Category Humor

The Search for Bigfoot

Michael 22 Comments

Believe or not, that title is not a tease. Click bait is beyond my scope of operations. Or maybe behind. Either way, it’s a legitimate topic. For now.

My daughter has a dog. He’s fairly normal-sized for a dog of indeterminate origin. He’s part pointer, part husky, and looks those parts. But he has feet the size of an ottoman, which has always led me to describe him as a yointer. Part pointer, part Yeti. It seems that could be accurate – technical differences between Himalayan abominable snowmen and hairy North American cryptids notwithstanding.

Sasquatch, or good, old Bigfoot, the overly tall, overly hairy, overly plodding biped, bipedalling his way through dense forests has been sighted all over North America. But then, so have UFOs. Anyway, Bigfoot’s big believers see him everywhere, but usually in the Pacific Northwest. One of his names, Sasquatch, comes from the Salish Saquits indigenous people of that region.

But my daughter’s dog is an eastern U.S. mutt, raise from puppyhood in Western Pennsylvania. Where would a Bigfoot find his way into that animal’s lineage. Well, Pennsylvania apparently is a hotbed of Bigfoot activity. So hot there’s an annual Bigfoot Camping Adventure sponsored by the Pennsylvania Bigfoot Society. How did I live here for over 60 years and not pick up on that?

I just found out about it and them on Sunday when I was reading an article that they participated in a local town’s fall festival with merchandise, artifacts, and even bus tours to sightings sites. (I can hear the tour guide now. “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you look out the right side of the bus, you’ll see a break in the trees. We will depart the bus an’ go through that break about 30 yards, cross the crick, turn right, go 32 paces from the fallen hemlock tree to the spot where Ole Zeke heard Bigfoot a’moaning. You taller folk with long legs might want to stop at 28 paces. An’ don’t interrupt the UFO folks on the trail. They gots a sightin’ site one crick over.”)

It seems that just in the last 8 years there have been over 50 Pennsylvania sightings reported to just this one group, one pretty much in my backyard. So now when I say that my daughter’s dog is a yointer, I could be right!

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It’s that time again

Michael 11 Comments

It’s that time again. This is just way too much stuff up in my brain and if I don’t open the release valve and let some out, I’m going to end up with a massive headache.

Speaking of headaches, does anyone else remember the Excedrin Headache Number ___ commercials. I was hoping to find a list of them. I don’t know why, but I was, and I can’t. I did find some of the commercials though. Excedrin headache #20- the new secretary, #24- what’s for dinner, #39- shopping for shoes, and #44- driving home. If anyone knows of others, please let me know too. They were the kind of low-key comedy we can use today.

Not at all comedic, I wonder what’s the remedy for headache #AK47. Oh wait. I know. Thoughts and prayers. In case you missed it, after the 14 year old shot 4 people in school in Georgia that everyone was talking about, 2 days later in Maryland a 16 year old shot a 15 year old in a high school bathroom, then the day after that a fine defender of the Second Amendment brought a new definition to the term ‘road rage’ when he randomly shot at passing cars on a Kentucky highway.

Something else not comedic, merely desperate and a grave sign of insecurity, when did it become the new macho standard for men to wear black wedding bands? News flash– they look even more stupid than a shaved head combined with a full beard.

On a lighter note, remember when I was bemoaning the loss of color in modern automobiles. Just yesterday morning there was a pretty, light blue car that pulled up in front of my house. It was such a refreshing sight. And I thought a welcome sight too. Maybe I was getting company! But no, they were there to visit the folks next door. [Sigh]

Speaking of cars, I saw a video last week of a guy showing off the new to him 30 year old roadster. Being an owner of 25 year old roadster it was up my alley, or driveway. He happened to mention some of the more atypical factory options the car included and mentioned the original owner “ticked the box off on that on the options sheet.” That brought back an old memory – ordering a car. Did you ever order a car from the factory? Let me know. I’ve bought new cars, I’ve bought old cars. Once, I actually ordered a car. Went into the dealership and sat down with a sales person and an option sheet and actually ordered the very car I wanted. I remember what it was but not when. A black on black Buick Riviera T-Type. I think 1982 but it could have been 1984. I ordered it but never got it. The order went in 2 days before the auto workers staged a strike against GM and that was the end of that.

