Tag Fun

Making the Case for Glitter Free Decorating

Michael 1 Comment

You all know I am just out of the hospital a few days now. I was out only a few hours when I discovered that my fingertips shimmered in the dark. No, it wasn’t some reaction to a drug I was given. It wasn’t a remnant of some procedure done. No, it was glitter. Glitter. That shimmery, flaky stuff that adorns cards, bows, wreaths, probably even some brands of toothpaste for all I know. Oh how I hate glitter.

While protected under the blanket of sterility and cleanliness of the hospital I was able to enjoy a couple of weeks knowing my immediate environs were blissfully glitter-free. Then I got better. I was released to the world overrun with those sparkly specks. Oh how I hate glitter.

Why do I so hate glitter? First consider that I too recognize the prettiness of light twinkling from multiple surfaces. I just wish one of those surfaces wasn’t me! Once I come into contact with glitter it is with me forever. I can’t wipe it off. I can’t blow it off. It doesn’t wash off, scrape off, or soak off. It doesn’t even loofah off. Glitter on me is like iron filings on a magnet.

I think we need to establish some glitter rules. First, no surprise glitter. If I see a glitter gilded wreath on a door I will gladly climb through a window to get into that house. But if you send me a glittery card in a plain, white envelope – that’s just not fair. Second, manufacturers of shiny objects must identify the presence and level of glitter used in the making of said sheen. And third, stores, particularly card and home good shops, must provide a glitter free zone for glitter magnetic consumers.

I’m sure working together we can have a glitter free society where sparkly prettiness and good mental health can coexist.

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

Shower Power

Michael Leave a comment

Yesterday I had more fun naked than I’ve had in years. I took a shower. Talk about good, clean fun!

To many of us, pretending to be the recipient of an automatic car wash might not seem to be epitome of carnal satisfaction. But I had just been released from an 8 day stay at one of the cleanest places on Earth, a hospital. And boy did I feel grungy.

I am not at all unfamiliar with America’s health care system. For almost 40 years it provided me my pocket change as I toiled on the provider side and for almost 4 years it provided me a place to hang out and spend said hard-earn pockrt change on the patient side. I am very aware, and very appreciated of the advances it has made. Technically, that is. Humanly, maybe not so much. Consider the following.

With modern imaging they can see tiny slivers of our insides down to the 32nd of an inch in detail almost better than lifelike. They can see with sound. My surgeon worked to delicately open my abdominal cavity, clean and repair the offending parts, and then put me back together using a camera through a couple of holes not much bigger than one made by a flu shot needle. Yet when all of that was done I was left to recover in a room with a TV the quality almost as good as a 1960 portable set with rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil. (Ask your granfather. He’ll explain.)

I was attached with the necessary wiring so my pulse, heart beat, breathing, and temperature could be monitored from a station 80 feet away. But the aforementioned television was controlled by a remote that contained only Power, Volume Up/Down, and Channel Up/Down buttons. This in a housing that also held the Nurse Call button and, for some reason, a button to set the room lights to three different brightness levels. All that looked much too alike.

And of course, unlike even the smallest movement towards improvement the silly remote has provided to the patient since I started my career those years ago, the one thing that hasn’t changed at all is the hospital gown. The famous see-through garment with non-sleeves that nobody can get their arms into, a neck fastener reminiscent of a backward bow tie, and all in an indecent package that only makes it 80% of the way around your body. And of course the remaining 20% is not on the side.

Yet given all this, on my return I was not overcome with the urge to finger my high tech remote, triggering the high def TV and the surround sound, grateful for work done to keep me going for another 4 to 40 years. It was to strip off those clothes that completely covered me and bask in joy of hundreds of gallon of hot water pouring over me, drenching every pore, soaking every personal nook and cranny. Thank all that is holy that one imorovement we’ve never had to endure is the restorative power of water.

It was enough to make me want a cigarette.

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

Visions of Fall

Michael 1 Comment

Each season has its own personality, its own identity, its own character. Fall is inexorably marked by the colors of the leaves, the aroma of burning logs in backyards and fireplaces, the promise of family gatherings, and the growing piles of laundry that threaten to lay ruin to your detergent budget.

It’s almost cruel that a single autumnal wash load comes close to equally all of summer’s dirty clothes. Think about it. Summer’s wardrobe is all the same fabric, all the same color, and in smaller pieces. Whites, pastels, t-shirts, shorts. If it wasn’t for sheets and towels I could probably go through an entire summer month on a single large load.

