Category Humor

Hey Buddy, Gotta Hot Tip?

Michael Leave a comment

“Just pick a name you like.”  That’s sage advice from She of We that spans the sporting world from the NCAA March Madness to the World Series.  Last week we discovered it works at the track also.

Our track is a harness track, not world famous but not completely unknown.  In harness racing, standardbred horses (not thoroughbreds) pull sulkies piloted by drivers (don’t call them jockeys) at either a pace or a trot from a rolling start (not from a gate).  Ours is 5/8 mile track around which a horse paces or trots but hopefully never gallops 1.6 times to make a one mile race.  And most of them finish up faster than 2 minutes.  Not a bad time for a big horse pulling a stripped down cart with a 160 pound driver pulling back on the reins most of the way around to keep the big guy in stride.  If you haven’t seen one, type in “Harness Racing” in some search engine.  There must be plenty of videos out there.

Naturally, where there are horses there will be gambling.  With gambling there will be official programs, unofficial programs, tip sheets, systems, and hunches.  But we had something else.  We had a former owner with us.

We should explain that we in this instance were more than just He and She of We.  We also had both Sons of She, Daughter and Guest of He, Sisters of He, Friends of Sons of She, all gathered to commemorate the anniversary of the birth of Son Number One of She who had selected this very venue as his celebration site.  We all sat at the rail just a foot or two beyond the finish line at the noted son’s preference, with balloons and cake and gifts, certainly a first for us at the track if not a first for the track. If we had big hats and string ties we’d have been the envy of those most recently at Louisville and Baltimore.  But we digress.

Among Those of We was Former Owner who had trained and run horses at this very track.  It was like having the ultimate insider among us.  One who understood those bizarre program abbreviations.  One who could look at a horse and tell who would be likely to break stride.  One who knew the drivers (don’t call them jockeys), and when the favorites were too much of a favorite to spend $2.  We were in the money.  Yeah, right.

Number One Son of She had never been to a race track and never bet on a horse.  But he jumped right in, studied the program, pondered his wagers, and thoughtfully bet each race.  We’re not really sure exactly how well he did or didn’t do but he ended the night with a big smile so we figure he probably broke even and at least had fun.  Daughter of He and her guest sat and watched and waited and waited and watched and waited until the one race he apparently was waiting for while watching.  He played his sole bet of the night, a straight exacta based on something he never revealed.  He also never revealed how much he bet for that race but unfortunately it equaled how much he lost for the night.  Number Two Son of She was the big winner pulling in over $200 on a large purse trifecta.  Of course that was the race when he returned to the table from the betting window and compared his ticket with his notes he exclaimed that he picked the wrong horse and was there time to go make another bet just as the track announcer announced, “and they’re off and pacing.”

He and She of We had the perfect system.  She would pick a horse, he would bet on her selection.  Using Former Owner’s keen interventions combined with a keen sense of matching horses’ names to former vacation places we managed to break even for the evening.  When the companion of one of the Friends of Sons of She asked how she picked her horses, She of We spared her of all the technical jargon Former Owner used.  “Pick whatever you want.  Find a name you like, a driver you like (don’t call them jockeys), or the horse’s color you like and stick with that.”

Well, that’s when the lady sitting at the table next to us couldn’t take it anymore.  “You might as well just give them your money,” she huffed.  As the evening wore on we overheard her explain her system to her companion.  “Bet on every horse in the race and you’ll be sure to hit the winner.”

Why didn’t we think of that?  Well, the math works out that one would spend about $300 to win about $20.  Personally, we like Number Two Son of She’s system.  Pick the wrong horse in your highest wager of the night.  It works every time.

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

 

Everybody, Hit the Road! Oh, Look. They Already Have.

Michael Leave a comment

You know we don’t just pull stuff from the Internet and repeat it.  We’re always looking for the reason, the story, the lesson.  Well, ummm, this one from the Associated Press has none of that.  But it sure is fun to read.

