Category Life

A Healthy Rant

Michael Leave a comment

You know how much I hate fine print. It’s right up there with insurance companies, banks, ads for prescription drugs, car sales and lease restrictions, cable TV and cell phone service disclaimers, and lawyers. Most of those I can all sort of let go. If somebody wants to really believe he or she can save $500 switching insurance, will actually pay only $49 for phone service, or can qualify for that $99 lease that’s on them for taking tooth fairy believability to life. Well, caveat emptor and all that. Except for lawyers. I still haven’t figured out if they actually serve any sort of redeeming purpose. But that’s a post for a different time. This post is all about a new line of fine print I saw on an ad and I could have died when I saw it. Actually I could have wished death on the person who came up with it and the other ones who willingly went along with it.

I had the television on the other afternoon. It’s annoying as hell to watch television during the afternoon but not because of the programming, because of the ads. All three of them. No matter what the show or what the channel, if it’s between 11am and 4pm you will get a steady diet of commercials touting credit repair, Medicare supplement insurances, and denture adhesives.  And every now and then something completely different.

The something different I saw was an ad for a hospital. Not a donation request asking for $19 a month but an ad designed to make you want to go to a particular hospital.  Not a local hospital for your general hospital needs. This was an ad for a national specialty hospital where cancer is all they treat. There were patients and patients’ families, doctors, and professional voice-over actors all promoting their brand of care resulting in their kind of success. As a cancer survivor and a health care professional I took interest in that ad for as much as I can take interest in any ad between 11am and 4pm. But my interest waned when they got to the end and those teeny words crawled across the bottom on the screen. “You should not expect a similar outcome.”

Beneath the large, bold list of their few locations across the country, their phone number and web address, and the insurance plans they accept, after spending 60 seconds telling you how they understand, how much they care, and how they are different, they slipped in at the bottom of the screen at the end of the ad, in a print sized to make an optometrist cringe, “You should not expect a similar outcome.” You should not expect the same result as the patient whose testimonial was presented during the ad. You should not expect to be relieved of your pain and suffering, you should not expect to be returned to your family and loved ones, you should not expect to return to a fulfilling life, you should not expect to be happy and upbeat when your treatment is complete. But please, be sure to break your neck to set off across the country to not get what the ad encourages you to believe in.

Can you imagine if every ad ended with “you should not expect a similar outcome?” Would you ever spend money again on reducing the chance of cavities, removing unsightly grass stains, or eliminating underwear creep? What do you think would happen to you when you pay your rent or mortgage, your utilities and credit cards, and you include the note “don’t expect this every month” with each check?

You know what I think? I think it’s time to forget buyer beware and it’s time for seller be truthful. Quid a conceptu!

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

Filled with Passion

Michael Leave a comment

I had a post all written, proofed, rewritten, mulled over, written again, and ready to upload when I stopped there and walked away from the computer. Something wasn’t just right with it and a wait of a while or so wouldn’t hurt it any.

So I stopped, had a late Sunday dinner, read a bit, turned on the TV, and started watching the musical Passion on Fox. And then I realized what was wrong with my post. It sucked. It was trivial, dull, and rambling. Not much different from most of my posts but it didn’t belong here today.

See, this all started in my mind Saturday evening at the Palm Sunday vigil. Last year I never got to do any of my Easter traditions. I was in the hospital through the whole of the Easter season. So for me there was no Ash Wednesday, no Lent, no Palm Sunday, no Holy Thursday, Good Friday, or Easter Vigil. And no Easter. Oh they happened but I hardly took part in any of them. Even though for me I actually looked forward to the Easter holy days they never held the big recognizable traditions of say Christmas. Yet without Easter we’d not have Christmas.

Later on Saturday night I wondered if I could turn the beginning of Holy Week into a blog post. After all, Easter is as universal as Christmas. Nobody minds if anybody clogs up the blogways with Christmas stories. Easter should get just as much play. But, I couldn’t come up with an angle. So by Sunday afternoon I was penning several hundred words on why it was snowing on the first day of Spring. I’m nothing if not unoriginal.

Then after having written and proofed and mulled and written again, I hesitated. Walked away. Let it sit. And was glad I did.

I don’t know that I planned on watching the Passion. I don’t think I actually planned on watching anything at all. As I scrolled through the guide it seemed like if nothing else it would be entertaining and it hadn’t started yet – always a plus for me when I watch a program. So I sat back, tuned in, and became amazed.

Nobody needs to be reminded of the Passion. It might be the most told story in the world. It touches almost every culture and if you don’t know the story you probably know most parts of it and didn’t know they came from the Passion. From the four gospels to thousands of articles, books, symphonies, movies, art, and opera, the Passion has been written, sung, played, and painted. But whoever put together Fox’s offering did something nobody else had. They started with pieces that weren’t ever meant to be part of the story. And from that they created a powerful story, perhaps the greatest story ever told. Or at least this year.