Football season is here. Also yesterday, shortly before noon the neighborhood was filled with the sounds of life. People out for walks, lawnmowers whirring, backyard chatter, the occasional passing car. At 1:00pm, Eastern Time, aka KICKOFF TIME! all activity ceased. There may have been cheers raised, calls debated, and chips crunched, but if those were happening, they were happening behind closed doors in front of newly purchased from last week’s Labor Day sales big big big(!) screen TVs.

Tomorrow night is the Presidential debate and that is when people should be hunkered down in front of the television and for most of the last 15 elections (if we want to consider 1960 as the opening of the debate generation) most people would be. They seem someone unnecessary now the for the last two election cycles, one of the debaters has decided to not encumber himself with the truth. And still some people are brain dead enough to actually consider it for president. [Shudder]

I feel better now and we now return you to your regularly scheduled headache.

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We have a choice every day. Do we make it fun or will it be dreadful? Death is tragic often enough. Don’t make life tragic also. Read our take on that at Each Day a Bonus, the latest Uplift blog at ROAMcare.

Proper Attire Required

Michael 11 Comments

I think I’ve reached fuddy duddy stage. I know I’ve gotten to fuddy duddy age yet I don’t feel I’ve overly dudded any fuddies. I believe I qualify for the standard because I know I look spectacular in a tuxedo yet have nowhere to wear one.

It became clear to me and confirmed for me that what is wrong with modern America (besides aging former reality stars insisting we’re part of the Me Generation), while watching Mr. Lucky (the fabulous movie, not the over-acted TV offering although it has a pretty nifty theme song) is we don’t dress for dinner anymore. Of course, the 1940s film industry wasn’t known for putting out documentaries of real-life America, but even the humble middle-class family was having more fun and doing it better dressed than most of us.

Consider this. In nearly every 1940s vintage film offering from romance to comedy to drama to noir, someone is going out to dinner where there will be dancing, at least one torch song singer singing at least one torch song, someone falls in love, the bad guy always pays and the good guys always end up with the lady. And all those people dancing at dinner? Formal attire required. Casino hopping? Tuxedos and gowns. Murder in the penthouse? The corpse is wearing no less than a smoking jacket and if the responding detective happened to be at dinner when the call came in – yep, even he shows up in a tux. Once I remember even white tie and tails.

Perhaps those at is not the norm but it’s not a stretch to say that the average 1940s family sat to dinner with jacket and tie, and dress and pearls. Possibly paste knock offs but something was hanging around mom’s and eldest daughter’s necks. After dinner together they repaired to the drawing room where apparently they drew stuff.

But back to Mr. Lucky with Cary Grant and Laraine Day. He wants to swindle her war relief group. She gives blood. He gives blood. They get together for a late night drive. They fall in love. He transforms his gambling boat into a medical supplies transport. It sinks. Neither is ever out of at least semi-formal attire until the last scene when he shows up in sailing garb. They live happily ever after. I cried.

How could you not get emotional when Cary Grant as Joe Adams as Joe Bascopolous (it’s complicated) tells Laraine Day as Dorothy Bryant, “I don’t know what to make of a dame like you,” and Dorothy answers, “Neither do I,” as they both look out into the countryside with the fire crackling in the fireplace after they drive all the way from New York to Maryland (apparently without stopping since she changed and tied his tie while they were on the road) to prove to her father she would marry him if she had to? (Yes, that was a question. Go back and read it slower.) I get choked up just thinking about it – and thinking how they both look still impeccably put together after a 5 or 6 hour drive in an open convertible. It’s uncanny.

Every movie from the 1940s that I’ve seen, which is close to every movie (worth seeing) from the 1940s, has that formula. Dinner, dancing, singing, at least one murder, accidental death or sufficient injury slash illness to render one character hors de combat, fall in love, question decision to fall in love, bad guy gets what he deserves, fall in love again, live happily ever after, all in formal attire.