A New Mexico man faces multiple charges after police say he was having sex with a woman while driving drunk and crashed, ejecting the woman from the vehicle.
The Albuquerque Journal reports the 25-year-old man was found with one shoe on and his shorts on inside-out Monday night after he wrecked his Ford Explorer in Albuquerque.
Police say his female passenger was found naked outside the SUV after being ejected. She had deep cuts to her face and head.
Authorities allege he tried to drive away after the crash and leave his passenger behind, but a witness grabbed his keys from the ignition. He also allegedly tried to hide from responding officers behind a cactus.

So tell us, what have we learned from this?

When trying to get it on while on the road, be sure to get your underwear on correctly.

Female passengers should always keep at least a light sweater for those unexpected airborne moments.  A crash helmet may also come in handy.

Check with “What Not to Wear” before going out with only one shoe.  It could be suitable for certain events and may beef up an otherwise questionable alibi.

It’s bad manners to leave your date on the side of the road.

But, just because there are lessons to be learned from this experience doesn’t mean that they have been.  We move from New Mexico to Florida to review the new definition of auto-erotica reported by the Sarasota Herald Tribune::

Two individuals were charged with misdemeanors after a police officer reportedly caught them having sex in a moving car.
The officer spotted a blue Hyundai driving erratically on Hyde Park Street on Thursday and turned on his emergency lights to see if the driver needed help.
The car suddenly pulled across the road and came to a stop. When the officer went to the driver’s door, the couple quickly tried to pull up their pants.
They had been sitting together in the driver’s seat and “it became obvious that they had been engaged in sexual intercourse,” the officer wrote in an arrest report.

When will they learn?  Our search revealed at least a half-dozen other recent reports of driving while under a completely different influence.  When will they learn is probably never.  What will they learn?  Keep a light sweater handy and don’t hide behind the cactus!

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

 

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

Michael Leave a comment

We were driving down a country-ish road when jogging on the shoulder toward us was this woman, her legs striding, arms pumping, head bobbing, and face frowning.  It was not a look of determination, nor was it one of concentration.  It was one of displeasure.  It was one that said “I am two miles from home in any direction and I want to be there, not here.”  What we knew, from knowing others who jog along the shoulder of country-ish roads, is that when she gets home there will be a husband, a parent, a partner, a child, or maybe a cat or dog who will very innocently ask , “How as your run?”  And then the lies will begin!

It was fine. I had a great run.  It was the perfect morning to get an extra mile in.  And the check’s in the mail, too.  Truth be told, there are some instances that we know have never had the truth be told of them.   Early morning joggers are amateurs when it comes to the really smooth lies.

Whether it’s taking a little blood out for a blood test, a lot of it out at a blood drive, or getting an annual flu shot, “You’ll just feel a little pinch,” is not exactly truthful for any of them.  We are both blood donors.  We’ve both had flu shots.  And we’re ready to tell anybody who comes that close to us with those sharp objects that we know we’re going to feel more than a little pinch.  Save the lies, tell it like it is.  This is going to hurt but just for a little while and once that goes away you’ll feel much better for it.

Every day millions of people ask another millions of people how they are.   We’re not sure why because we know that an answer is neither required nor expected.  If so, no one would ask “Hey, how are you?” of someone who is getting on the elevator one just got off.  Yet it happens.  The appropriate answer to that question at that time should be “buy high, sell low” just to see if anyone is actually listening.  Quite often, then and at the millions of other times when the inquirer can actually hear the answer, the answer is “Oh just fine, thank you.”  You know you aren’t.  No one is ever just fine.  Ever. 

Whether we’re asking or are being ask, almost always “Do you want help with that?” is followed by “Whew!” when the answer comes back or goes out as no thanks.  Nobody ever really wants to help, at least not with physical assistance.   Maybe if the help needed is of the mental type we’d all be helpers and then when someone asks why we’re just sitting there we can answer with another collective lie, “Yes so, I am working.” 

Just a little bit longer.  No, that’s not a commentary on this post, although here it is truthful.  Most other times that one hears those words it is going to be longer but not by a little bit.  We hear this when waiting for a table at a restaurant, for a meeting with the boss, for a refund check coming in the mail, for the doctor to take his or her turn with us, or for an opponent to finish a Scrabble move.  The funny thing is that everybody on the delivery end of “a little bit longer” knows exactly how much longer it will be.  Why not tell us.  We suppose either they aren’t confident that we find their services worth waiting for or that their services aren’t worth waiting for.

