastroenterologist’s office who had an aviary, a bird cage even, where several colorful birds and pages noting why they were actually beneficial in a doctor’s office and probably plaques to identify the birds but as a sixty year old waiting for a colonoscopy I mostly remember just that there were birds. But mostly doctor’s office waiting rooms are sort of bland with sort of cheap furniture with sort of old magazines with small screen TVs hanging in an upper corner of the room sort of over there by the sliding glass window that somebody opens at irregular intervals to check in new arrivals, copy insurance cards, and distribute privacy notices. To me waiting rooms seem almost oxymoronic. Not much waiting goes on in them, and except for the one with the birds, most don’t have much room. The real waiting goes on in “the other room.” The exam room. The surgery in 18th century colonial speak. Back there.

We all know the drill. The office nurse sticks his or her head out into the waiting room, calls out a first name hoping there is only one Augustine (thank you HIPPA), leads Mr. X down the hall to the scale, then places him into “the other room.” There things start optimistically. A blood pressure is taken, the little finger thingie that measures oxygen in your blood is put on your finger, maybe some questions about changes in meds or general health are asked and answered, notes are made on the computer, a smile is flashed, the line “The doctor will be right in” is sing songed your way (sing sang?), and the door is pulled shut behind her. Or him. And now we wait. There are never any old magazines in the little room. Maybe you brought your phone or tablet and still have enough battery power to play a game or thirteen. But you don’t because you know you’ll be moving up to level 57 when the knock on the door comes.

DoctorSignSo I play a different game while I wait in “the other room.” Guess The Footsteps. For example, if I know somebody ahead of me went in with a walker and I hear the slide of it I might figure that person is on the way out so then from recalling how many patients went in between him and me I can guess if I have enough time to finish that crossword puzzle. If I hear two sets of footsteps that’s the nurse and new patient coming in so that doesn’t help with figuring out how much longer it will be. A single set needs evaluating before I can determine its significance. A slightly hesitant pace might be a patient leaving making certain to take no wrong turns. (I’ve noticed that although you are always escorted to the exam room it’s about a 50/50 chance somebody will accompany you out. And yes I have gotten lost along the way.) (Sigh.) A fast pace barely heard through the closed door is the nurse returning to the waiting room to bring back another patient. A fast pace clearly heard approaching and receding is the office person who handles the billing and probably the only staff member other than the doctor not in scrubs and tennis shoes. A purposeful step that pauses outside your door with an accompanying rustle of paper is the doctor arriving at the wrong door and putting your chart back in the holder mounted on the wall next to the door. And somehow with all that marching up and down the hall, when the doctor does knock once and open the door to finally get on with the main event, I never hear those steps.

So that’s how I spend my time waiting. It might not be all that much fun but I got a whole blog post out of it! I wonder if this was how Milton and Bradley got started.

No Business Like Shoe Business

Michael 2 Comments

Have you ever had a day when to want to say something but are sure it will unwarrantedly ruffle someone’s feathers? You don’t mean to. You really just have a thought you want to express but, particularly in the now when every thought, let alone action, regardless of intent is either forgiven or vilified depending on the political affiliation (real or perceived) of the thinker and/or actor, you hesitate. So I’ve been very concerned about bringing this up but I just can’t hold it back any longer. Where the hell are all the brown shoelaces?

I don’t need new shoelaces right now but there is a pair (are a pair?) (no, is a pair) fraying and will surely and shortly break. I’d like to be proactive and have the replacement on hand if not actually on shoe before that happens but I can’t find laces for brown dress shoes. White for athletic shows yes. Hundreds of any length and thickness imaginable. Thick black laces in lengths clearly for boots most probably fitted with steel toes are everywhere. Those rawhide looking things for hiking shoes hang on racks by the score of scores. Some places seem to begrudgingly devote a hook, maybe two, to black laces appropriate for dress shoes, but brown…um, nope. Not out there.

I think it started with Casual Friday. I never understood that. Why should somebody making an appointment with a banker, broker, car dealer, or human resource manager on the last day of the week be made to feel like the appointment maker has already started on his or her weekend? Why do Tuesday appointments get treated more formally than those who scheduled on Friday? I guess others felt the same way because it seems there is no more Casual Friday. It is now Casual Week. (I think I also once mentioned an off shoot of this. That is, why everybody who has anything remotely to do with medicine now feels the need to wear scrubs. If I hit the next billion dollar Power Ball jackpot and feel the urge to endow a hospital nephrology department, I do not want to meet with an administrator in a Looney Tunes scrub top to discuss my multimillion dollar gift. Just putting that out there.) Anyway, that’s how it all started – when men shed their suits and ties.