I want to go to a casino in my tux and not be given the side-eye, or pop into Olive Garden in a white dinner jacket and bow tie (it is before 6!), or go dancing and end up with the snooty dame who nobody likes (whom nobody likes?) but is really a misunderstood sweetheart who only needs to see me in my formal wear to realize that yes happiness is right around the corner and I’ll be there waiting for her!

Ah sweet dream. Does that sound fuddy duddy to you? Of course it doesn’t!

I wonder where my cuff links are.

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Not me but darn close!

It is said, “It is not  the destination, it is the journey.” With our apologies to Emerson, it is neither.  The experience of any journey, the joy of any destination, is found in the people it is shared with. We explain our thinking in the latest Uplift post, The Road Most Travelled.

Launder at your own risk

Michael 15 Comments

“Oh, come here. You have to see this.” This was a care instructions tag on a kitchen towel. The speaker was my daughter.

The tag in questions read, in part, “tumble dry low, remove promptly and fold.”

“They’re getting demanding. I’ve never been threatened by linens.”

She had a point. Most tags stop at “remove promptly.” We know. We went through all the kitchen towels in the kitchen towel garage. I stopped to freshen my lemonade and the daughter disappeared. “Nope, no aggressive towels in here!” I heard from the bathroom. So maybe they aren’t getting demanding. It is a rogue towel getting demanding on its own.

The idea of care instruction tags has always confused me. All those little pictures on them. It’s like one day someone decided “we have more to say and only one line of type left, let’s invent new hieroglyphics.” You can get a guide if you’d like. I saw one guide with 52 symbols. That’s more than all the symbols that flash in my car’s dash when I start it up. There’s even a symbol for Do Not Wash. You would think if they don’t want it washed it wouldn’t even need a tag. Or perhaps just a tag with nothing on it. But then how would you tell it from a tag attached to a towel that’s been repeatedly washed, and then dried at dryer’s the hottest heat setting where it then sat for 4 or 5 hours.

Remove promptly and fold. Hmm. What if I want to use it right then. Do I have to remove it promptly, fold, then unfold for use. Of course, it doesn’t say anything about unfolding before use. Maybe its intent is to be used folded. It wouldn’t have its total surface area to work with, but in its folded state it would provide more towel depth to soak up the water deeper into itself for no drips or spills. Of course, that’s what paper towels are for, and they pick up quicker. Just ask the lumberjack who sells them

(Follow this link for a Readers Digest version of the 32 most common laundry symbols)

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Stress eating is not the correct term. Considering all the good things that to happen to a person while feasting, we call it de-stress eating in our latest Uplift blog by ROAMcare, Eat Your Stress Away.

 

Get your extra savings!

Michael 16 Comments

Last Thursday I went to go to the grocery store. Technically I went to the supermarket. I don’t think there are any just grocery stores left. Wherever I went I thought I’d take a look at the weekly sales circular to see if what I needed was on sale. As I was taking the look I indeed noticed a few items and even a mention to “check the app for extra savings with a digital coupon!”

I used to use coupons. I really did. I wasn’t like those guys on television who shopped with all their coupons in a three-ring binder and a small, personal computer to calculate what combination of coupon, product, and luck would allow them to shop for a family of 12 for a week on $1.78. I was like if I needed something, and I had a coupon for it [ding! ding! ding!], I saved a quarter, fifty cents if it was double coupon day.

Another thing about those coupons, they made sense. They made cents, but yes, they made sense too. When I went to look for the digital coupon for my extra savings I happened to notice 4 different coupons for dishwasher soap tablets. The same dishwasher soap tablets. Too confusing. Not like the old days. One coupon. One product. One saving. Except for pizzas.

I’m talking about paper coupons, so you know whatever just jogged my money wasn’t of something that happened last week. No, this is a little older. Nine years older. Almost ten. It was that long ago that I wrote a post about…are you ready?…pizza shop coupons! Really. And last week’s mini-excursion into the world of digital coupons reminded me of it. Let me remember some if it for you.

From: It’s a Pizza Revolution, err, Resolution, January 5, 2015. (When you see those prices, remember, this was 2015.)

