Tag Behavior

Pride Goeth Before Just About Everything – And With Good Reason

Michael 1 Comment

It was a while ago that I was on my way to an appointment and was there early. Very early. Most of the time I hit my appointments just about on time. This particular morning I was way off. I left too early, drove too fast, got no red lights, did who knows what but for some reason I was early with a capital ‘E.’ No problem. I’ll have breakfast.

I slipped into a hole in the wall diner and had a remarkably tasty omelet with chorizo, onions, jalapenos, tomatoes, salsa, and sour cream. This was after the waitress ran through the morning’s specials including a pancake special. I was told their pancakes are always special, so special that people come from all over for their pancakes. When I was finished and the waitress was clearing my place I mentioned that the omelet was very good, just as good as I’m sure the pancakes would have been. It was the salsa. The salsa was very good, very fresh, not too hot but authoritative enough to hold one’s attention. Oh yes, she agreed that it was good salsa. She went on to tell me that they sell it by the quart jar and, in fact, people come from all over for their salsa. As I was at the register paying my bill I noticed again that one of the specials was two eggs any style served over corned beef hash. I like corned beef hash and had I thought more of it when I ordered I would have taken advantage of that special. And I must have said that out loud because the lady running the cash register said that they make their own hash and I would have liked it. Everybody likes it. In fact, people come from all over for their hash.

Those were some people who were very sure of the products they were persuading the public to purchase. I‘m certain that had I brought it up I would have been assured that people come from all over for their oatmeal. Someday I’ll go back there for lunch and see what the world beats a path there for after 11. I’m sure that the lunch crowd comes from all over also.

That crowd might even be larger than usual. You see, when I got to my appointment two employees on the other side of the reception window were discussing lunch. I happened to mention the diner I had just come from and mentioned that they had a pretty good breakfast there and I bet lunch would be good also. They commented that they had indeed never been there; it looked too much like a hole in the wall for them to take a chance. Now that they heard good stuff about it, that might be where they end up when the lunch bell rings.

Contrast that with another day when I was sitting at a pizza parlor waiting for a calzone for my lunch of the day. A pleasant enough place with good enough food, good enough that when I feel the need for something that I would not ordinarily make for myself, like a calzone, I’ll let them make it for me. While I was waiting another diner walked in and asked if there were any lunch specials. The girl at the “Order Here!” corner of the counter looked up and said, “The specials are written on the window.”

You know, I bet I can find another pizza place that can make a good calzone.

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

Got Grammar

Michael Leave a comment

I was out shopping at a little neighborhood farm store; I picked up some $20.05 worth of meats, cheese, olives, and fish. I had no change so I gave the young lady manning (womanning?) the cash register a twenty dollar bill and a one dollar bill. She took them then stood there looking at me. I looked back at her and in time she said, “My bad. I was expecting a twenty and a five.” I don’t know why she was expecting anything in particular, as long as it added up to at least twenty dollars and five cents. But, I’ve reported on similar issues with money and people trying to figure out amounts due and to be returned without the aid of a computerized cash register. Or fingers and toes. (See “If You Give a Teen a Penny,” April 7, 2014.) But today’s post isn’t about calculating change or expecting bills. It’s a grammar rant.

It had been a while since I heard anybody other than a daytime TV talk show host utter “my bad.” I was hoping that was because it had finally worn its welcome and was relegated to the what-does-that-mean-anyway pile of bizarre phrases. It’s so bad it’s beyond bad. It should have been expected. Ever since “Got Milk” graced America’s roadside billboards, television screens, and magazine back covers we’ve pretty much given up on grammar.

I’m not trying to be the grammar police and I actually thought Got Milk was a pretty nifty advertising slogan. It was just odd enough to be memorable without being irritating. The same can’t be said for some of its spawn. It seemed shortly after the first milk mustachioed model hit the commercials we were “Gotting” everything from “Got Cookies” to “Got Religion.”

