Category Humor

T(-Shirt) is for Thinking

Michael 2 Comments

I’m all for self-expression. I’ve expressed my approval of it already in several posts. Over the years we’ve written about expressing one-self in signs on our the walls (Walls O’ Wisdom, March 19, 2012) on license plates (UNDTSAY, April 2, 2012) and even on license plate frames (Mobile Philosophy, June 30, 2014). But the “selfest” of self-expression has to be the T-shirt. And by goodness there are some expressive ones out there!

I started wondering about this a couple of weeks ago. I was at the supermarket and was reminded of how nobody wears a plain collared shirt any more. Everything has something on it. Around here, the sports-minded person rarely goes out in public without declaring his or her devotion to some team or another. (See ‘Tis the Season – Summer 2014 Edition, July 28, 2014.) Coming on strong, though, are the shirts that spout his or her thoughts beyond championship seasons.

It always seems to be around the meat counter that I am struck by people’s clothing. This time it was a guy wearing a T-shirt that read “Lie Like You Mean It.” I found myself wondering if his wife gave it to him for his birthday. Two aisles over, another fellow sported “Drive It Like You Stole It.” Two shirts, two commandments. We were on a roll!

It wasn’t just the men – or maybe boys. A woman got me noticing her T-Shirt inscribed with the self-assured (self-)expression “I’m A Keeper.” Another had a more practical opinion to share. Her shirt read “If I Had Ruby Slippers I Wouldn’t Pick Kansas.” And my favorite was a lady mature enough to be in her retirement years seen at the deli counter, “Out To Lunch – Permanently!”

My walls are filled with boards and posters of seemingly clever sayings (Behind every great man is an enormous amount of caffeine); I actually have a custom license plate frame appropriate to an old geezer that I someday want to grow up to be (Aged to Perfection). I don’t have a vanity plate on the car but I have thought of it. But I can honestly say I’ve a veritable dearth of philosophical clothing.  The closest I come to is an old T-shirt proclaiming “I Fought the Lawn and the Lawn Won.” Actually, if you ever saw my lawn you’d realize that isn’t philosophical.  That’s the honest to gosh truth!

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

You Give Me 15 Minutes, I’ll Give You … You Know

Michael Leave a comment

This week among the junk mail was a notice of “Big Savings!” from a local car dealer. Right there with their tire specials, tune-ups specials, air conditioning service specials, and brake specials was their “Signature 29 Minute Oil Change” now at a special price. Isn’t that special? I don’t know why but it made me think why 29 minutes, why not a half hour? And then I thought even more. Whatever happened to the 15 minute oil change?

Surely you remember the 15 minute oil change places. There were lots of them and they were everywhere. I remember going to them. I also remember they always took more than 15 minutes. They spent at least 15 minutes on asking you what type of oil you wanted (if I knew that I’d do my own oil change), do you want your old filter or may they discard it (yuck!), will you be needing new windshield wipers today (I hope not, it’s a convertible and the top is down), would you be interested in joining their savings club (here’s a brochure you can read while we huddle around your car), and do you have any coupons (why do they always ask about couponS when they (the couponS) always say “cannot be combined?”). Then a squadron of oil changers descended on your vehicle checking tire pressure, topping off windshield washer fluid, cleaning headlights, checking coolant, transmission, steering and brake fluids, examining air filters, and changing the oil. Then another 15 minutes of post-change summary included the status of your fluids (always due for something), air filter (always dirty), windshield wipers (always worn), and tires (holding up pretty well and aren’t you lucky because we don’t sell them here).

Well, I’ve come up with some things that really do take only a quarter of an hour and make you better for them! For instance, in 15 minutes or less you can start an exercise program. You’ll notice general health improvements in most low to moderate impact exercises including walking. After a few weeks you may want to increase your activity time to 30 minutes but that’s still less time than it took to get a 15 minute oil change!