Women can be just as casual but a woman knows there are times when “dress” means more than the garment. And still have them in their closets. The garments that is. (That are?) I am certain if women’s dress shoes required laces there would be sufficient stock from which to choose.

BrownShoesI guess we men just lost our will to dress up. And stores responded. The Men’s Department yielded space to The Active Male, Sports and Leisure, and You’re Only as Young as You Feel departments. And the space they gave up used to be occupied by shoelaces for dress shoes. Even brown. Well I want it back! I want that space that used to hold tie bars and pocket squares. I want a belt that isn’t reversible. I want shoes that need polishing. And I want brown shoelaces!

I sincerely apologize for feathers that have been ruffled and trust this won’t result in some social media frenzy. But one last thing … if you should happen to have knowledge of brown shoelaces appropriate for a men’s dress shoe with 4 eyelets please email me their location. I will not share your information.

Thank you

 

Just a Number

Michael 2 Comments

Welcome to Major League Baseball 2019. Today is opening day. I remember way back when I was a kid, a youngen, a tyke, a small fry even, on opening day we would sneak our transistor radios into school with our earphones surreptitiously threaded up our short sleeves so the teacher would not know we were listening to the game instead of conjugating irregular verbs. Like she really wasn’t going to notice that hunk of plastic on the desk. But we were young and stupid. Much like the players we cheered on. Oh, not the stupid part. Young. They were young, just like us. Younger than I ever, even to this day, realized.

BaseballOf the four major American sports, baseball has often been maligned as the old man sport. It’s slow, it’s boring, nothing happens for long stretches, anybody can play baseball. Eh, probably that last part is true. It does not take much to play baseball. A bat, a ball, a glove, and an open field and you have the minimum requirements for the game. But it’s not an old man’s sport. No, not at all. You see, also of the four major American sports, baseball is the only one opening this year’s season with nobody playing who was playing MLB baseball in the 20th century. Nobody taking the field today was there on opening day in 19-anything. No one. Not one. Nary a soul.

That’s only been 19 years. That’s one less than 20. For some of the younger folks reading those words 20 years could be a large percentage of their lives and might still seem like a long time. But looked at from a regular job perspective, twenty years doesn’t even get you a commemorative watch. Apparently for Major League Baseball, less than twenty years gets you retirement. Even for a government job you need to put in the “whole twenty” to cash in on a cushy pension.

Only 19 years. If a player started his major league career at the seemingly ancient age for a rookie of 25, he is among those sitting in lap of retirement luxury and not yet 45 years old. I had dreams of retiring at 55. I figured if that was old enough for the government to say I could start drawing from my IRA without penalty, and considering “retirement” is right there in the name of the account, then it must be the perfect age to target for retirement. Of course I knew I would more likely work until I hit 75. But 45. Forty-five! Wow.

I’m old enough not to be impressed by terribly much but that report really floored me. I’ve watched hockey players playing the game for over 20 years still this year. There is considerably more physical contact in hockey than baseball. Football and basketball both still have players who were wearing the uniforms from way back in the last century. Nobody ever called either of those an old man’s sport. Of any of them I’d not have pegged baseball as the first sport to lose everybody from the pre-2000 days.

As “they” might say, time marches on. It just doesn’t circle the bases.

 

Yes, No, Maybe

Michael 2 Comments

I’m a sucker for a good survey. Not the ones people with clipboards try to take at the mall while intercepting you rushing out of Spencer’s attempting to make it to Macy’s before the rest of the family realizes you’re missing. Not the ones that pop up at the bottom of otherwise legitimate online news articles implying (inferring?) you can turn your free time into earnings time. I mean real surveys by real polling outlets for genuine marketing, opinion, or news pieces.

Some years ago I shifted all my verbal correspondence to my mobile number and did away with the landline phone. I was all about eliminating unnecessary or duplicate services and as I was more likely to carry a cell phone around with me than I was a corded (or even cordless) device tied to a hard connection in the wall, the cell won. Unfortunately for as cutting edge as we want to believe our smart phones are and how sophisticated we talk ourselves into believing the service providers may be, they still haven’t figured out how to handle Caller ID. Or for all I know they have and haven’t yet figured out how to charge for such an archaic concept, or the government has decided it is in our best interest not to know who is on the other end of the call, or it is in their best interest not to get into a perceived battle over privacy issues some nut might claim. As a result I don’t answer a call unless it is someone in my contact list or is a number I recognize. As a further result I no longer get to enjoy participating in one of the few random phone surveys that still might come my way.