None of the music was written for this production. The locations weren’t selected because of their ability to mimic first century Jerusalem. The crowd looked like they wanted to be there. Nothing like any traditional Passion play. And they hit it.

If you didn’t see it, go find it and watch it. I couldn’t come up with the right angle but I didn’t have to. It was already out there.

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

You think your commute is challenging

Michael Leave a comment

The weather forecasters are saying it will be chilly this weekend, somewhere between 25 and 30 degrees colder than the first half of this week and only 8 degrees above freezing during the daytime. That will probably be a better time to take the little car out for a spin than in clear, 70 degree, sunshiney weather.

If you’ve been reading for a while you know I have a little red convertible that gets about as much use as you would imagine in an area where the average temperature is 52 degrees F and it rains or snows almost 150 days a year. But when the sun comes out the top goes down and I understand the true meaning of the phrase “worth the wait.” Right up until some guy with more testosterone than brains spots me.

I went out in the middle of the day when the real men with huge pick-up trucks riding on 28 inch wheels with massive brush guards, multiple running lights, and chrome steps to get into the cab should have been at work doing something involving torches and welders’ masks and comparing tattoos. But no, there was one about ¾ mile behind me when I slipped onto the onramp of the local expressway. I heard him, or rather his mufflerless behemoth, snarling up behind me. He closed that ¾ mile before I made it all the way to the end of the acceleration ramp and in his desire to make certain I knew he had more horsepower at his disposal than I did, he passed me on the single lane ramp and launched himself onto the highway mainline. Right in front of another mini-monster truck a few miles per hour above the speed limit. It was a spectacular sight in my rear view mirror. You could almost see their premiums going up.

I pulled onto the shoulder and waited until I saw that both of the not quite matured miscreants were moving about on their own power and then eased back into traffic and continued on my spring shake-out tour. You would think I’d have been shocked at the carnage (or trucknage if you prefer) and I was the first time or two such craziness happened. Unfortunately this goes on every year when I, and presumably everyone else with a weekend roadster, first hit the road.

In a month or so the craziness will wane perhaps because the crazy mongers become used to seeing us on the road again or perhaps because they run out of clean underwear.

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

(Yes, I know this is St. Patrick’s Day and I didn’t say anything about that in my post. Monday was Pi Day and I didn’t bring that up then either. I’m not totally predictable.) (Am I?)

 

Spring Up To Research

Michael Leave a comment

Remember that Saturday night last fall when an extra hour was tossed out there to be used as we pleased? Maybe you used it sleeping, maybe you saw half a movie, perhaps you spent 60 minutes on a midnight shopping spree. It could be that you were ahead of the curve and drank like you meant it. Whatever you did with it, they want it back this Sunday morning.

A good number of Americans on Monday will be desperately trying to remember if they changed their clocks early Sunday morning and if they did it the right way. For us that would be ahead an hour thus making 2am actually 3am without even having to say “abracadabra.” However, I’m guessing that most of us will be muttering “Spring Ahead, Fall Back” or “Spring Forward, Fall Behind” before, during, and after the un-ceremonial clock setting.

About 70% of the world’s citizenry will be similarly mumbling something sometime this spring as we move into or out of Daylight Saving Time. A big chunk of those mumblers will be somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere but there are quite many of them south of the Equator also. Between now and early May people around the globe will be waking up some random Monday wondering if they will be on time for work.

As near as I can tell from my online research, there are no countries that lie on the Equator observing any sort of time change. To be thorough about this I am willing to accept the challenge and spend a summer sailing to as many tropical islands as possible to confirm this hypothesis limited only by the funds available to me through grants, endowments, and/or crowd funding.

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

Lizing Leapards

Michael Leave a comment

It’s nice to know that there are some things you can absolutely count on. At least you can count on them once every 4 years or so.

Every 4 years we’ll show off a national spectacle, some would say a national embarrassment, and try to elect a President. We know that’s really not real. Whoever is to be the next President has already been decided. Eventually the marketing department will let us in on it too.

Every 4 years we show off a worldwide spectacle, some would say a spectacular spectacle. That would be the Olympics, or as those marketers would prefer, the Games of the XXXI Olympiad. (And you thought Roman numerals only use was in counting Super Bowls. Ha!) Of course that is presuming Brazil gets a handle on the Zika virus.

Every 4 years we also show off the Winter Olympics. But not this year. Used to be that we held summer and winter games in the same year but then somebody (probably one of those marketing groups) decided it would be better for the world to split them up. We still hold the Winter Olympics (officially the Olympic Winter Games) every four years but not for another two of them.