Staying with health, in less than 15 minutes you can check your blood pressure and pulse, and breathing rate and oxygen level at home. Every day if you want. Even young, seemingly healthy people can have high blood pressure and never know it. For a few dollars and a few minutes you can buy and use a blood pressure monitor that measures your pressure and heart rate. Another inexpensive tool is the pulse oximeter to measure how much oxygen is in your blood and you do it bloodlessly. This little thing does it by clamping onto your fingertip. Learning how to measure your breathing rate is easy. You probably already have everything you need – a watch with a second hand and your lungs.

A whole world of 15 minutes or less is right in your kitchen. A hot breakfast of ham and eggs or a bowl of oatmeal takes about as much time as it does to toast a bagel and find the cream cheese. You can make a whole light dinner in 15 minutes. Boil your favorite pasta in water for about a minute less than the package directions instruct. While that’s going on sauté sliced green peppers, and broccoli in olive oil, then add some spinach to wilt. Toss in your cooked pasta, top with shredded parmesan and you have a delicious pasta prima vera. If you’re willing to use a pre-made pizza shell or store bought dough you can shape, top, and bake a pizza, then let it rest for a few minutes while you make a small salad for the side and you have another dinner in half the time it takes to get one delivered. For something more fun, season one pound of ground beef with salt and pepper, add just a drizzle of olive oil, and splash in a couple of squirts of hot sauce.  Shape into four patties, grill or broil for 4 to 5 minutes on each side for medium and let rest for a couple minutes. While the patties are cooking, slice a few potatoes, toss with oil, and roast in a 400 degree oven for 12 minutes turning once. As soon as they come out, season with salt, pepper, paprika, Cajun seasoning, grated cheese, or whatever you and 3 friends feel like. Dinner for four and you didn’t give your guests enough time to talk about you.

And the ultimate less than 15 minute activity – reading this blog twice a week! Even a lengthy post like today’s takes maybe 5 minutes. Do that twice a week and you still have time to make a comment, smile, laugh, cry, or curse at your screen as appropriate, and/or scratch your head and wonder “who is this guy?”

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

If Only Restaurants Did Outpatient Surgery

Michael Leave a comment

Regular readers noted that there was nothing to read on Monday. Unfortunately, I spent Monday at the hospital and hadn’t had time to schedule a post for then. Nothing horrible, just a little procedure. The last time I wandered into a hospital it was five months before I wandered back home. Thus I can be a little skittish about returning there.

While I was waiting there my mind wandered. It almost always does. I got to thinking about a post we did more than three years ago, “If Only the ER Served Margaritas,” a tale of an adventure we had at a local restaurant comparing the level of activity to that of the local emergency room. While I was thinking of that, I started noticing how much the hospital resembles one’s regular eatery. Stay with me here.

You know how at a restaurant or tavern where you might be a regular there will always be a place for you. And when you get that place you will always be handed your menus, served your usuals, or surprised with an appetizer. Well, when I got to the hospital I was greeted by name by the surgery gatekeeper, bypassed the waiting room, and led directly to the first prep room inside the pre-op area. There my doctor was already waiting for me and went over the procedure like I had never had it done before.

Back at dinner where they know you, all of the wait staff will drop by, say hello, and give you their opinion of the best entrée of the evening. Your waitperson knows if you want ice or not in your water, will make certain that you haven’t changed your favorite beverage, and knows just how long you’ll chat over the starter before bringing your main courses. Back at the hospital where they know you, the phlebotomist knows what vein to use when you’re normally a “hard stick” for anybody else, the pre-op nurse just has to fill in anything new to your history, and the anesthesiologist knows exactly how much is enough. Those not directly involved in your care that day will still stop, say hello, and see how you’re doing as they walk by your area.

After the main course at the restaurant you don’t even get a dessert menu, those taking care of you will tell you the best available and all you have to decide is one portion or two. After the main event at the hospital you wake up to a can of ginger ale and some saltines without ever having to ask.

Ok, so it’s not as much fun as dinner and a margarita but coming off a five month hospital tour I had to make it some fun!

Now, that’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?
(Read the original, it’s a lot better if I say so myself.)

It’s a Sign I Tell You, a Sign

Michael Leave a comment

It must be hard to make a good sign. Professional sign makers all across the country, all across the world, have botched up otherwise perfectly good signs with some single silly mistake.  A misspelled word, poor placement, an incorrect font size, a bad color. If the pros are subject to these kinds of guffaws, think what the poor amateur must go through. You don’t even have to think actually. Just read the signs!

