Category Humor

Drive Around Please

Michael 3 Comments

We tried to wait but we couldn’t.  Buildings are STILL jumping in front of cars.

We first told of cars driving into buildings at a quite alarming pace at the beginning of the year.  (See Drive Through Service, January 29, and Drive Through, Part Two, February 13, in HUMOR.)  We figured at the rate they were going we’d see a car/building collision on a daily basis before the end of the year.  While the pace has slowed, the variety has not.

Ripped form the local headlines we have reports of cars driving into 10 houses, one making it all the way into the living room.  We’ve had one office building, one bank, one restaurant, one bookstore, and one billboard all become the objects of vehicular buildingslaughter.  Two locations of the same supermarket chain were targets of a pair of misguided motorcrafts.  Perhaps the chain should consider a drive through to replace one of its indoor express lanes.  One convenience store attracted its car-nal companion so well that the same driver plowed the same car into the same storefront twice.

Some smashes were particularly smashing.  There was the lady who drove her car into the airport.  We thought it was because the driver couldn’t wait to head for a warmer climate and the people mover from the parking lot wasn’t moving people fast enough.  Actually it was because she had a flat tire some 2 miles before she got to the parking lot and didn’t want to stop to change it for fear she’d miss her flight.  By the time she got to the lot she had no rubber on the wheel and the car had taken over in terms of finding its way.

One driver had his sights set on an unsuspecting suburban home and managed to eventually get all the way through the yard and nuzzle his vehicle against the front porch.  Along the way he found the house’s fishpond.  Unfortunately only 9 of the 12 known inhabitants of the pond were saved.   One driver, probably because he knew this was going to hurt, piloted his sedan through the front window of a hospital outpatient clinic.  Just as the weather was turning to consistent 70+ degree days did a car find its way into a backyard pool.  Then there was the lady who knew all this mayhem was occurring and felt it needed prayer.  So she drove right through the side entrance of a church.  God told her to.

And since we’ve been keeping things local we haven’t even mentioned the car that drove into the French subway station mistaking the wide stairs for a parking garage entrance.

Our tally since 2012 began?  Forty-four stationary objects have been the target of very bad driving.  Actually we’ve been holding back on one incident.  That was the driver who drove through a cemetery tilting a dozen headstones as if they were windmills.  We aren’t certain how to count that one.

What we are certain of is that what we were certain of – these were all cases of distracted driving – we aren’t certain of any more.  Could there really be that many drivers who are so oblivious that they can’t tell when they are about to hit the broad side of a barn?  We think this needs more concentration.  At least by the drivers!

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

 

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Interruption

Michael Leave a comment

Not too many days ago Both of We were running through the on-screen program guide on the television to see which of the 998 channels we’d grace with our viewing.  Unfortunately, none of the 7 or 8 commercial free channels had anything really worth while watching so we were pushed toward one of the commercially sponsored offerings.

After two or three times around the horn we found a movie we both like that had just started three or four minutes earlier.  We might miss the opening credits but we’ll certainly get to see the whole motion picture.  We should have known it wasn’t going to be one of the most meticulous showings of this particular movie.

We tuned in just as the screen faded on the opening scene and entered Commercial Land.  We’re ok with Commercial Land.  It serves a purpose.  It provides us with many movies, sporting events, shows, and news we’d not normally get to see if we had to rely on 100% Pay Per View.  Quite often you’re looking at a future headlining star mopping the floor or changing a tire.  And who of us hasn’t seen that special commercial that is better than the show it interrupts.

Twelve commercials later we were finally returned to our feature presentation.  Some of those commercials were of the 30 second variety, some 15 second spots.  Some of them were of the vanishing one minute genre.  Total time out was eight minutes.  At last we got to settle back and enjoy the film.  For about 12 minutes.  Then we were out for another 10 minutes of programmus interruptus.  For those of you keeping score, that’s now 34 minutes of programming comprised of the first 4 minutes that we missed followed by 8 minutes of selling followed by 12 minutes of movie followed by 10 minutes of more ads.  Our score: Movie 16, Sponsors 18.  In a game that shouldn’t be at all that close.