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While cleaning out the old coupon keeper and unpinning overflow restaurant coupons from the coupon board, a myriad of pizza coupons bit the dust – expiration date speaking. Besides the fact that it is remarkably easy to make your own pizza, it is remarkably hard to figure out pizza coupons. Even the big national chains are getting into the “let’s make this so confusing that nobody will ever want to redeem our coupon or take advantage of our special” craze. And that’s just plain crazy.

Let’s start with those national chains. Two pizzas at $5.99 each. What a deal. Oh wait, only Monday through Thursday. Still a deal. And it comes with two toppings. On two pizzas. Now hang on. Just to whom are they marketing this great special of theirs? How often does a family of one want two pizzas? How often does a family of four want two pizzas? While we’re hanging out with that family, have you ever tried to get four people to agree on two pizza toppings? Sometimes you can’t get one person to agree on two toppings! So let’s cross the street to the other chain. Any large pizza for $7.99. But we’re back to two toppings. Unless you want bacon. Then it’s $12.99 for one topping. Don’t confuse that with the “Any Pizza for $11.00” deal. That all depends on do you want carry-out or order online. While we’re at it, do you drive to work or carry your lunch? Sheesh.

Since those guys are no help let’s visit a local shop. I have a coupon from one for a large pizza with one topping, a twelve inch hoagie, an order of breadsticks and a bottle of cola. Too much for your family of seventeen? Another shop has one large pizza with one topping for only $10. If it’s Thursday you can get two toppings on that large pizza for the same $10. And if you like that you can super-duper size it to five large pizzas with one topping for only $45. You can use the savings for your co-pay at the cardiologist.

An interesting thing about these specials is that all of the coupons specify no substitutions and to mention the coupon when ordering.  Why? It’s not like these are secret savings to special card carrying members of the “I Like Your Pizza Parlor” club. These come every week in every newspaper, hard copy mailings, e-mail blasts, on the Internet, on their Facebook pages, and taped to the top of the box when you actually do order something. Substitutions? Who understands the offer to begin with!

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Thanks for walking down Memory Lane with me. That was fun. That’s why I still make my own pizza however I want it. Thursday through Wednesday only. (Bonus: Follow the link to the original post for my pizza dough recipe. No coupon required.) 

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The words you pick and how you say them can drive you toward the positive or leave you with negative memories. One is more fun. Your mindset matters. That’s what we say, and we said it in the most recent UpLift. Read it here. Read it now!

 

Why I hate Twitter and other things that annoyed me this week

Michael 16 Comments

Greetings fellow blog warriors. Worriers? Whichever. I had not planned a brain dump so close to the last one, but the pool is rising, and I must open the valves.

I am certain that I’ve mentioned this before, but I might have merely thought I had because it is a thought I think often and to be honest about it, as a thought it is pretty petty. And isn’t it something than pretty and petty by themselves conjure up such different emotions yet the only difference between the two is a lower case “r” and even that is one of the least interesting letters we have. English has so many words in it and they all come from different language sources, except for the ones that some social nitwits couldn’t find the right emotion to convey with 170,000 and some words we already have so they invent more like “talmbout” which according to dictionary.com is a shorthand version of “to talk about” and their example is “There’s a bear outside? What you talmbout?” (Personally, my favorite new word is “tifo” as “fevered impassioned support” of something, drawn from the Italian word for typhus. Yes, it started with soccer fans. How’d you guess?) Now where the aich ee double toothpicks was I? Oh right, uninteresting letters. With all those words from all those root languages, where are all the diacritical marks. [Sigh] Anyway, I was about to bring up something pretty petty.

I’m sure many of you know that I’ve had my lifetime of medical and physical challenges. One remaining idiot-synchronicity is a tendency to fall over at inopportune times, not that there are many opportune times to fall over. As a result, I always walk with a cane although I don’t always really need it. If I was able to tell when, then they wouldn’t be inopportune. Anyway, I also have a handicap placard that I sometimes take advantage of when I’ve been out for a particularly long time, or when I may be particularly tired and at a greater risk of imbalance and plopping. (Now there’s a good word I pulled out of the seldom used but perfectly acceptable section of the dictionary. You didn’t see me make up a new word for inopportune falling.)