Now I do belong to a few opinion panels and occasionally get to answer a poll or do a survey on line. I also will answer surveys published by those I follow on social media if the topic interests me and I keep an eye out for new invitations from new or established pollsters. It’s all in fun for me. I haven’t filled any free time with “earnings time” and the most I’ve ever gotten from answering a survey was a $15 gift card.

I like surveys. And I think I like giving people a piece of my mind, but then that’s what this blog is for. And now you know we’ve gotten to the meat of the story, the heart of the topic, the reason for being here you and I. Who is getting a piece of my mind today?

You may not recognize it from my writing but I try to keep myself on the right side of the grammar and usage police. Some time ago I taught a few classes at a university. At that time there was a rather decent size to-do brewing over perceived favoritism demonstrated by the grading of essay type questions on tests and we were encouraged to administer multiple choice tests and to use machine gradable answer cards. (This was in the 90s. Now personally I think somebody had purchased a bunch of these cards for a dying technology and that somebody saw their budget approval rights in jeopardy if said cards did not find their way off the storeroom shelves. Just thinking out loud.) Anyway, I became the Mad Professor of Multiple Choices. Every question not only had three seemingly logical answer choices (a, b, and c) but also multiples of those choices (a and b, a and c, b and c) and total inclusion (all of the above) or exclusion (none of the above). I was always careful to arrange the answers so “all of the above” came before “none of the above” so I could not get drawn into the argument “but Perfessor Evil Tester, how can ‘all of the above’ be right if it includes something that might be right and ‘none of the above’ sayin’ that none of them is right ’cause there ain’t no way nothing can be right and not right at the same time.” I knew my tests, and my test takers! If you consider that a multiple choice test is just a big survey you could say now I know my surveys also.

So, to make a long story short (and aren’t you glad you’re not getting the long version?), I had to scratch my head when this little gem popped up in my Facebook feed, although it was Facebook.

Survey

Hmm. Did you watch TV last night? Yes, No, Not Sure. Not Sure? Really? You can’t tell if you were watching TV? Not “Both yes and no depending on when last night.” Not even to old “Prefer not to answer.” Nope, they really asked “Not Sure.” How are you not sure? Wait, I have it. You were watching a television network broadcasted show via a streaming service on your handheld mobile device. That makes sense. Yeah. Probably an offspring of the “Hey Perfessor” guy.

Oh, just so you know, somewhere in this country the “Hey Perfessor” guy is part of somebody’s health care team. Let’s just say I “prefer not to answer.”

Too Often In a Blue Moon

Michael Leave a comment

Did you see the “Super Worm Equinox Moon” last night? I saw a moon. It was a nice moon. Big, bright, beautiful in a moonly sort of way. Didn’t see no worms though. I don’t want to get into a “remember when” thing here but…remember when the moon was just the moon. Sometimes it was full. Sometimes you looked up. Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes you went ahh. The moon was just “The Moon.”

Songs were written about it, couples shared their first kiss under it, now and then a couple got engaged under it, probably some couples got pregnant under it, ghost stories were told in its light, and Halloweens were scarier when it was full that night. For over 4-1/2 billion years it has hung in the sky, orbiting the earth, reflecting sunlight at night so we don’t curse the darkness. And still today we look to it, we wish on it, we wonder how high it is, how far it is, how big it is. And still today we take it for granted.

The moon keeps our days at what we call days. Without the moon’s gravity pulling at the earth and slowing its rotation, a day would be about 6 hours. And you already think there aren’t enough hours in one! The moon power our tides so we don’t become a stagnant pool, keeps the earth’s rotational tilt so we don’t fall over, and keeps the planet spinning smoothly rather than wobbling its way through space.

With all the moon does for us does it not deserve some respect from us? Instead we treat it like an attraction at a carnival.

STEP RIGHT UP,
YES STEP RIGHT UP
AND SEE THE AMAZING,
THE STUPENDOUS,
THE UNBELIEVABLE,
THE ONE, THE ONLY,
THE SUPER WORM EQUINOX MOON!

Only twenty-five cents per person
have your tickets ready
please hold your own tickets
no readmissions
no exchanges
no refunds
this is a limited time offer.