As we said, we’re ok with commercials.  But that was supposed to be between just us.  Somebody has to let the folks who sell ad time in on the secret that when you gather that many commercial minutes together in a single block we’re likely to go surfing for something with actors who have already become stars.  Maybe even on their way to hasbeen.  And nobody is all that crazy about the new blond with the big mop anyway.

At the rate these guys are selling time, pretty soon there will be more commercial than there is program.  We already have program length commercials.  Some of them actually might look informative but they are just selling vehicles.  We bet that when WNBT (now WNBC) broadcast the first commercial on July 1, 1941 (a 10 second spot for Bulova Watches) nobody envisioned an entire show made up of a commercial.  

If all things that go around really do come around we’ll soon be able to interrupt those infomercials with a program to keep people interested and watching.  We’re just not sure how it will appear in your program guide. 

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

All the News That’s Fit to Overlay

Michael Leave a comment

A funny thing happened the other day while we were watching the eleven o’clock news.  We lost sight of it.  Between reading the crawl along the bottom and the severe thunderstorm watch announcements along the side, and the scroll beneath the reporter telling us what building she was standing in front of, we never heard what happened at that building.

Sports scores are the only thing you want to know?  Tune to one of the sports channels and it doesn’t matter what is playing because the scores will be marching across the bottom of your screen.  Need to know if you can wear open toe shoes to work?  Lock in the local 24 hour news channel and the weather forecast is “always in view.”  Did the traffic ease up any?  Turn your dial to the major local stations and watch the live traffic cam in the corner of your screen.

If you have enough time some morning turn on one of the national news networks.  There you will find a split screen with two or sometimes three anchors taking turns spouting something.  A t the very bottom will be a scroll with regular news.  Above that will be a wider band of travel conditions including delays at major market airports.  Focus a bit higher and we have the band of “Breaking News” headlines.  Just above that will be the blurbs highlighting whatever it is those people in the main screen are talking about.  Turn your attention to the left of the screen and there will be a vertical band with the nation’s weather forecasts displaying the high and low temperatures and pictograms of the sun with or without clouds, raindrops, and/or snowflakes for every city in alphabetical order.  Except yours.  Along the right edge is the schedule of what will be coming up in 3 minute increments, excluding commercials.  And somewhere is the time.  Which you are quickly running out of right along with your patience. 

All that information and when you turn off the TV you can’t remember what happened in the world today.  If you should be hearing impaired or just preferred to have the closed captioning turned on, now there is yet another box competing for space on the screen and attention in your brain.  Just because something can be done – a cute graphic for partly sunny or a countdown to the next story – doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to do it. 

We’re willing to let the producers of these news shows into our homes to watch us while the newscasts are on to see how we absorb the information presented to us.  We’ll be the ones reading the newspaper.

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

 

Spring Chickens vs The Codger

Michael Leave a comment

With age comes wisdom.  And a bunch of people who don’t care.  We’re sorry, did that seem harsh?  Get used to it because the older you get the harsher reality becomes.

Neither of We is anymore what a spring chicken strives to be, but then Neither of We is at the codger level.  He of We is 5 or 6 years ahead of She of We and he might be starting to see it more.

See, back about 25 years ago He of We was a pretty good looking fellow.  Lots of hair, firm chin (with a dimple), clear eyes, and a dashing figure proclaiming him to be quite in shape.  Today he’s a bit puffy around the face and neck, lots of skin on top of his head, a figure that begs to cry out “but round is a shape.” Back then he didn’t know much more than what he learned in school and everybody knows that’s only 10% of everything anybody needs to know to be successful.  But he routinely was looked to for advice and confirmation and became that person who people listened to when E. F. Hutton wasn’t available. 

Over those 25 years he’s seen lots more of the stuff that makes him quite an invaluable asset to his employer.  Except now that he has the knowledge and wisdom that experience brought, nobody wants to listen to him.  They are all flocking around the new guy with the shirt collar that can be buttoned.