I don’t suppose your old fifth grade English teacher will come out of retirement to correct our slips down the ungrammatical slope. Many things we were taught not to do like begin a sentence with a conjunction or end it with a participle aren’t real rules anyway. If you don’t believe me, take a real good look at your Chicago Manual of Style. Ain’t nothing in there about that. And more than likely most of what actually gets published is far from perfect composition, but it is right around the corner of your average vernacular.

Still, some things really need to stop being uttered in public. “My bad” tops that list. In fact, it tops the list of things that shouldn’t be uttered in private. And definitely never uttered in stores by cashiers trying to calculate change without the aid of a calculator.

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

When Did…

Michael Leave a comment

I seemed to have missed it again. In my youth, when we would cook dinner on the grill outside and eat at the old wood table off paper plates with the wind blowing napkins and cups, it was called a cook-out. Usually it was on a Sunday in the summer and something was put over charcoal but most of the food came from the kitchen like any other Sunday and it was still a cook-out.  I haven’t heard that phrase for years. Those under 30 years old or so may not even recognize it. We don’t have cook-outs today. Today we grill. One day we are having a cook-out, the next we are grilling. I completely missed that transition.

Well, as I started out, I seemed to have missed it again. When did emoticons become emoji? (I’m still not sure if that is a singular as in one emoji, the plural of more than a singular emojum, or both like fish or deer.) To be perfectly honest, I’m not certain that I can even point to when emoticons became emoticons and not just “those little smiley thingies.” And who came up with them? And how? Let’s face it, it’s not natural to be typing along and all of a sudden decide to turn your “page” 90 degrees and plop in a couple of symbols you can only tell what they are if your head is on sideways. Or if you’re that guy on Law and Order who is always checking out the evidence that nobody else has noticed with his head at that weird angle.

I thought it was perfectly clever when somebody decided that one could approximate a smiley face with a colon and a right parenthesis (parentheses?) (One of them is right, err correct, in that it’s only one of them but I don’t know which. If you do, feel free to fix it if it so needs fixed.) From there it was a quick step to frownie faces, kissing faces, grinning faces, hearts, flowers, and any number of things to personalize an otherwise impersonal e-mail or (shudder) instant message. There are even translators available so you can pick the perfect accompaniment to your formerly plain text.

Today, those cute little combinations of all those symbols we rarely use have morphed into miniature signage that rivals international travel iconography. Personally, I miss the old-fashion smiley face, but what would you expect from an old fogey like me.  If you’ll excuse me, I have a cook-out to plan for dinner. I know I have some hot dogs in the fridge somewhere.  🙂

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

Let Me Sleep on That

Michael Leave a comment

I had a great idea for a blog post. Unfortunately, I had it while I was asleep. Maybe “great idea” isn’t quite the right way to put that. Everything I post is real, hence the title “The Real Reality Show Blog.” This is really real. But not everything is blogworthy. (By the way, did you know that “blogworthy” passes the spell-check test? That could be blogworthy in itself.) And not everything that is blogworthy lends itself to a blog. But enough times, something happens that makes a great post. And then something happens to actually make me able to write about it.

Sometimes that something is a bit of work. I mull it over, run it through my brain, try out a phrase or two, and somehow remember it when I sit down in front of the computer where it can fall out of my head through my fingers onto the screen. One of those times was sometime last week. It was a great idea and it just about wrote itself completely in my head. Had I had a computer in front of me I could have walked away with a completed post in just a few minutes. But what I had in front of me was a pair of closed eyelids. And behind them was what turned out to be a faulty memory.

I have absolutely no idea what I was thinking or dreaming or meditating or whatever it is one does on the edge of sleep. All I remember is that I woke up thinking “that would be a great blog!” I just had no idea what “that” was.