They say, and I suppose they ought to know, this is the last supermoon for 2019. Apparently we’ve had our fill of micromoons for 2019 also. (Oh yes, that’s a thing too.) That means we can all go back to our porches and patios in the evening and listen to the crickets chirp and stare into the sky and not have to worry about whether we might feel foolish tomorrow at work (or worse on Facebook) when we say something like “Wasn’t the moon pretty last night?” and hear in reply “Pretty! Why that was best darned whiskey pourer blood pressure red possum longitudinal moon ever last night!”

Oh, and happy first full day of spring.

Supermoon

Day to Day

Michael 2 Comments

Shhh. Come closer. I have something to tell you. Today is Monday. That means you have the best chance of any day of the week to not be scammed. Good news, no? But don’t say anything lest the scammers find out you don’t fear them today and they start making Mondays their new Friday. Yeah, that’s the day you are most like to fall prey to the con.

Can you believe somebody actually gets paid to research this stuff? In some way it is interesting. There is a “best day” for just about anything you can imagine. The best day to shop at a thrift store is Monday. That’s what the experts say. The logic is that people have yard sales on the weekend and what isn’t sold often gets donated or consigned to thrift shops and second hand stores. How can you argue that? Except … those stores aren’t taking items in the back door and putting them directly on the sales floor. The have to be sorted, tidied, priced, then hung or displayed. Maybe Tuesday would be the better day. Or maybe it’s Friday so the store can make room for the wave of incoming merchandise next Monday.

How about the best time to post a photo on … wait, I’m sorry … the best time to post an image on Instagram? Yes, there are hundreds of experts who say without a doubt it is Wednesday, preferably at 2am or 5pm. Except for those experts who tell you the absolute best time to post is Thursday at 2pm. I might be more inclined to agree with the 2 in the afternoon people rather than the 2 in the morning people but that’s just because I believe the best time to sleep involves that coveted 2am hour. But then maybe I’d rather take heed of the experts who claim the best time is Monday at 8am. That would work especially well if I want to post photos, err, images of the stuff I’m picking up at the Goodwill store.

While you are out shopping and snapping pictures on Monday, mentally get your resume together because if you are thinking of applying for a job on line the best day is Tuesday, specifically at 11:30 in the morning. I’ve been looking for a little part time job to stave off the boredom of the lifestyle of the poor and unknown and now I know why I’m not getting any nibbles. In the true fashion of Willy Nilly, I have been applying whenever I see a job post that interests me.

BracketDaysYou’ll notice nobody has yet tapped Wednesday as a best day. That’s because they know you’re going to be busy buying shoes. Oh yes, there is an expert who has determined the very best time to buy shoes is Wednesday in late afternoon. No reason was given for that particular day but it is said that is when the deals are and the afternoon is when your feet are at their biggest because you’ve been on them all day. No word about those who have desk jobs or work the night shift.

Obviously you can’t buy shows every Wednesday so on those when you are sitting around rather than standing about to get your feet in shape for that shoe shopping spree, feel free to post something on Twitter. Yep, Wednesday afternoon between 4 and 5 is the best time to be noticed and maybe even get retweeted. Yippee.

If you are wondering (and why wouldn’t you be?), I was not able to find a best day of the week to have a vasectomy. For once experts agree that elective surgery in general has less negative outcomes when performed on Monday or Tuesday. It is claimed that because the recovery for a vasectomy basically amounts to hanging out on the couch and doing nothing for a few days, more vasectomies are scheduled right before the NCAA basketball tournament than any other time. I’ve never been able to track that “fact” back far enough to disclaim it didn’t start with those who broadcast said tournament but just in case it is in fact a fact, and considering the tournament starts tomorrow, and if you are missing your male companion today, you might want to get an ice pack ready.

And they say that Monday is the day not to get conned!

Free free, free free free!

Michael 2 Comments

I have been meaning to give you a kidney transplant update and thought today would have been a good day for that but something more important came up. Ahem, attention. To all responsible in some way for the pricing of goods and services, “free” means “not costing or charging anything.” Again, thanks go to Misters Merriam and Webster and yes I am still trying to figure out who is who.