It’s probably not like that in the animal kingdom.  The dogs still follow the alpha male and it’s still the older birds that rule the roosts.  Probably in organized crime and the legal profession a little age and experience are also sought after attributes.  You can’t know a good loophole until you’ve been in one.  And maybe if you’re a dentist you never really want to turn your back on other dentists that have discovered how to keep the patient from biting and still cheerfully fork over outrageously high co-pays.

But by and large, it’s not what’s in your head that people look for at the weekly managers’ meetings.  It’s how that head looks that moves the body to the middle seat at the conference table.  If youth is wasted on the young, then experience is a mockery to the experienced.  But there is a way around this so what one learns in life isn’t wasted and what the men and women beginning their lives can learn without admitting they don’t know everything. 

Ooops, sorry.  Time for our naps.  We’ll get back to you with that at our next meeting.

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

 

Please disregard this message

Michael Leave a comment

He of We should have taken heed of his computer.  The e-mail header said, “This message look suspicious to our filters.  Do you want to open it?”  He thought he’d take a chance.  After all, the message was from the local blood bank.  The subject was Happy Birthday and it was his birthday.  How suspicious can it be? 

Both of We have long been donators of blood.  It’s almost painless, fairly quick, you get cookies and juice when you’re done, and most of the time the blood bank has some cool premium just for raising, or dropping a pint with them.  So a couple times a year we find our way to a blood drive and do the right thing.

He should have taken heed.  Lately we have been going round with our local blood bank.  All of a sudden instead of impersonal post-cards touting specific blood drives that we can read, study, or throw away, the blood bank has taken to impersonal phone calls to cajole those with intact veins to high-tail it to the nearest donation center and start bleeding.  Lately these calls have been coming every day.  Multiple times a day.  So many multiple times that they managed to make She of We call them damn vampires and He of We called them blood sucking blood suckers.  On the same day.  From different telephones.  That’s when we confirmed that Each of We has the same tolerance for annoying telephone solicitations even when the solicitor isn’t trying to sell something.

He didn’t take heed.  He opened the message and read on.

On your special day we wish you a bright and happy birthday.  If you recently donated blood, or have scheduled an appointment to donate blood, please accept our thanks on behalf of the area patients whose lives you touched. If you have recently been told by our blood center, or another blood center, that you are ineligible to donate then please disregard this message.

Even the Happy Birthday part?  Gee these guys are tough.  You’d think a blood sucking vampire would have a heart.  Where else do you drive the stake? 

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

 

UDNTSAY

Michael 5 Comments

For some people, a bumper sticker just isn’t enough.  They have to say it officially with their license plates.  That’s ok.  We like the creativity you see on the back of some cars.  And we like a good challenge.  With many customized license plates we have to figure it out how many words, where the breaks are, then what those words are, and what you mean by them, all at 60 miles per hour.  Just remember, no texting a mobile shout out for help.

Some people like to put their occupations on their license plates.  Usually it’s just a trio of initials and a recognized abbreviation, like ABC RN, or DEF MD.  Recently He of We was driving behind a basic American made sedan with CO PILOT on the plate.  He wondered who was actually driving.

Some plates add a bit of whimsy to the road.  INDULGE might mean the car’s owner indulged himself or herself on the purchase of the vehicle or maybe the car owner is also owns a boutique, or an ice cream stand, or a salon, and is trying to ply a bit of subliminal messaging.

There’s always a message to be delivered in plates.  The big pick-up truck that passed us on the highway had the plate DSL PWR which we figure to mean Diesel Power.  Sometimes between the delivering and the receiving, the message gets blurred.  Was he proud of his diesel because he was maximizing his fuel dollar in such a large pick-up?  Was he proud of his diesel because he had a pick-up truck worthy to be in the truck stop next to the big rig?  Or was he reminding whoever was behind him driving uphill on a cold morning that it might take a while?

Sometimes there is too much frankness on the road.  We recall seeing the plate ALIMONY.  Although it was on a fairly pricey vehicle it wasn’t on a true luxury car so maybe the owner could have worked out a still better deal.   An oft-spotted vehicle for She of We on her way to work is one heralding the owner as CONTESSA.  We wonder what kind of work she must be off to every morning.  And what might be a sign of total excess might have been on a top of the line Mercedes, convertible of course, with the plate EXPNSV, just in case there was any doubt.