The other day was one of those days and I had one more stop to make before I headed home. I pulled into the parking lot of approximately 24,000 spaces, about a couple of dozen or so signed pregnant women and new mothers (I never understood why not one for new fathers shopping with children, not that it matters to me because when I was a new father, there were no such spaces for either parent), two for veterans, and all of 6 handicap spots.  Technically I am entitled to a veteran space also, but I always feel I should leave those to the older veteran who now has to fend for himself or herself, and quite often forget that I am that older veteran fending for myself. But still, I stay out of them.

That day all 6 of the handicap spaces were taken, which is fine because we all need to accept what life hands out, right? But of those 6, two were occupied by vehicles (not cars, but my favorite rant-able vehicle (pronounced vee-hick-ul) that requires a step stool to climb into. That in itself irks me. If you can climb into a lifted Hummeresque veehickul, you aren’t handicapped. Least not physically. But these two were occupied by two youngish sorts, the types who don’t make up new words because they already know the basic top ten (I’ll have a beer. Where’s the freaking john? Yo babe!), idling their monster trucks, with handicap placards vibrating on the dashboards. Why were they there? They drove Grammy to the store and used her card to “park” in the designated spot while the dear old lady goes in and does all her own shopping. I know. I’ve asked. (Yes, I can exhibit a frightening lack of judgement when I get tired and cranky.)

Anyway, I find it irksome when people are parked in a handicap spot that aren’t parked. Drop Meemaw off at the door, and go park in front of the beer distributor. Or better still, park in her spot and go in with her and help her, you useless twit! (Another perfectly good word you just don’t hear any more)

Moving on to number two of this week’s annoyances is one that actually wasn’t annoying at all. In fact, it was funny as all get out. (No? Yes! Oh, get out of here! No, you get out of here!) Just yesterday my daughter and I were brunching together and complaining about our watches, specifically our Apple Watches, and specifically specifically the fitness app thereon. Our conversation centered around the seeming haphazard accounting of calories and active time. “I can go up and down two flights of steps carrying laundry both ways and got nothing. But sit on the floor with my head in the oven, cleaning of course, and it racks up the calories burned like I was running a marathon, which, by the way, when I did this year, I swear it counted only the first 4 miles.” Clearly that was my daughter’s contribution to the rant because I haven’t attempted any distance running for about 30 years. And to be fair, all fitness watches and bracelets and rings have their foibles (another underused word), but Apple turned it into a game with their darned fitness rings. Gotta close those rings every day. As my daughter put it, we’re the human equivalent of a Tamagotchi doll. And darned if she wasn’t right!

And what was the other. Oh yeah, Twitter. Elon sucks.

I’m sure now by next Monday I’ll be able to put together a proper post for you all. Have a good week!

When a child’s first toy is a kid-size tablet, we shouldn’t be surprised some basic life skills will be a struggle. But as we said in the most recent Uplift, if we keep our minds sharp, we can still allow computers to do the heavy mental lifting of the everyday without losing our grip on the basic. Read about it in “If you give a teen a penny.”

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The Interview

Michael 17 Comments

HR Rep: Good morning. Thank you for coming in. Please have a seat.

Candidate: [grunt]

HR Rep: Tell me a little about yourself.

Candidate: I’m amazing. People say I’m amazing. Everybody is less amazing than me.

HR Rep: Okay, umm. Why do you think you are right for this job.

Candidate: Everyone else who is applying is dangerous. They are responsible for the destruction and downfall of every company they’ve ever worked for. They are so bad. They are Dimwit Doorfillers

HR Rep: Dimwit Doorfillers. That’s a pretty derisive sobriquet.

Candidate: Croquet is a beautiful game. Beautiful game. Nobody plays croquet like I do. It’s where we separate the men from the girls.

HR Rep: No, not croquet, sobriquet. Umm, ah, a nickname or alias.

Candidate: Criminals! Only criminals have aliaseses. I am not a crook!

HR Rep: That’s too many Ses.