Every 4 years FIFA holds the World Cup Finals round. This isn’t that year. There are preliminary games scheduled last year, this year, and next year. The next finals round will be in 2018.

Every 4 years I start a new blog. Actually I started this blog 4 years and 4 months ago. So if I was to start a new blog it would be a quadrennial-triannual event. That’s too confusing. And even though there have been drastic changes in my life over the last 4 years and 4 months I think this blog still serves its purpose. (If you, like me, are unsure of that purpose check out Blog Post #1 Really? Real Reality? November 7, 2011.)

You might say that it suits me. I’ll keep this one.

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

Yes, It Is a Number – A BIG Number

Michael Leave a comment

I had a terrific post ready to upload but then that old lady happened. It was supposed to be about getting older but how everyone says, “Hey, it’s just a number.” In a way, this post is still about that. Let me start at the beginning.

I was at the store just as the heavens opened with a good old-fashioned downpour. Hundreds of gallons of water poured out of the sky every minute. And that was at its slowest. Then, it stopped. As quick as it started it just stopped. Unpredictable spring weather. I hobbled my way to the car, loaded up the groceries, backed out of the space, and turned toward the exit.

And there she was. Marching down the middle of the road, head bent over, shuffling in that gait you have to be around 90 to master, was that old lady. She was every one of 90 years, not looking left, nor right, nor straight ahead. She looked nowhere and at nothing. And she headed straight for me.

The last place I wanted to see her was splayed across my hood as some macabre ornament. But she continued heading straight for me. I mean straight. She didn’t veer a fraction of a degree to either side. She was walking right to me. The impact was going to crush her. Her bones were going to drop out of her skin and she was going to collapse in a heap like a worn out building imploded to make way for a new one. I would be guilty of running over an old lady. And I was stopped!

I had to warn her. I tried to connect with her telepathically telling her to look up. Either I didn’t get through or she just ignored my call because she kept her head down and kept on coming. I rolled down the window and waved furiously. She walked on. I called to her. “Yo, Lady!” Nothing. Finally I decided she had left me no choice. I had to use my horn. I had hoped to avoid that. I was certain that the sudden honk would startle her into a heart attack and then I would be guilty of oldladycide.

As gently as I could, I pushed down on the horn button in the steering wheel and was awarded with a short “…beep…..” Still nothing. To myself I said, “Self, give it to her,” and smashed down on that picture of a horn and let go with a “HOONNNNKKKKKKKK!”

Finally, just steps away, she looked up, saw me sitting there, snarled at me (yes, snarled), then flipped me the bird.

Oh it’s a number all right.

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

 

Cockle Warming Time!

Michael Leave a comment

There’s so much that today’s post could talk about – Winter Storm Jonas coverage is wrapping up, the Super Bowl stage is set, the NHL All Star Game is just a week away, we are approaching the RRSB’s 400th post, how to celebrate National Opposite Day –  but what we will talk about is something really important. Today is National Irish Coffee Day. (Those of you in other nations, feel free to consider yourselves one of us today.)

So, everybody, put down that morning coffee you have going and let’s re-start the day and do it up right. Brew up some good strong coffee and pour about six ounces into a warmed mug, add an ounce and half of Irish Whiskey and teaspoon of brown sugar, then float about an ounce of heavy cream on top. You have now made the classic Irish Coffee.

The origin of this cockle warmer is not quite so distinct as the main ingredient. Most barkeeps attribute it to Joseph Sheridan, an Irish restauranteur who “whipped up” a collar of whipped cream to top a hot coffee/whiskey combination for weary travelers arriving on a wet, cold, dreary night at his Limerick establishment. The story goes that someone asked if they were drinking Brazilian coffee to which Sheridan replied, “No, it’s Irish coffee.”

Now all that happened in 1942 but recipes for the drink have been traced to Irish High King Brian Boru who ruled from 997 to 1014.Since most people agree that coffee was not “discovered” until the 11th century and didn’t reach Europe until the 15th or 16th century, Brian might have had less to do with Irish coffee than some give him credit for.

In addition to Irish whiskey, people have been adding all sorts of adult beverages to coffee including Scotch whisky, rum, vodka, gin, tequila, and various liqueurs. There are variations of Martinis, Cosmopolitans, and Margaritas starring espresso and other bold coffee blends. Then there’s my personal favorite – Kentucky Coffee made with dark roast coffee, bourbon, and a splash of honey.

However you take your coffee, take it today with a healthy dose of whatever you have measured in “proof” and raise your mug to Misters Sheridan and Folger. Long may they weave!