Some people can remember every little thing they dream. They’re probably the same persons who know everything that is in their refrigerators. They can relate them at lunch to everybody at the office in excruciating detail.  (That would be their dreams, not their refrigerator contents but probably those, too.) On particularly good days they even come with critiques of the main characters in their mental movies. I can do that only if I have a particularly spicy enchilada with multiple beers after 9pm. Then I either wake up remembering my dreams or remembering an actual altercation in the parking lot between my untied shoe and a telephone pole. Neither makes for a great idea for a blog post although the shoe lace bear some promise.

So whatever it was it isn’t going to be. And instead of a great blog post, you get this. Sorry.

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

Forget About It

Michael Leave a comment

I cleaned out my desk last week. Not the one at work. That one was cleaned out last summer on my last day. Not the one in my home office. That one was cleaned out of anything of value years ago and the whole room took on more of a storage quality. Well, that sounds too neat. It sort of became a junk drawer with expandable walls. No, the one I cleaned out was the one I use almost every day. It’s the spot where bills are paid, receipts are kept, coupons are sorted, and important papers are stored. After almost thirty years I figured it was time to do some thinning.

Geez, you should have seen the stuff I dug out of those drawers. If they could only talk maybe they’d tell me what I was doing with some of that. There was once a time when I spoke at a lot of conferences and that time reached back to before we put our slide shows on a flash drive and used real slides. For some reason I decided to keep those slides but couldn’t imagine what that reason was. Out they went. Over the years the bank I deal with has been bought, sold, and/or changed names. Several times. Lots of several times. And each time they felt it necessary to change account numbers and thus change checks. And I found all the old checks. Not cancelled ones to prove when I paid for the coffee grinder so I could take advantage of the 90 day warranty. These were the unused leftover checks the bank said not to use after some specific date usually 2 or 3 days before the letter from them was received. I couldn’t recall any good reason why I would have kept checks just as useless as if there was no money in the bank. To the shredder they went. I also uncovered eight (yes, 8) pages of return address labels, 200 labels per sheet, each page with 4 to 6 labels used and the other 190-some waiting patiently to be stuck on an envelope. That was over 1500 return labels. Apparently I paid my monthly bills, did not remember that I had labels somewhere, and printed another page. Several pages found themselves on the inside of the recycle bin.

But the point of today’s post isn’t pre-hoarding proclivities I may be demonstrating. It’s the tale of a specific piece of paper, a single page of a simple form to reclaim lost money. In our state, any sort of property held by an institution in a person’s name is turned over to the state treasury if said person has forgotten about said property. Before it becomes part of the general fund and disappears forever into the current year’s pool for graft, the state conducts a search for the rightful owner. Quite some few years ago I was the rightful owner of an account forgotten at a credit union. Amazingly, years’ worth of fees had not depleted the balance to nothing and there was still money to be reclaimed.

Reclaiming it was easy. All one had to do was prove one was the one being sought and one owned that which was the reason for the seeking. Easy enough, a state issued ID such as a driver’s license is sufficient to prove who I was, or am.  And a copy of a statement from the credit union showing my name and address was sufficient to prove ownership. Hmm, now I began to remember why I had forgotten about this form those many years ago. I actually had a statement from the credit union even though it has been many, many years since I had dealt with them. But that statement had an address three addresses old. According to the nice lady who answered the phone at the state treasury it is a simple process to prove I am that person who lived at the address three addresses ago. Just provide copies of the change of address requests for each change from that address to the one on my current ID.

So in order to get my own money back from the state I have to prove that I once held an account that I completely forgot about when I was living somewhere else in a different century.  I think I just might have remembered why I never finished that form.

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

T(-Shirt) is for Thinking

Michael 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weight Not, Want Not

Michael Leave a comment

Three years ago I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “you have got to lose some weight!” I was easily 50 pounds overweight. I not only was putting on pounds, I was losing height. The inches I lost going up and down found their way to my middle and went round and round. I recall when I was told I had to start getting in shape my stock answer was “round is a shape!” But truth be told, I felt pretty bad. I was always short of breath, I took elevators to go one floor (down, even), and my favorite place to go was the airport because there were people movers all over. If I had to walk all that way on my own I’d just sit and wait a while and eventually my breathing and heart rate would get back close to normal.