Candidate: You can never have too many eseses. It’s a beautiful letter. Great curves in eses. Love a great curve. Hehehe

HR Rep: We seem to be getting off the track. Let’s talk about your qualifications for this job.

Candidate: The people love me.

HR Rep: That may be, but why are you interested in this job?

Candidate: Because everyone else you can pick from is a bad choice, the worst choice, a choice so bad. So bad. They are bent on ruining your company. I am loved. No one else is.

HR Rep: Maybe I’m asking questions that are too general. Let’s talk specifics. If you are selected for this job, you will be responsible for managing the department budget. What is your experience in finances?

Candidate: I am the greatest money handler in all of time. Going back to the time before there was money I was handling it. Nobody else knows how to. Only me. I am so good.

HR Rep: Would you like to expand on that?

Candidate: That guy you have in there now, he’s a joke. He’s running this company into the ground. Motley Manager and his crew are ruining this beautiful company. He is weaponizing the adding machine.

HR Rep: Alrighty then. How about personnel? Have you any experience handling staff.

Candidate: That’s a lie! I never handled a staff and they are only saying that to distract form the fact that Motley Manager and his crew have spent this company bankrupt.

HR Rep: Umm, but we aren’t bankrupt, and…

Candidate: You will be if you let things continue the way they’re going, spending billions like they are.

HR Rep: Can we get back to personnel. I think you misunderstood me when I said handle. What is your experience managing groups of workers?

Candidate: Workers, yes workers. Beautiful people. Love working with workers. They love me. All of them. Beautiful, beautiful.

HR Rep: I see we’re running short on time. Just a few more questions. How would you protect the safety of your department’s software and technical components?

Candidate: Build a wall around them! A moat if we have to. Anyone in there that doesn’t belong we will put them out.

HR Rep: No, again, maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I meant how would you defend against cybercrime like phishing schemes.

Candidate: Fishing, fishing is a beautiful sport. Nobody fishes like I do. Beautiful just beautiful. You know that’s where we separate the men from the girls.

HR Rep: Again, thank you for coming in. We’ll get back to you.

Candidate: You will regret if you don’t hire me! I could be the last person you ever hire!! If you do not hire me I know all those beautiful people, beautiful people, they are with me and they will not be hired and they will not be pleased. I am the only logical choice!! Me!! Pick me I said, Me!!!

HR Rep into phone: Security, please report to Personnel. Now!

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We dare you to be disliked. Why? Because you can’t please all the people all of the time. We say if you dare to be unliked often enough and you will be liked more often. Maybe often enough to please most of the people most of the time. Read why we feel like that in the latest Uplift, the blog on ROAMcare.org.

A Shocking Tale

Michael 10 Comments

Did you ever have an extended period of time where all things of the same ilk were happening. Little fiddlies that by themselves would be handled, maybe with aplomb or maybe with a little impatience, but they were handled. Put together, a handful of fiddlies go from, “oh, look at that,” to hmm, again?” then to, “oh come on now already!” For me, this has not been a good electronics week for me.

It started with the little car. How can a car, that was olde, much older than a really good Scotch, start a week of electronic discombobulation? How could a sweet little roadster kick off a week of a shockwave slinger’s version of hell. Three little words. Electronic fuel pump. These little babies can do their impression of the Energizer bunny for 100,000. The little car (Rosemary by name because she’s red but has more zip than any ordinary rose) has not covered even a third of that distance, but it is about to turn 26 years old and that’s old enough to have gone through two pumps by now and we’re still working with the original. Or we were. Replacement is pretty simple if you have the tools and the knowhow. I have tools and I have knowhow. Unfortunately, neither of them is the right type, and that’s why we have mechanics. Cost measured in hours and dollars. Just a couple hours. Lots of dollars.