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

Progress

Michael Leave a comment

Surely you must remember this scene from the movie The Money Pit. Tom Hanks returns to the house after the remodelers’ first day to holes dug in the yard, the building ravaged, and mounds of dirt, gravel, and debris. “Those guys were work animals!” says the foreman. Until a few months ago, I thought that was just a scene in a movie.

Down the road is a dead shopping center. It’s been closed for so long that all that was left were the parking lots and hard-scrabble surfaces where the buildings once stood. It was a flat, level plot of land, its only feature a sign declaring the property, all 21 acres, for sale. In fact, it had been sold and bought some years ago. The new owner leveled all of the former buildings and began awaiting the necessary permits. Finally the wait was over. Progress was about to ensue.

Some months ago work began. In came the heavy equipment and they dug some holes and made some piles. Those included mounds and mounds of dirt, gravel, and debris. Work animals they were. I noticed last week that the big machines were gone. The holes were filled I guess with what made up the mounds of dirt and gravel which were now also gone. It is a flat, level plot of land, its only feature is a sign declaring the property, all 21 acres, sold and now the future site of … a shopping center.

Progress is ensuing.

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

 

Now See This

Michael Leave a comment

We’ve made it through the first full week of the new year. Already I’ve come up with some observations.

Happy Trailers
The Oscar nominations come out later this week. Over the past several decades I have seen hundreds of movies. I think two of them have been Oscar winners. I guess my tastes don’t jive with the nominating committee. How do you decide what movie you want to see? If you’re like most of the world you let the trailers be your guide. The thing about trailers is that they are about as relevant to the movie as a cover blurb is to a book. They make everything sound exciting but they have little to do with the movie. Then you go see the movie and get disappointed. I say, stay with the fluff. If you go into it with no expectations you can’t be disappointed.

Snow Business
As I write this it is snowing. That shouldn’t be surprising considering how far north I am. But this year there hasn’t been any snow. Well, there has been very, extremely very, almost as verily very as you can get, very little snow this year.  Last month I spent a week in New Orleans, about 1,100 miles south of here and it was warmer here than there then. Some people might say that I should quit complaining and enjoy the unseasonal warmth, especially when you consider the harshness of last year’s winter. It’s just that I sort of like the snow. It makes it pretty out there.

Dance With Me
It’s time again for my state’s annual farm show and that means tractor square dancing. First you have to wrap your head around having a farm show in January where it’s usually so cold that I just questioned the lack of snow. I don’t know. I’ve lived in the city my whole life but they’ve been doing a winter farm show here for 100 years now and it seems to work for them. Anyway, it’s my one chance to get to see tractor square dancing on TV. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but watch it. (I even devoted an entire post to the phenomenon. See “Swing Your Partner” from Jan 22, 2015 for more. Go on. You know you want to.)

A Sticky Situation
I’m out of syrup. I finished it yesterday. That might not be a big deal to some people. Go to the store and get some more. Can’t do it. I have to admit, I’m a syrup snob. I have only had local syrup bought at a local maple festival for years. The first one of three nearby fests doesn’t happen until April 2. I suppose I have to do a search of farm stores and locally owned corner markets to find some. Don’t judge me. Some things are best when made closest to home. Maple syrup and wild flower honey are two.

Wise Guy
To add to my list of sayings I’d like to see hanging on my wall, as seen recently on a t-shirt (I told you it was warm here), “It’s Not Broken. It Just Needs Duct Tape.”

It’s going to be one of those years.

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

 

Counting It Down

Michael Leave a comment

To prepare for the new year, here is my countdown.

10. Next year, try something new. If you’re really ambitious you might want to try 12 somethings. It (or they) could be anything – try a food you never had, go dancing if you never had, go to a movie if you never had. See a baseball game, read a new author, go bowling. Twelve new things over the course of a whole year. That comes to just one a month. You can do it.

9. When you think of those you encountered this year, think of them kindly. Chances are you’re either going to run across them or at least think of them again next year. It’s so much nicer to remember good stuff.

8. It is never so bad that you can’t make it worse. Regular readers will remember that as one of the sayings I’d like to see on a wall plaque, t-shirt, screen saver, or anywhere I can see it on a daily basis. I may make this my mantra for 2016, reciting it upon waking every day to remind myself to not screw things up. Again.

7. Sing in the shower.

6. Be tolerant. Nobody is ever going to be exactly the person you want. On the other hand, you’re never going to be that person for anybody else.

5. Don’t compromise. When you compromise, everybody loses. Do collaborate. When you collaborate everybody gets in on the fun!

4. Pray, meditate, contemplate, reflect, wonder.

3. Sleep late sometime, lay there and enjoy not doing almost anything. Get up early sometime, lay there and enjoy getting ready to do almost anything.

2. Don’t wait for another New Year’s Eve to plan new resolutions. Resolve to be better more than once a year.

1.Have a Happy New Year all year long!

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