Summer is here in all its glory. And what do we do in summer? We party! There are family reunions, high school graduation parties, block parties, church festivals, and nationality days. Summer is also the time for garage sales and yard sales. Every one of these events is marked with a hunk of poster board stapled to a utility pole and with a colorful helium-filled balloon attached to a corner.

Signs are great ideas. Before the days of GPS how else did we get from Point A to Stop 2. And then, since most people knew their relatives, local parks, classmates, and neighbors, signs didn’t have to say that much. A boldly printed “Penny’s Party” with a good size arrow pointing the way mounted at a critical intersection was enough to do the trick.

Today they are still good ideas, even in the presence of GPS. Unfortunately, they aren’t so well executed anymore. Instead of a poster board and a Sharpee, one is more apt to come across a sign printed on a home computer. That means small paper that somebody thought would look good with a cute graphic which took up half of the available space so that little writing can be printed and/or seen and then printed on an ink jet printer whose print bleeds off the page after the first morning’s dew. I saw one sign whose “owner” thought it a good idea to highlight all of the words on the sign. After it rained, the only thing on the sign was a series of yellow lines.

Occasionally someone will make a good sign. So good is it that the person who put it up leaves it up. There is a sign at the bottom of the hill I live on that says “Garage Sale, Saturday, 9-1.” It’s been there for 6 weeks.

There is one sign in the area that I particularly like. It’s big enough to see form the road and the font is big enough to read from the road. It’s in eye-catching colors of a white font on a dark blue background. There is an arrow printed right on the sign, not an extra tacked above or below it waiting to fall off on its own accord. It’s such a good sign I’d like to follow it and congratulate the sign maker. Except I don’t know who or what to look for. You see, the only word on that large, well thought out, very visible sign is “Event.”

But then, if you’re one of those who have been invited (whom have been invited?) (umm…If you’re one of the invitees), do you really need much more information than that? Naw, probably not.

Now, that’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Close Enough, Part 2

Michael Leave a comment

Normally I don’t mind doing anything in the kitchen. I’ll slice, I’ll dice, I’ll juice and zest and shred and grate. I’ll fry or steam, I even make ice cream. But I hate slicing tomatoes. I don’t think it’s the slicing so much as the cleaning up after. I love tomatoes but they can make a mess with their juice and seeds on my cutting board. So a while ago I started using an apple slicer to make perfect tomato pieces for any salad.  Want that tomato diced? Swap out the regular slicing blade for a French fry blade and the battle is half won. That might not be what Mr. Buchi had in mind when he patented his apple slicer in 1923, but I figure it’s close enough.

That’s not the first time I’ve bastardized the intent of a perfectly good kitchen gadget.  I have a smallish kitchen and can fit only so many gizmos so they better be willing to be flexible. Like the hard-boiled egg slicer that also slices mushrooms, artichoke hearts, and strawberries. That’s especially good for me since you found out recently that I am hard-boiled egg challenged yet still have said implement. Then there is the large stir-fry pan which doubles as a wok, triples as a popcorn popper, and quadruples as a braiser. So far the only thing I have come up with for the small stir-fry pan to do other than frying is small batch popcorn popping. But I’m working on it!

There is a frying pan that wins the versatility award.  It’s a 14 inch job that is perfect for combining pastas and sauces, making frittata large enough for the neighborhood, doing paella small enough for the family, and searing the largest roasts.  Its only problem is that it has no lid. Sometimes you need a lid.  Fortunately a pizza pan works just fine to cover this monster.

Closely related to kitchen gadgets, bar accessories can also have split personalities.  Wine stoppers make great cruet toppers (or vice-a-versa depending on which you have and which you need).  And speed pourers also do a dandy job of controlling the flow of your oils and vinegars.

Gadgets are cool. I rarely walk into any department or discount store without checking the gadget wall. A kitchen equipment store is downright dangerous for me to be in. But no matter where I am perusing the latest food prep thingamajigs, it better be able to do more than what the package says if it wants to go home with me.