A few days later, a classic summer thunderstorm rolled through. Very loud, very windy, very wet! One of those storms when a really lot of rain doesn’t fall but it all comes at once. According to the National Weather service, a little over a half inch fell in 12-15 minutes. Then it settled into a nice steady rain. All those rain drops made for an interesting weather report, but the wind was the real story. Wind not quite enough to cause widespread downed trees and power fallers, but enough to cross wires and cause intermittent outages. Living a lifetime with severe storms had trained me to regularly turn off power strips and unplug sensitive computer equipment. But, like the house servants in the Jazz Age (and every other age before and since), we all have workers we count on every day we never pay notice, like garage door openers.

I have a garage door opener that operates one huge double wide and double heavy door.  It is operated with the usual wired wall controller and 2 wireless controllers, one for each car, and an outside wireless keypad. They all work superbly, unless the electricity goes out. Then for no good reason I ever came up with, every time there’s a blackout, the head unit forgets it has wireless connections. Remember that storm from a paragraph earlier? Yep, it went out and the controllers turned into knickknacks. Not a problem. It’s happened before. I just teach it a new thing or two, hop in the car, and drive on out. Except this time, I was out when it happened and got home during those 12-15 minutes when the rain clouds were doing their imitation of Niagara Falls. Cost, no dollars, just a few minutes, a lot of fresh towels.

I took advantage of Prime Days and bought a sound bar for the bedroom TV. It isn’t used much but on those few occasions I watch television in that room I find myself struggling to hear with my aging ears. A sound bar on the living room television made all the difference and when I found a smaller model of the same brand for a significant savings, I thought it would make a nice upgrade. I anxiously awaited the delivery man. Okay okay, that was a little dramatic. I put the order in and a couple days later it showed up in the doorstep. As I emptied the contents of the packaging, I set aside the HDMI ARC cable knowing I couldn’t use that as my set has the old-fashion HDMI just like the living room television where I used the alternate optical connector. I knew I’d be able to do that because the two televisions are the same brand only one a little smaller and a year or two older. After wrestling the piece around so I could access all the little connection sockets, I discovered that a year or two made a difference. No optical connection back there! Ugh. Just a couple old fashioned HDMI doodads. Reading the instructions, the online forums, Reddit (which is vastly underrated for its comic relief) I confirmed, “gotta have” the HDMI ARC. And then I thought, but wait, how about Bluetooth? Confirmed…television. Bluetooth enabled. Yay! Sound bar? No Bluetooth. Sigh. Cost in time- longer than it took to change an electronic fuel pump. In dollars- net $0.

I was so disappointed I thought I’d spend a little time at the electric keyboard I have in the Swiss Army Room. (Yes, I finally gave it a name.) Actually, I wasn’t that disappointed, but just had some time and nothing pressing, and it’s always been a pleasant pastime. The Casio has been with me for years. More than a basic hobby electric, it’s a 61 key (fully weighted) MIDI keyboard with a piano tone so clear it sounds as close to a piano as you can imagine. I couldn’t believe my eyes way back when I spotted it on a shelf in a thrift store, this amazing instrument that when new cost as much as an electronic fuel pump. I’ve enjoyed playing the Casio for almost as long as I’ve been playing with Rosemary (you remember her, the little car). I toggled the switch and waited for the display window to come to life. And waited. And waited. Hmmm. I tentatively fingered a key hoping only the display went the way of many 20 year old electronic gadgets and life stilled hummed through its keys. Nothing. And I thought. No, I didn’t unplug it the last time I played it, two days ago, the day before the power failure, and maybe power surge. Costs in dollars- untold. In time- immeasurable.

This has not been a good week with electronics for me.

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Children aren’t just adults in training. We look at how they can be models for adults who would do well to look at the world through a child’s eye rather than looking at the world as their playground in Growing Up, Older, in the latest Uplift.

Lather, rinse, stop!

Michael 14 Comments

I started out in my mind to do an old fashioned brain dump. It’s been a while since I went through the cobwebs up there and I have things that need to be said. Like, I didn’t think I’d ever say a remote control for a ceiling fan is necessary. Get up and pull the chain or wire it into a rheostat switch on the wall. But the fan I got has one and I’m not going to use the fan just because it has a piece of hardware of questionable use. But I gotta tell you this. I love it. And the best part about it…it has an indicator to indicate (what else) the fan speed. No more looking at the fan and carrying on this conversation with yourself. “Is it off? Hmm, Maybe? One more pull? Yeah, I think one more pull. Oh no! Not back to high! Ugh!”