It used to be a little more sensible when business was conducted by letters, phones, and secretaries.  Now to tell someone you never got the message, meeting reminder, or new project deadline in the time of email and shared electronic calendars is a bit far-fetched.  Yet not so far-fetched that by personal experience we can say that just about every time a meeting is missed, a deadline goes by, or a message is ignored, the guilty party still tries to claim ignorance.  “Must be something wrong with the server,” is the new “the check is in the mail”

Can you think of any others?  We’d love to hear them!  Ummm, errrr, let’s do lunch.

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

Blame It On The Blinds

Michael Leave a comment

You’ve heard us say it before, weekends are special for us.  Since we don’t have scheduled days off Monday through Friday, we pack a lot into the other 29% of the week.  Sometimes, we don’t start packing until well after we intended to.  Now we have something to blame our late awakenings on.

Some time ago, He of We decided he needed new curtains in his bedroom.  It just didn’t seem to right to get new drapery without changing the other pieces.  So now there are new curtains, new rod, new tiebacks, and the piece most culpable for us losing several hours every weekend, a new blind.  Whether roll-up, push-up, mini, or vertical, blinds are the key to sleep duration.  When He of We selected his new blind it was of the room darkening variety.  And a killer room darkener it is.  Tight to the sides and top of the frame and to the sill on the bottom, there are some 1700 square inches of ‘hold back the light we’re sleeping late this morning’ between him and Mr. Sun.

This is the same set-up on the window during the other days of the week that don’t interfere with bounding out of bed, doing all those morning get ready for work things, and aiming the four-wheeled vehicle down the road.  All before 8am.  But on the weekend, it’s a different story.

On a typical Saturday morning, about 11:00 or 11:30, He of We will call She of We to set the agenda for the day.  Over the course of conversation, someone will ask what progress has made on the mental lists they drafted the night before.  When it’s time for He of We to recount his morning, “Um, I made myself breakfast,” is the unfortunate all too common response.  Why the failure to perform any useful task with less than an hour before the crack of noon.  Now we know why.  Blame it on the blinds!

This can be the remarkable new defense for anybody faced with an unmet deadline, an unfinished task, or a not yet started chore.  Find an inanimate object and shift that blame!  Didn’t get the grass done?  The gas tank was empty.  Term paper not started?  Can’t type with a bandage wrapped around a finger.  Still haven’t started that new exercise routine?  Traffic lights between home and gym were all red.  Every day.

So there you have it.  The world’s permission to overlook, neglect, ignore, or just plain forget stuff.  Just don’t do it with anything important.  It might be a dandy excuse but you still have to hug your special someone, smile at least once a day, and always say “I love you.”  But the next time you miss your tee time, or your tea time, go ahead and blame it on the blinds.

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

 

Shopping Without a List

Michael Leave a comment

It’s a Friday evening and we have to decide what to do with the weekend.  It’s not like we’re ever devoid of activity on the weekend.  We’re never devoid of activity on the weekend.  We’re never devoid on the weekend.  That’s the problem with our weekends.

We don’t live together and we both work full weeks during the week.  We know some lucky pups who work 10 or 12 hour days and get an extra day off every seven.  We don’t.  If we want to see each other on a day that doesn’t start with “S” we make a date.  Otherwise, it’s weekends are us.

Since we both run full households we need stuff.  Thus most weekends include shopping.  And shopping means multiple stores. We could probably do everything in a Walmart.  We understand most people can do everything in a WalMart.  In fact, we seem to recall a movie about doing everything in a Walmart.  But, believe it or not, our immediate environs are WalMart free.  And we wouldn’t have the discipline to do all day in a Walmart.  She of We once had an experience so bad at a WalMart tire center that we couldn’t even write about it.  He of We is convinced that local saboteurs scuttled the plans for a WalMart some 3 miles from his house and he worries every time he gets too close to one that landslides will bury him not unlike Vesuvius buried Pompeii.   So instead we go from store to store knowing the stops with the best buys on staples and the chances for better deals on surprises.