Then there are some that defy explanation.  Just this past weekend Both of We walked passed a car in a parking lot with the state issued plate proclaiming BEETLUV.  A perfectly great plate to put on a VW Beetle.  But it wasn’t.  So the only thing we could think was that particular Jeep owner loved beets.  We didn’t try to guess if they were pickled, boiled, or roasted.  A few days ago He of We was passed by a sub-compact bearing the plate DDAY.  The driver wasn’t old enough to have been in military service on the famous June 6.  Nor did he look like the world’s oldest fraternity brother of Animal House fame.  What was he saying?  We’ll probably never know.  Nor will we know the meaning of GRMLIN1.  If it was on a 40 year old American Motors compact we’d think the owner proud of his or her very well preserved car but it wasn’t and we already went down that road with the beet lover.

Sometimes the owner wants you to know where he or she is from.  We think TRACI CA must be from California even though the plate isn’t.  Is the 412 in FROM 412 the owner’s area code?  Or maybe street address?  Apartment number?  Rural route?  Maybe they aren’t always clear.

So do we have vanity plates on our vehicles?  Nope.  Thought of, yes.  And perhaps someday.  Till then we’ll stick to the bumper stickers, window decals, tire covers, and magnets to express our likes and not so hidden messages.  Besides, the best one has already been taken.

Seen on an older, but well-kept every day driver.  PAID 4.  That’s a classy plate.

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

 

If Only the ER Served Magaritas

Michael 1 Comment

We almost expected to hear Anthony Edwards, aka E. R. Dr. Mark Greene, shout “Clear!” and apply the defibrillator paddles to the piece of meat in front of him, grilling it to the perfect fajita filling.  The hustle and the bustle far exceeded that of most inner city emergency rooms on a Saturday night after the local team won its first (pick your favorite season) championship in over 50 years.

Ok, let’s catch you up so you can enjoy this tale also.  Last weekend we paid a visit to one of our favorite local eateries.  A very small authentic Mexican restaurant with no designs of growing larger.  On a lucky Saturday night we’ll be led to a quiet table for two tucked into a corner as far from the hostess stand as one can get in a room the size of a generous living room.  Here we’re treated to the basic three courses where we relish in the opportunity to be served by trained, professional waitpersons in our favorite quietly comfortable restaurant.  Good food.  Good service.  Good company.  Good time.

Last Saturday we headed to our dining quarry figuring to have a drink in the bar before dinner.  We’ve ventured into the bar, considerably smaller in scale to the rest of the operation just as another couple was called to their table.  We settled into their vacated seats at the far side of the square cornered horseshoe and decided that we were so comfortable, and since we never had there before, we would have dinner right there at the bar.

Eating at the bar is nothing unusual for us.  We do so quite often.  We’re low enough maintenance that the bartenders aren’t unduly burdened by having to play waitperson while already performing in the role of barperson.  Many of the places we’ve come to call home for dinner out have the bar in the middle of the room and thus in the middle of the action.  The ideal seat for people watching.  So with our history of bar dining and a new opportunity in front of us, we embarked on our first such supper at our favorite comfortably quiet restaurant.  Boy were we in for a shock!

“Clear!”  Well, how about “Smith!  Party of 4!  Jones!  Party of 2!”  Every 15 minutes or so the hostess, a little bitty thing, stood in the doorway of the smallish space and bellowed out a prospective diner like a conductor crying the stops of the local commuter train with a voice that would fill all outdoors.  “Behind you! Cold ice!” the bar back routinely called out with as much frequency as the people search.  And the people kept on coming.

They packed themselves in like they were filing into the afternoon rush hour subway.  Parties of 2, 4, 8.  Eyes slightly glazed after a long day of shopping? housework? painting?  We don’t know what the Saturday afternoon activities but whatever they were those activities led to a need for an adult beverage.  And soon.  Drinks were called for from the second row behind the stools. 