Now, that’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Close Enough

Michael Leave a comment

A few days ago I was walking through the parking lot to a medical office building.  Heading in my direction at a pretty good pace was a young man who I figured was on his way to an appointment. It’s pretty clever the way I figure out things like that. As he got closer he asked if I knew what time it was.  I checked my watch and told him “a quarter after 10.” To that he stopped and stared at me. I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard me so I repeated “a quarter after 10.” When he still hadn’t acknowledged me I said what was going to be for my last time, “ten-fifteen.”  His eyes unglazed, he thanked me, and resumed his way to the building, now a little more leisurely since he probably had more time than he thought he had.

I hadn’t given it much thought until I got to my own car, started it, glanced at the dashboard clock, saw that it read “10:17” and calculated in my head, “a quarter after, take a half hour to get home, be there around a quarter till.”  Actually, I live only twenty minutes from that building so to be precise (or accurate, I know there’s a difference but I’ve never been sure what it is) I would arrive home at 10:37, eight full minutes shy of a quarter to eleven. But I figured that’s close enough.

I’m not sure when we all decided to become as accurate (or precise) (compulsive?) about time.  Was it a generation ago when digital clocks were all you could find on somebody’s wrist?  Or is it a more recent phenomenon brought on by most people using phones for watches leaving wrists unadorned? And does it matter that much anyway? Every time I’m in an airport I smile at the optimism of the person timing flights. Somehow they know that the plane that took off over 2,000 miles away and made 2 other stops will get here at exactly 5:36.

And it’s not just a timing issue.  Weather people have gotten into the act also.  Only 10 years ago the forecast would have been that today will be in the mid-70s. Now it’s a specific number at a specific time. You’re most likely to hear, “At 7:00am it will be 67 degrees, noon 72, at 4 we’re looking at 76, and 71 degrees at 8 this evening” in the morning weather report.

Even the stock market was more cavalier about its numbers once upon a time. Used to be stocks were reported and sold in eighths of a dollar as in “International Widget is up 3/8.” Of course, an eighth is 12½ cents and there haven’t been half-cents since the late 1800s.  But that’s ok, nobody ever buys just one share of stock anyway.  Today what with all the computer trading, stock prices are very specific (precise?) and they don’t use real money anymore.  The broker just pulls it out of an account you set up for him.  Or her.  They could be pricing things down to the one-hundredth of a penny and it all magically gets rounded up to an even dollar amount.

When did we become such sticklers for accuracy (specificity) (precision)?  You’d think people would understand when I say “a quarter after” is close enough. They certainly didn’t when I color-coded my closet.

Now, that’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Eggsactly My Point

Michael 1 Comment

I have cookbooks. Boy do I have cookbooks! I have gadgets too but that’s a post for another time. Now we’re talking  cookbooks. I have books that are classics like Betty Crocker, books by famous chefs like Mario Batali, books by famous non-chefs like Fannie Flagg, books based on TV shows like Good Eats and on movies like Casablanca (with some really cool recipes). I have books with nothing in them but meat, others with nothing but veggies, and others that are all pasta, all the time. I have fundraiser cookbooks, overpriced cookbooks, and some with more post-it notes marking more pages than Bushes have beans. You’d think somewhere in there I could find a decent recipe for hard boiled eggs.

I admit it. I can’t hard boil an egg. I can soft boil an egg. I can fry an egg, I can turn an egg over without the use of a spatula, I can poach an egg, I can even make egg salad as long as somebody else does the boiling for me. And it’s not as though I’m a dolt around a stove top. I can make a carbonara with my eyes closed. Risotto? Child’s play. But a hard boiled egg? Not so much.

I think the problem is in all those cookbooks. I have run across at least a dozen (no pun intended) recipes and quick tips for hard boiled eggs. There are the boiling methods, the simmering methods, the off the heat methods.There’s even one recipe that calls for baking the eggs to get a perfect hard boiled egg. And there is the time element. There are recipes calling for 8 to 30 minutes. One method alone claims perfect hard cooked eggs in 8,10,12,15,and 20 minutes.