I was certain I could lose weight. I watched TV. I saw the ads for pills, exercise CDs, diet books, and portable gym equipment. In just 3 weeks, 6 weeks, 30 days, or 90 days I too could lose inches and pounds. I was ready to take all the “before” pictures if I could just bend over far enough to get the camera case off the floor. And if pills, exercise, and diet didn’t work – or didn’t get started – I had a secret weapon. I would monitor my portions and eat less. And I did. I only had one rack of ribs for dinner, half a chicken at one meal, only two appetizers even if the special was for three, and I always shared dessert. I rarely had soft drinks unless they were mixed with bourbon and I even started drinking light beer for a little while. Even with all that, I still didn’t lose weight. In fact, I gained! By the time that year was over I was exactly 100 pounds heavier than what the height/weight charts said I should have weighed.

Two years ago I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “this would be a whole lot easier if I wasn’t so fat.” The surgeon agreed with me but said I really needed to do this. So during the procedure to remove the cancer, all or part of a couple organs were removed. And finally I lost some weight. Since then I’ve had three more surgeries, five more hospitalizations, several outpatient procedures, and quite a bit more weight loss.

I am 90 pounds lighter than I was three years ago, only 10 pounds away from a goal I would have otherwise been proud to have reached. I still get short of breath and I still take elevators for just one floor. That’s because I can’t walk a flight of steps without becoming over-exerted. I’d like to take an “after” picture but when I get down to the floor I have to have somebody help me back up. Eventually the stamina will return, the flexibility will come back, and those last 10 pounds will disappear.

All I have to do is sit around and wait a while.

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

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

Michael Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If Only Restaurants Did Outpatient Surgery

Michael Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drive-In Theaters and the Batteries That Died There

Michael Leave a comment

I was reading the movie listings in the paper and noticed that drive-ins are making a comeback. At least here they are. Sort of. A quick check of the papers and Internet reveals there are about a dozen drive-in theaters within 20 miles of where I live. When I was a just a kid, there were 40 within 10 miles, but that was a different time.

Drive-ins were, still are, an experience. IMAX theaters notwithstanding, drive-in screens are huge! They have to be to be seen from the last row. Drive-in concession stands are cool! Oh sure, you can get burgers and pizza at some of the bigger indoor theaters now but for years, the only real food at the movies was at the concrete bomb shelter that doubled as the drive-in concession stand. And you still only find the more carnival like snacks like cotton candy, snow cones, and funnel cakes at the outdoor theaters.  Drive-ins are anything but boring! You can talk, text, chomp, snuggle, kiss, sing along with the soundtrack, and play “what movie did we see her in last year?” all that you want to without antagonizing those sitting behind you.

As much as it sounds like I have a real vested interest in them, I never went to many drive-ins.  Even though I grew up within a mile of two theaters, we weren’t big drive-in people. I could have walked to them but that would be a whole different post. By the time I was old enough to drive to them, drive-ins were starting on their decline. Indoor theaters were by and large still single screens and got all of the first run movies. The outdoor venues were home to last year’s big, and not so big, hits. In efforts to make them seem more “hi tech” (for those days), sound was piped over a radio frequency replacing the old speaker boxes that you hung on your window. That meant leaving your car in the “accessory” mode risking a dead battery, particularly in the kind of cars we were apt to be driving. If you were in the back row where nobody behind you would be poisoned by your exhaust fumes, you could leave your car running but then risk running out of gas before the double feature ended. Girls never believed you didn’t plan in that way.

Today some of those old relics of outdoor fun are being refurbished and re-opened. They will never approach their peak of the late fifties when over 4,000 drive-in theaters played to families across the USA.  Now there are just over 400 theaters with 600-some screens showing movies in America.

The only problem I see with drive-ins is that they don’t start the movie until dusk. In the summer months, that’s past my bedtime!

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