As we enter each store He of We asks the same question.  “Do we need a cart?”  Sometimes he gets an answer.  Sometimes he gets just a look.  Each time he pulls a cart from the line of them inside the entrance door.  We don’t shop with a list.  We shop with a purpose.  Although just different enough to be almost annoying, we each have a pattern of how to attack a store.  She of We does the up and down from right to left with the side spurs covered only if there is a known needed item or a clearance rack before getting to the end.  He of We moves in about the same manner except that every third or fourth aisle he gets distracted by shiny objects from a row over and detours toward it, usually pushing the cart leaving She of We to wait wherever he left her at the time.

Sometimes we stop and take note of what we’ve put into our cart.  Often we’ll think twice about an item or two and return it to its former shelf sitting space.  Usually these were the shiny objects previously mentioned.  Sometimes we get all the way to the checkout line and decide we’ve much more shopping to do and head back into the stacks.  Always, before we check out we prepare ourselves for the payment experience.

You’ll recall, we don’t live together.  Everything in that cart has to be delegated to an address.  He moves to the front of the cart, always goes first, pulling his shoppers card from the quick release clip on his key ring.  He offloads his items from the basket, from the child seat, from below, sometimes hanging off the side if it might be a shovel or shepherd’s hook.  While that is going on, She of We prepares herself and pulls her card from her purse. Noticing that He of We has completed his transaction she hands her items over to him and onto the counter they go.  As the cart empties of yet to be scanned purchases, bags of already paid for pieces replace them.  Slowly She, He, and the Cart of We move forward through the check-out lane until She of We’s purchases are totaled and she runs her debit card through the scanner.

A quick run to the car where the cart is unloaded in the rear of the vehicle of the week and it’s off to store number next. Yep, we shop with a purpose.

We really need a new past time.

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

 

Accessories For Your Accessories

Michael Leave a comment

Everybody with a cell phone, please raise your hand. If you have a case or holster for it, keep your hand up.  A blue tooth or earbud/mic combo, please continue holding your hand up.  If you have more than one charger as in house and car or house and office, please keep your hand raised.  Continue to hold your hand up if you have removable chip, stick, or minidisk for data and pictures.  And lastly, if you have a car mount, keep your hand up.  Is your hand still up?  Congratulations, you have fallen victim to the accessory demons.  It’s ok, we have also.

We first found the accessory demon in the Sunday advertising supplement some months ago.  It wasn’t enough to have a tablet or iPad or reader, with or without a nice protective case and ear phones to listen while you read or write or sort pictures.  Nope, that was when we saw, and even on sale, the iPad pillow.  Yes, it is possible now to read or write or sort pictures with or without listening to music while not having to hold said device.  Plop tablet in pillow, plop person on couch, plop pillow on lap, now veg.  In hands-free comfort – except for the touch screen sweepy finger.

The device demon does not live just in the electronics department.  All those with a barbeque grill, please stand up.  If you have a thermometer, a grill light, a three sided grill brush, an electric starter for gas or charcoal, a chimney starter (charcoal only please), an aftermarket rotisserie, a smoker box, or a fish, vegetable, corn on the cob, hot dog, chicken or pizza specialty holder, please remain  standing.  We thought so.

Are there any campers out there?  We recently saw a tent advertised featuring 2 rooms, sleeps eight, and two rear closets, available for the low, low price of $179.99. (Neither of We’s bedrooms has two closets!)  On the same page or following pages we saw the air mattresses, pillows, camp stoves, lanterns, mesh chairs, folding tables, coolers, and canopies that, for only 2 people, added up to another $410.  Apparently getting away from it all is cheap.  Getting away fully accessorized isn’t.

Someone out there in the world of long ago, when the book was first invented, said to him or herself, “Self, I think I’ll invent the book mark.”  That marketing master’s descendants have never given in.  With each invention comes the accessory.  The best of them invent the “can’t live without” accessory.  Many have thought they could beat the accessory demon by not accessorizing their accessories.  They would put their phones on a nearby table when not in use and hold them in their hands to the side of their face when using it.  That they would gauge the heat of the charcoal by holding an open palm six inches above it and the doneness of the burger by touch.  That they would camp under the stars on a bed of pine needles.  Yeah, right!