“Ford! Party of 6!”  “Margarita! No Salt!”  “Lincoln! Party of 4!”  “Dos Equis! Draft! Make it two!”  At one time we counted 38 people in the little room.  The fire marshal generously rated the space for occupancy by 50 people.  The designer squeezed 14 stools around the counter.  There wasn’t a time that the other 36 hadn’t conveyed their desperate need to soothe the fever that responded only to the medicine served in a chilled glass.   Ice when it wasn’t being poured into the holder 20 pounds at a time was transferred into quart sized mason jars then filled with tequila and the other makings for their specialty margarita and attached to the industrial blender that sounded like a second cousin to a turboprop airplane.  When at last their names were call, parties would leave for the dining room, clutching their chilled glasses like the secret remedy from the healer of the high desert. 

Standees took their vacated seats, new patients crowded in from the outer room.  “Nachos with queso!”  “Frozen or on the rocks!” “Heinz! Party of 6!” “More chips please!” “Rocks! No Salt!”  “More Ice!” “French! Party of 2!”

All around the conversations bubbled to the top, mixed with the televisions (two, about 20 feet apart, on different channels) and stirred into the bustling chatter of the staff, creating a confused sound track.  “Temperatures will be higher than…the upstairs really need to be…ordered last week and now they say…it’s the third meeting between them…when I said…do you want another…chilly night before…rebounding and that has to get better than… dark blue with gray trim.” 

One of our regular waiters spotted us from the service area waiting for his orders.  “Trying something new?” he shouted across the room.  “You know us, we have to try it all!” we answered.  Our attention divided between the bartenders going through tequila, ice, and chilled mason jars and the patrons going through tequila, ice, and chilled mason jars.  The bar persons whirling into high gear, resembling the blades spinning in the drink mixer.  The bar crowd shifting into lower gears as the cactus juice mellowed them in preparation for dinner.  Eventually.

And so they came, dazed, confused, smarting from spring cleaning, comatose from too much Saturday television, sore and achy, looking for healing in the emergency rooms of bars.  And a margarita.  Rocks.  No salt.  No glass.  Just a mason jar and one really big straw.

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

 

Drive Through Part Two

Michael 3 Comments

January 19, not even a month we noted somewhat shockingly that people are driving through buildings (“Drive Through Service,” January 19, in HUMOR).  It was not quite 3 weeks into the year and we had already heard of local drivers violating stores, banks, restaurants, and various other brick and mortar type stationary objects on the average of once every 3 days.  We implored you to write to building owners to erect safety walls and to petition the US Department of Transportation to promulgate regulations requiring solid object early warning signals in all cars, SUVs, and light trucks.

We don’t think you took us seriously.  Seriously, this is becoming a serious problem.  If 3 weeks into the year the car vs. building rate was one every 3 days, the next 3 weeks has taken an even worse turn (no pun intended).  We’ve heard of 10 more instances of buildings not being able to jump out of the way in time before being attacked by metal, steel, rubber, and presumably licensed drivers.  This round of concrete carnage included a bank, an office building, and the law school offices at one of the local universities. 

So as of today, we are at vehicles 17, calendar 34.  That’s one case of vehicular buildingslaughter every 2.6 days.  That’s increasing from the previous rate of one every 2.7 days.  At this rate we’ll reach the rate of one car/building collision every day by September 28.  (You can check the math but we’re sure that’s right.  He of We was working the calculator.  That’s a sure sign it was checked 47 times for accuracy.)

It is worth noting that this group of poor parkers included a more determined errant driver.   Witnesses at one of the spectacles noted that the vehicle paused at a stop sign, proceeded through the intersection, turned onto the sidewalk, climbed the stairs, and drove into the revolving doors.  Creative.  Most people would have waited until they passed a gas station to look for a public rest room.

These statistics are for our own local metropolitan area.  Although our area is known for some peculiar driving quirks, the steadfast refusal to use sun visors when driving east during shimmering morning rush hours and turning left just before the light turns green are two of them.  Purposely driving into buildings has not been a local drivers’ diversion in the past.  It’s possible we’ve suddenly become the center of brick butchery.  Or it could be a more universal problem.  You should check your local papers to determine if this is becoming a worldwide phenomenon.