Why am I on to this again? Because I have that kind of time, and that kind of time has finally pushed me over the edge. It’s late in winter, or early in spring, and neither is giving any ground. I’m sick of being either inside or out only for dialysis, doctors, or church. Obviously church people and doctor people are really nice folks but I really can use some time outdoors. (Dialysis people tend to be nice too but I am a little less disposed to calling anybody stuffing needles the size of bucatini into my arm pleasant people to be around.) If it’s not way too cold for a brisk walk (winter’s doing) the wind is blowing a gazillion miles an hour (spring’s contribution) or they are both huffing and puffing, threatening to blow my hovel down. So, I spend most of my time not spent at dialysis, doctors, or church, spent inside with the television on for company. I figured I really needed company when one day while talking to my plants I, with much deserved huffiness, turned on a heel, stalked out of the room, and slammed the bedroom door when they gave me the silent treatment. Collectively! The nerve of them! After all I’ve given them – water, sunshine, more water, a little fertilizer now and then. I mean really, who do…. umm ….

So I’m back to too much time in front of the TV and there are only so many movies you can sit and watch that eventually you have to resort to commercial channels and they include commercials. And the ones that play early in the morning or late at night are what you expect when the ad rates are significant less than the Super Bowl pregame show. They are the As Seen On TV ads.

Like me, maybe you are not too young to recall those early “Not Sold In Stores” television commercials. They were really things you would not find in any store. A knife that cuts through steel toed boots. Lithuanian language records. Combination fishing rod/compass. Unique products that even if you knew you’d never need, want, or use like a clothes iron that plugged into your car’s cigarette lighter, you were going to watch that commercial all the way through – just in case. Who knew, by the time they got to the end maybe you decided that you really did need a hand cranked camp stove that could boil water and provide the upper body workout your exercise routine was lacking. And their premiums were real premiums. Not a commercial ended before the announcer excitedly added, “And if you order now, we’ll include an ice crusher absolutely free!”

FreeToday’s late night answer to the famous towel that can hold 12 times its weight is neither not available in any store nor likely to have you waiting for the commercial’s end for any reason other than that your program is that much closer to returning. And there are no more premiums. Where did all the ice crushers go? No, now if you “order now!” what do you get? Another one of whatever they are trying to get rid of. If I don’t need one battery powered ear wax vacuum I certainly don’t need two, especially not for “free! just pay an extra fee.”

I particularly resent the copywriter who puts “free shipping,” “we’ll send you a second absolutely free,” and ” “just pay a separate fee” all in the same ad. At least if there was a shipping charge for the first I could talk myself into understanding the “separate fee” for the second, but when the first is going out with “free shipping” what first fee is there that we’re not being told about?

Okay, so now that I have gotten that out of my system perhaps the next time around I’ll update you on my kidneys. I promise, it will be free.

 

Cereal Killer

Michael 5 Comments

They are magically delicious. They are often the first real solid foods you eat. They’re great. They are the stuff dreams are made of. Wait! No, those are jewel encrusted golden birds from Malta. But that other stuff, yeah, that they are. And they are cereal.

Today is National Cereal Day. Look, every day is something and today the needle points to those grains used for food, often breakfast, such as wheat, oats, or corn. (Thank you Mr. Merriam. Or Mr. Webster. Can anybody tell those guys apart?)

Can you imagine your life without cereal? Probably not. Even if you aren’t a cereal eater now, you once were. Hot, smooth cereals like cooked creamy rice or wheat are often a baby’s first step from “baby food” to the stuff in the house everybody else eats. Those round oat thingies (Cheerios by name) are most toddlers’ favorite snack and few parents of the youngsters leave home without them. And you confirmed anti-cereal zealots, don’t tell me you don’t have a canister of oatmeal or a box of corn flakes somewhere in that kitchen with the idea that they are just to make cookies or to bread chicken.

cerealI’ll admit I’m not a big boxed cereal eater myself today but I have a decent chunk of pantry space devoted to the foodstuff. Hot cereal is different. I always have multiple containers of old fashioned oats on hand for breakfast, lunch, sometimes dinner, often cookies, just as often bars, and occasionally muffins. But those other cereals usually end up masquerading as “a heathy snack.”

Oddly my favorite cereal from childhood rarely visits my old man kitchen. And it wasn’t even a typical kid brand like Cap’n Crunch. My favorite cereal growing up was plain corn flakes. I’d have a bowl of flakes with a half a banana sliced into it and whole milk. The banana’s other half would go into my school lunch unless somebody got to it first for another breakfast add in. That was breakfast more days than not until I set off for college.

I tried to look up the most popular cereal. I found 5 polls all published within a month of each other, and all wildly different. I guess the most popular depends on where you are, what company is sponsoring the poll, or how honest you feel like being when asked if you prefer Kashi or Fruity Pebbles and your whole pilates class (or bowling team (no judgement here)) is listening.

So we’ll do an informal poll. What is your favorite cereal? Ahh, still no judgement.