The only way to beat them is to give up our phones and tablets and grills and tents and everything else we can’t live without.  Once you figure out how to do that be sure to write about it.  We’ll read your report on our tablet, the one in the protective case, with the detachable keyboard and snap on night light, the one over there on the table next to the MP3 player we’re downloading music onto. Uh huh.

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

Did we mention the bell, basket, lights, and speedometer for the bicycle? The over-shower organizer, tissue holder, shower gel dispenser, or talking scale for the bathroom? The steamer for the closet? The four-way lug wrench for the car? Wait, we’re not done! How about the electric coskscrew? The power juicer? The Clapper!? Ok, we’re done.

 

 

Take a Letter

Michael Leave a comment

For the second time this month we get to say that regular readers know that we have from time to time umm, expressed our displeasure at the service we’ve received from those for whom providing a service is their job but we are breaking from that refrain and saying what a terrific week, and often at the hands of others, that we’ve had.

It’s been a busy week for us at work, both of us extending a bit from our regular routines.  Yet we managed to get through another week at our workplaces where there were plenty of opportunities to confirm that there is a reason it is indeed called work.  Some people actually smiled.

They smiled so much so that we actually got to the weekend not completely needing it to be 12 days long to provide our requisite rejuvenation to start again on Monday.  The normal number of days should suffice.  And although the weekend held quite a few opportunities for people to amaze us at their poor choice of profession, they often did just the opposite.  Saturday morning we were wandering, and apparently looking every bit the part, around a not so nationally known home improvement store. Unfortunately there are only 15 of these centers but at every one we hope there were employees just as BUSY as BEAVERS at finding what their customers needed as they were at the one we visited.  We had at least 5 people come to us and ask if we needed any help finding anything.  And it wasn’t that robotic-like inquiry.  These people really wanted to help.  So much so that the first one who asked us actually did help us find the odd wall treatment we were looking for and expressly went then to look knowing if we didn’t see it right off, there would be someone to direct us.

We got to end our weekend on just as high a note as we were wandering, and this time we really did know to where, around a furniture showroom looking for some occasional tables.  As usual when entering one of those types of stores we were greeted by a commission based sales person and when we said we were just looking he went away.  Just like that.  And let us look.  When we found that we needed help we sought him out and as we were transacting our business found him to be such a personable person that we were ready to invite him out for a banana split.  No, we really didn’t, but we did find that he offered his suggestions based on what we told him we were looking for, the space they would fill, and purpose served and not on what was on hand, in stock, and not on sale.

So we had a couple good store visits.  What has any of that to do with the title of this piece?  Well, that’s the piece to end all pieces when it comes to customer service.  You’ll recall that we mentioned in the recent post, “Paging Doctor Bombay,” that we were at the doctors recently.  Actually for the two weeks before that piece was posted to about another two weeks from this one, Both of We will have made ten visits to various doctors.  It’s the time of year to have everything from head to toe checked on so we’ve out there visiting everyone from eye doctors to foot doctors.  And it was the foot doctor who threw us for the proverbial, and if we were young enough, the literal loop.

In “Paging Doctor Bombay” we proposed that a physician with a sense of humor would have the best bedside manner.  Maybe not a sense of humor as much as a sense of human.  Someone who has been where we are and knows the healing power of kindness.  In fact we ended with the supposition that “a cheerful heart is good medicine.”  She of We may have found our Doctor Bombay.  It was during the past week about 4 days after visiting the podiatric Doctor Bombay that She of We emptied her mailbox on the way into her house.  She noticed among the pile the sort of envelope that announces by size and shape that it is either an invitation to some event or a thank you from some other.  It was the thank you. But not a thank you for a gift she has presented to any one or a service she had rendered at any time.  It was a thank you from that very foot doctor.  “Thank you for allowing us to participate in your care.”  There was more.  And not just there was more that was written but that there was more.  It was written, as in hand written.  A doctor, taking the time to hand write a thank you note to a new patient.  Letting her know that regardless of what others in the health care business might think, it is a business and one that lives or dies on the service that is rendered.