Those would be the only choices – local trend or universal bad driving.  On our first post we questioned whether anyone thought it might be because any of those people behind the wheels were also behind their cell phones.  But that couldn’t be.  Almost every state has now passed laws against distracted driving.  Nobody would violate a traffic law like that, would they?  Besides, it’s a silly law, right up there with observing speed limits and wearing seat belts.  What could possibly happen?

We’ll check back with you toward the end of September.

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

Unreal

Michael 2 Comments

We’re at a dull time of the month.  We’ve past New Year’s, escaping once again without resolution.  (See “Be It Resolved” posted January 2 under LIFE for why we’ll be making our resolutions sometime in March.)  And we’re not yet up to Groundhog Day, the best holiday of the year throughout the world.  It is a good time to think about what we did last year and will be able to afford those luxuries again this year (insert sound effect of wild laughter).  

What we ended up deciding it that what we really need is for someone to discover us and turn us into a reality show.  Then it wouldn’t matter if we could afford the trip to the edge of the volcano in Hawaii, the edge of the glacier in Alaska, and/or the edge of fashion in Milan. The producers would pick up those tabs while they continued to insist that this is a quite ordinary vacation for a middle class family with 12 kids and one income.

Maybe we aren’t being fair.  Just because we started this blog on an urge to make certain the world knows reality, on average, doesn’t come with hot air balloons, recording contracts, and rehab doesn’t mean every courageous exploration of everyday life on TV is actually scripted fiction casted with diligence and care – or first come first served.  So we took a look at what passes for reality shows today and most recently to make sure we weren’t wrong.  So in no particular order, and not at all a complete review, here is what TV would want you to consider reality.

Gold Rush – Three gold mines in Alaska.  One manned by people who put their real lives with real jobs and real bills and real families on hold while they trek to the Yukon for a few months to play with thousands of dollars of equipment we aren’t sure how any got paid for so they could dig up 8 ounces of gold.  One manned by a guy who was supposed to help out group #1 but instead stole their claim.  One manned by a 17 year old when school is out and a 92 year old when it isn’t.  Just a normal day in the 49th state.

Tabatha Takes Over – A lady hairdresser revamps failing salons while she sports a blonde from a box boy cut, deathly pale complexion, eyelashes the length somewhere between long and you’ve-got-to-be-kidding, and a strong penchant for a black wardrobe.

Jersey Shore – Twenty-somethings try to make complete sentences out of swear words and body parts.

Say Yes to the Dress – Mostly (though not all) brides-to-be start looking at wedding dresses that cost more than Either of We’s current vehicles’ blue book values but talked into spending more because it’s their one special day, including those who are doing it for the third time.

Ice Road Truckers – Even more testosterone than the Deadliest Catch and not as well contained.

Extreme Couponing – People fill 4 shopping carts, hang out at the cash register while management spends several hours on the phone with company computer guru to unfreeze the restrictive software, and then pay with coupons and pocket change.  Except for one shopper who donated all his booty to the local food bank we are left to wonder what these people do with all that stuff.

Finding Bigfoot – Like “Moonshiners,” the title speaks for itself.

Hoarders – People never throw anything away, actually more accurately people who use their houses as garbage cans and throw everything away.

American Pickers – Two guys travel the country making money off the hoarders.

That’s just a small sampling.  There are so many more with equally impossible storylines.   Where did they all come from?  We think we might have figured that out.  It seems nothing is new, just re-worked.  Find something from years ago, clean it up, repackage it, sell it to the unsuspecting, and make a fortune.  Not unlike Pawn Stars.  With that in mind, here is our list of some of today’s more popular shows and their not quite obvious inspirations.

The Bachelor – the Dating Game with sex and hot-tubs over an eight week run.

Dancing with the Stars – American Bandstand with out of work actors and celebrity wannabes.

Celebrity Rehab – Candid Camera with out of work actors and celebrity wannabes.

Storage Wars – Let’s Make a Deal with somebody else’s money.

Man vs. Wild – the American Sportsman got lost on the way to the hunting cabin.