I’m just going to stick with my over easy eggs. At least they aren’t hiding behind a shell to thwart your breakfast.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

Sandwiched Between Here and There

Michael 1 Comment

About 15 years ago I spent a few years living in Philadelphia. To this day, when friends and family plan a trip to the city proverbially of brotherly love I get calls about finding the best…well, not the best time to visit Independence Hall, not the best museum for kids, not the best place to see fireworks on the Fourth of July. Nope, people are always asking about the best cheese steaks in the city.

Maybe I just look like someone who eats a lot of sandwiches or maybe sandwiches are starting to define certain cities and even whole geographic areas.

Think about it. That cheese steak identifies so closely with Philadelphia that in other cities it’s often called a “Philly Cheese Steak.” Across the state in Pittsburgh take that same meat and cheese and top them with tomatoes, french fries, and cole slaw and you have the classic Pittsburgher sandwich. Pile a sandwich high with thinly sliced corned beef or pastrami, add a well pickled pickle on the side and you’re eating in a deli in New York City. If you’re lunching on a lobster roll you’re lunching in a New England coastal town. You’ve made your sandwich with sour dough bread and you’re on the other coast somewhere around San Francisco. And a Po’ Boy on your plate puts that plate and you in New Orleans.

Of course there are some sandwiches that are universal like peanut butter and jelly. Then there are others that people eat all across the country but nobody will claim them. Like peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. No pickle required.

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

A Hair Raising Thought

Michael 1 Comment

I was staring into the mirror the other day when a thought hit me. You know that I spent a couple of months in the hospital recently. I had so much blood thinner running through me that for several weeks no one dared approach me with a razor. I had gone in wearing a beard that already could have used a trim and it didn’t take much time for it to qualify as “bushy.” Not a bad look but not for me.

While I was wondering if I would ever get be groomed again I started wondering why hair seems to grow only above the neck.Or in my case, above the neck but below the scalp. Stay with me here.

I have to trim my beard at least once a week to keep the level of neatness that I like. (I don’t always make it but that’s what I strive for.) The parts of my face not covered in hair get shaved daily. The hair on my head, actually the ring of hair around my head seems to always need a haircut starting with the day after I get a haircut. And for some reason the left side of that ring grows faster than the right side. As I said, the parts above the neck are always growing hair.

The rest of the hair follicles across other body parts don’t seem to be as diligent about new growth. I have never, ever shaved my arms yet the amount of hair there has not changed since I was in high school. If I hadn’t cut the hair on my head since then I would be pushing it around in a wheelbarrow. Arms, legs, chest, underarms, and those private areas seem to have some auto-sensor about when to stop growing.

The hair at those places will grow if it has to. I have had areas shaved for medical procedures and everywhere that was done the hair ultimately returned to its pre-procedure length and then stopped. How does it know?

But back to that day that I was staring into the mirror. I definitely needed a beard trim but just wasn’t in the mood. Not a good enough reason to keep the trimmer in its holder. Facial hair just has no clue as to when to stop growing on its own.

That;s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

Considering My Options

Michael Leave a comment

Just a couple of years ago we proposed some nifty retirement jobs even though retirement was “years and years” away. (See Who Could Ask For Anything More.) Now, just 2 years later I find myself in a forced early retirement and those jobs look even niftier. But the niftiest one was even a consideration back then.

As fun as serving ice cream, driving a limo, or tending bar (on the slow nights) might be, I want to spend my golden years (ok, silver) (ok, ok, bronze) (but shiny bronze) (where was I?) I want to spend my after-work years as part of Jeopardy’s Clue Crew. If you’re a fan you know the Clue Crew. They are the intrepid 3-some who do the narratives for the visual clue in the background. I assumed they filmed those shots in front of a green screen and the clue was painted in by computer. Recently I found out those guys actually travel to the locale of the category in question. Or would that be ‘in answer?’ Either way, that is so cool.

Here’s why I would be the perfect addition to the Clue Crew. I like to travel, I read and speak well, I already know a bunch of useless facts, and I’ve been watching Jeopardy since Art Fleming read the answers.

Now all I have to do is get Alex to read the preceding paragraph, pack my bags, and get a passport. Retirement is going to be so cool!

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?