That was enough to take both of us back more than a few steps and be amazed that there are people who recognize that without customers, there is no business.  Not clients, not consumers, not patrons or visitors or users.  Not even patients.  Customers.  Customers deserving of customer service.  And a thank you for being one.

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

 

 

Get In Line

Michael Leave a comment

Regular readers know we aren’t good waiters. Lines do not thrill us. Some people find themselves very comfortable standing still behind tens of other people also standing still. We don’t. We especially don’t want to be behind many other people waiting to eat. Just a few days ago we got to combine our displeasure of waiting with our dislike for lines.

It was over the weekend that we were at one of our favorite things, a springtime maple festival. Being in the American north east we are surrounded by maples. Trees in general take up almost every square foot of land around that hasn’t already been turned into Class A office space or $300,000 McMansions. (Has anyone else noticed that nobody ever builds Class B office space? What if we don’t want private elevators, multi-zone climate control, and integrated security/entertainment software? But that’s a post for a different day.)

We were saying, trees in general are big here. And among them, oak and maple top the list. You can’t get anything out of an oak except some really cool shade in the summer and habitats for little woodland creatures all year long. And a lot of maples will never yield more than solid wood furniture. But the sugar maple has that special something running through its veins, if it had veins for anything to run through. And that something is sap and with enough sap you get syrup and with syrup you get the classic Maple Festival. If it’s indeed a classic, you have hot, homemade pancakes. With pancakes made out of freshly milled flour and fresh boiled syrup you get lines. Lines of well over a couple hundred people long waiting for hours to get to the pancakes to pour the syrup over. We don’t understand it.   We’ll buy the flour and the syrup and have our own. And while everyone else is standing in line, we’ll visit the hundred or so vendors that show up with the handmade crafts to sell while the festival folk sell their handmade syrup. We like it. We buy it. We just don’t want to stand in a line for it.

Yet many do. And as we were driving ourselves home that afternoon we started to wonder, just what would we be willing to stand in line for. We’ve never stood in line for tickets to concerts or theaters or sporting events. We’ve gone to many but we don’t pitch a tent the night before to get the best seat. With a few exceptions, the best seat is usually the one in front of the television anyway. We’ve never stood in line for a store to open on Black Friday. We would stand in line to go back to bed the day after Thanksgiving but not to buy one. We once stood in line to get three (yes, three) autographs of three (yes, three) hockey players. If we were so fond of baseball or opera or professional badminton we might have once stood in line for autographs of their great ones but we aren’t so we didn’t and even for hockey we might not again.

Some lines you have to stand in. You’ll never board a plane without first standing in line at the security checkpoint and then again at the gate boarding ramp. If you didn’t print your boarding pass at home the day before add the line at the ticket counter to get one of them before you hit the other two. And if you check baggage through there are lines to check it and then to wrestle it off the conveyor belt. With luck, you’ll never have to stand in the line to determine where they lost it. Airports are not happy places for people who don’t like lines.

And what about you? Line stander, line jumper? Line aficionado, or line abhorrer? Oh, did we mention that in order to get to that festival with the line of people waiting for their pancakes we had to wait in line for the shuttle to take us to the festival grounds? We had no choice; it was either that or walk 3 miles from the parking lot. We know where to draw the line.

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

Paging Doctor Bombay

Michael 1 Comment

Both of We were to the doctor recently.  We made a discovery there.  Independently, and without even chatting with each other until we were both on familiar barstools, we mean familiar ground, we decided on our perfect doctor.  As kindly as he may have been in prime time, we don’t want Marcus Welby.  As hard as he worked to save his patients, we don’t want Hawkeye Pierce.  As smart as he was, we definitely don’t want Doogie Howser.  No, we want Dr. Bombay.

Everybody remembers Dr. Bombay from the Bewitched television series from the 60’s.  Even those not born until the 80’s remember Bernard Fox’s character, Dr. Bombay, the literal witch doctor who tended after Samantha and her bewitching relatives.  There’s our perfect primary care physician.  One who can shrug off what happens to patient number 4 in the scenario that 3 out of 4 make a complete recovery.  One who understands that medicine is not an exact science and knowing how to care for his patient isn’t brain surgery.  One who heeds the adage, laughter is the best medicine.  Even if it isn’t covered by most health plans.