And then there’s that little mini-rant that’s been waiting to blossom into a full post but just doesn’t have have the legs to pull it off. That is, the TSA has been setting records for passengers screened since Memorial Day.  Who are all these people? Surely, they aren’t the same ones who are complaining that produce prices are just too high! “Screw inflation! We’re going to Disney!”

But actually, the one that could get me going for a full post is sort of related to that. It’s this new thing I’m reading about, upflation. Yep. Upflation. It’s the art of getting you to buy more of something you already buy so you have to buy more of it. The example most often cited is All Over Body Deodorant. Basically, the same stuff as in that stick or spray or roll-on you already have in your medicine cabinet, perhaps a little watered down or unscented, for all the places you don’t see when you raise your arms unless you happen to be naked.

The story goes that people finally figured out that 52 ounces isn’t a half-gallon. Even though they took those pesky ounces from your juice container an ounce at a time, eventually someone got around to ask, where did the other 12 ounces go and why am I still paying for them. “Shrinkflation isn’t working any more, we corporate management people need to come up with some other way of fleecing Americans. I got, let’s just convince them they need more of what we already have out there.” Thus, upflation.

It’s not just remarketing older products for new uses. Pepsi, the parent of Frito-Lay actively searches sites like TicToc for trends like uses Cheetos dust for chicken seasoning. People are already crushing perfectly good Cheetos into dust. Will that be on the shelf next? They have to do something with all the broken Cheetos that don’t make it to the bag. You say, it couldn’t happen? You know General Mills sells “Cinnadust” Cinnamon Toast Crunch (my personal favorite cereal) in the spice section. Can’t find it there? You can always order it online. And don’ tell me you haven’t thought about picking up some graham cracker crumbs at pie baking time  

Personally, I don’t know why I’m making a big deal out of this now that it has a name. They’ve always been working to get you to use more of what’s already out there. Does anybody not lather, rinse, repeat?

Thank you. That felt good to get that off my chest. Now, if only there was a special razor to get all this hair off my chest.

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The Fourth of July is over, but feeling good about America should be an all year thing. America works because our differences are what makes us unique as a country. Check out the latest Uplift and see why we say America is at its best when we play together. (Go on, take a look. It’s even free!

Life in the Dark Ages

Michael 12 Comments

Except that my watch keeps track of the days, I’ve have been off by a few months recently. I’ve entered my dark period. No that’s not some reference to a Japanese magazine serial turned TV show turned movie, nor a description of my recent paintings, although they so seem to have a lot of black and gray in them.

My dark period is when I live with the blinds pulls and the curtains drawn, venturing into the daylight only for mail and the occasional provisions run to the local mega mart. Usually this is during the deep freeze the time keepers call February. It’s my desperate attempt at keeping as many layers of insulation between me and the elements when walking within five feet of any window may result in frostbite.

The current dark period began 7 days ago, when the temperatures never quite made it out of the 90s (F) — either high or low.  We’ve been on a sort of constant simmer. The windows coverings that keep the cold out in the winter months are this week doing an admirable job keeping the cool in.

I know, some of you would consider it a cooling off if your temperatures just stayed in the two-digit range. And when I was a younger version of me, I would be too. I remember those hot and humid August days when temperatures and “feel likes” cracked the century mark and thought nothing of spending the day in the blazing sun, often in a boat on water reflecting light and heat so we were basically sitting in nature’s version of a convection oven (or it’s countertop cousin, the air fryer).

The older version of me doesn’t do well with heat. Nor with cold for that matter. Sometimes even with the in between.  According to the National Weather Service, my little piece of the world typically sees average high temperatures in the 70s and lows in the 60s in June. According to me, I would typically like see those average temperatures any time now. But in stead I guess that means not seeing the world outside but through small openings in the window dressings is the price I pay. Well, that that the price of electricity. (Darn air conditioning.)

You don’t need to go to the moon to see different points of view. We talk about how our perspective changes how we see things in the latest Uplift.

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