Real Housewives of [Wherever] – To Tell the Truth.  Please.

COPS – Dragnet, still with stories about to heard that are true but with faces blurred rather than names changed to protect the innocent.

American Idol – The Miss America Pageant without the swimsuit competition.

Somehow these and others like them stay on the air.  They are making money for their networks and bringing viewers to their sponsors.  There really are people tuning in every week to see what secret a housewife can dig up on her best friend forever, how often mom and daughter can go into labor together, how many times a 20-something can use the f-word in one sentence.  There really are people who care about them all. 

Or maybe everybody is watching just to see the volcano up close from the edge.  And privately hoping someone, anyone, falls in.

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

 

No habla aqui

Michael Leave a comment

Hola.  Who decided we need to be directed to where to bring our returns in the mega-hardware-marts in Spanish?  Every sign in the two major home improvement chains down the streets from Either of We’s houses is bilingual.  The only problem is the second language isn’t the predominant one spoken here.  We live in a part of the country where the only people who speak Spanish are the high schoolers taking it for their language requirement.  And of those who do speak more than one language, English is still 100% the first choice although there are a few who specialize in bar talk in Polish, German, and Italian.

Now we don’t mean to be uncaring to Spanish speakers across the country, but something strange is going on and it involves Español.  She of we recently got a new television set.  She set it up according to the detailed instructions that come with televisions nowadays.  You know, that paper packed just under the box top that opens to a 5 foot by 7 foot poster covered with pictograms of the TV and all of the various components one might attach to the TV accompanied by the copyright in 18 languages in a font so small it would never be possible with movable type.  Do you remember when the only instructions for a TV were: 1. plug it in, 2. turn it on?  But we digress.  After several hours and two bottles of wine the set was plugged in and turned on.  Everything seemed to work.  Except…

Except every time she goes to the high definition version of ABC she gets Spanish subtitles.  Closed captioning is not turned on.  We’ve checked.  No default for that channel, no special instruction for that channel.  They just show up.  But only on that channel.  Not that network because the regular non high definition version of the same network doesn’t have them on screen.  Just the high def version.  Just that channel.  Just one out of 800.  And in Spanish!

Allow us to add to the peculiarities of this report.  Friends of ours have a television set that they have had for years.  And for years, one particular show on one particularly network (a weekly live sports cast during the football season on Monday nights) has appeared on their television with Spanish voiceovers.  Only that show.  Only that station.  Only that television.  We really aren’t making this up.  We can call them over to confirm this idiosyncrasy.  They tried different rooms.  They tried different cables.  They even moved.  (Actually they didn’t move because of the television set but it made a dramatic transition, don’t you think?)  Then they moved, brought the set with them, set it up again, but the Spanish speaking commentators stayed away.  Nobody ever found out why.  To be honest, nobody ever looked for why.  They were just happy they could watch football and understand the juego por juego.

Too strange to be true?  Not at all.   Televisions and radios have long picked up spurious signals and played havoc with the one that the viewer or listener was expecting.  He of We had a radio that picked up an AM signal from a city some 900 miles away while seemingly tuned to a station on the FM band.  The strange thing is that it’s all in Spanish. 

Those who should know such things (we’re not sure why they should but they do) say that a little over 10% of the population of the United States speaks Spanish as their primary language and that half of them speak only Spanish or one of several Spanish dialects.  We find it a little odd over 5% of the country cannot speak the official language but that’s a different blog.  What we find stranger is that for the sake of 5% of the country there are small electronics that have taken it upon them to speak and spell in Spanish, dialect unknown.   

Perhaps a bit more unsettling is that all throughout the country, regardless of the concentration of language spoken, there are major retail chains, clearly not wanting to miss a sell to anybody, that have spent millions on signs directing shoppers where to go to find a battery operated destornillador.   Even where the only Spanish speakers only speak it Monday through Friday during Period 3 until the end of this semester. 

We think that’s a lot of duplication of effort that the stockholders might want to look into.  Three hundred million people can find their destornillador on the strength of the English half of the sign alone.  Think of all the paper we would save if we cut those signs in half.      

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