A few years ago He of We’s doctor gave him a year to drop 20 unnecessary pounds. No reason, no plan, no sympathy.  Just do it.  A year later, without referencing the previous year’s instruction, his doctor gave him a year to lose 30 pounds.  Dr. Bombay would have remembered.  Dr. Bombay would have popped in every few weeks to see what progress was being made and would have brought along his favorite weight loss device, exercise routine, or diet modification.

We can see Dr. Bombay having that discussion.  He would pantomime his upper body rocking back and forth as he works out on his elliptical machine and swinging his arms about as he swims across the room.  And then he would end it all with “And keep up with the fiber.  If you can’t hold back on the breads, at least eat healthy. Wot, wot, don’t you know?”

The supporting cast needs to be of good humor also.  She of We’s doctor’s nurse was busy with her preliminaries at her appointment.  She began quietly professional.  That’s euphemistic for cold and unfriendly.  Take the blood pressure, take the pulse, take the temperature.  Normal, normal, normal.  “How old are you? What drugs are you taking? None! Really!  How old are you?  No wonder you’re normal.”  We made up that last line, but she did smile.

That’s when Dr. Bombay would have stepped into the examination room and began to try to pick up the nurse.  And there is where some things are going to have to remain the realm of television fiction.  But other than that there are lots of things that our students of Hippocrates can learn from Dr. Bombay, like a cheerful heart is good medicine, and that we all put on our paper gowns one leg at a time.

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

The Boo Birds of Paradise

Michael Leave a comment

Major League Baseball begins games that count shortly.  The MLB is a hotbed for Boo Birds.  Baseball is a natural for fans who want to show their displeasure with an opposing player doing particularly well.  Sometimes for a home player not doing so well.  All that time between pitches, as the batter steps to the box, as the first baseman plays with his glove, or as the catcher stretches his calves are made to order opportunities for expressing displeasure.

We thought about boos and booing during a recent somewhat faster sports offering – a hockey game.  There’s not much downtime in hockey.  When a particularly egregious act results in a visiting player being sent to the penalty box there will be a few moments for the home crowd to whistle up the boos.  But for the most part, if you’re going to boo in hockey you have to be ready at any instant.

(We’re not so certain about football.  Football moves a little slow for us so we’ve not been to many live games and booing at a television set is about as lame as whatever the player being booed did to get booed.  In any case, we’re not going to the gridirons today.)

Ok, now you’re really wondering, where are these two going with this.  We think it was She of We who asked during a particularly healthy boo session during a quick stop in action at a hockey game last week, why do people think booing is impolite.   It is just as called for as expressing pleasure with wild shouts of approval.  After all, we are talking about a sports event.  Those guys skating up and down a couple hundred feet of thin ice at speeds approaching a hybrid SUV on the Interstate aren’t known for their manners.  They’re a tough crowd and those watching them can be just as tough.  The well-placed boo can have a dramatic effect on the momentum of the game as much as crazed cheering.  If a crowd is really going to be the sixth man on the ice then it better learn to play both ways.  You have to have a balanced attack of offense and defense if you expect to win.  Cheers and jeers are the fans balance.

With all that said we want to make certain that nobody takes displeasure cavalierly into other arenas.  Regardless of how poorly the leading man at the local community theater resembles the suave movie star in the adaptation and even if his singing doesn’t have the range of a professional vocalist, you should never boo your brother-in-law.  When the lady at the local council meeting questions why there are so many handicapped spots at the borough building when she knows everybody in town and none of them can’t walk, keep those catcalls to yourself.  And when your boss doesn’t appreciate you as much as you appreciate you during your annual performance appraisal, you might want to restrain from public heckling.

Other than those, if you see something you don’t like, knock yourself out.  Boo, hiss, jeer, and hoot to your heart’s content.  Baseball’s just around the corner.  The Stanley Cup playoffs aren’t far behind.  And don’t forget, the World Cup opens in June.  Now there are some high flying boo birds!

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