But fall, fall starts out ok. You trade in the shorts for khaki slacks, t-shirts for golf shirts, and you add socks to the mix. But in a couple of weeks you’re in to long sleeve shirts, polos, and jeans. Another week goes by and now you start layering. In one day between undershirt, shirt, sweatshirt, and hoodie you’ve worn – and dirtied – what would take almost a full week just 3 months ago. And all the different fabrics and colors. Everyone has to be checked for what can be washed with what at what temperatures in which cycles. It’s enough to make you breathe a sigh of relief when you find a care tag suggesting not to be machine washed.

And it’s not just the volume of laundry that torments your sanity. It’s the additional danger the fall wardrobe poses to your health and safety. Long sleeves and trouser legs get wrapped around the agitator causing you to wrench your back or possibly dislocate your shoulder trying to extract them from the machine. (And you wonder why they named that part an agitator!) Socks that are optional equipment in the summertime become entangled in other laundry pieces from the time you toss them into the hamper until you’re returning to the dresser. The only thing lost more regularly in laundry rooms is your temper when you realize you missed the beginning of the rinse cycle and your last opportunity to add fabric softener to the mix (an essential component to minimizing the chafing you’ll certainly encounter when untreated broadcloth rubs across the back of your neck).

But I digress. I was talking about the visions of fall and breathing in the sweet smell of burning logs while walking along the lane wrapped up in a warm, snuggly sweater. I hope it’s Dry Clean Only.

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

 

 

What I Did On Election Day

Michael 1 Comment

I don’t know about you but I had a very full day this past Tuesday. And the high point was not the 105 minutes that I stood in line outside the polls waiting for my turn to spend 35 seconds in the voting booth. It sort of reminded me of having an EKG done. But that’s a different story.

My Election Day activities actually began Monday evening when a knock came upon my door. About the only people who knock on my door are relatives and the UPS driver. I knew it wasn’t UPS because when he comes a-knockin’ I’ll hear the truck rumbling outside my window then the THUD of the package and the single rap that follows. And it wasn’t a relative because any of them won’t wait to be received but will knock and then enter on their own. Since this was a “knock, knock” without an accompanying THUD or a subsequent “Hello!” it meant I was going to have to climb out of the recliner where I had just settled in with a much read 38 year old Lawrence Sanders novel.

Upon making my way across the room and opening the door I saw there the rather confused looking yet still earnest looking young man who asked if he might speak to Rosemary. I was tempted to fetch him my terra cotta bound woody herb but even with just those few moments to rush to judgement I decided he wouldn’t get it. So I said, “I’m sorry, there is no Rosemary here,” resisting the temptation to slam the door shut as I returned to Mr. Todd’s ongoing investigation.

Tuesday morning I was up early, showered, shaved, breakfasted on eggs, sausage, muffin, juice and coffee, and set off to do my patriotic duty. The large breakfast was because I figured it was going to be a bit of a wait so I wanted to be properly fortified; the shower and shave was because you never know who you might meet wherever crowds gather. I had gotten as far as the outside of my front door when I was met with my first head-scratcher. A note. A sticky note. A sticky note stuck to the outside of my front door that read, “Rosemary, Stopped by to remind you to get out and vote!” I was certain the young chap meant to conclude with “XOXO” but ran out of crayon.

With those thoughts pushed deep into the darkest corner of my mind I drove the few miles down the road to where two of my municipality’s 12 districts share a building. The building’s south entrance, where residents of District 7 go to vote, had about 12 people waiting visible through the glass doors. I could tell because I saw them after I found the end of the line of District 9 voters stretching from the building’s north entrance, across a portico, though a tree-lined courtyard with some tenaciously holding onto quite a few leaves (trees, not voters), and along the overflowing parking lot. And there I joined the mini-throng where people wondered out loud how far they would have to move in order to get to vote with District 7.voted

To make a long story short I should have stopped about 350 words ago. But since I’ve gotten you to read this far, let me continue.

While there in line I got to hear how to mark fabric for cutting out a pattern when you have no tailor’s chalk, the shortcomings of Candy Crush versus Bejeweled, why 12 year olds can’t vote, that yes this is the same polling place for District 9 as it has been for at least 12 years, why if banks can take your money at any branch you can’t go to vote at any poll, and who are all these other people (that one by the obviously clueless but much too old looking to be a first time voter upon seeing the complete sample ballot indicating all of the candidates in all of the day’s races at the building entrance).

From there it was only another 15 minutes or so until I was through the rest of the line and being ushered to a machine where I was left to make my selections. In all of the day’s races. I was on my way to the exit doors when a poll worker stopped me and said he had run out of “I VOTED!” stickers but if I’d wait he would only be a few minutes while he went to get more from his supply across the room. “No thank you,” I told him. “If I really need to prove I voted I’m sure my new nervous twitch due to the muscle memory of trying to fight the urge not to push the “Cast Your Vote” button will convince just about anybody that I did what I had to do to get my free cup of coffee.”

And then I went home and had some coffee. With just a wee bit of bourbon to sweeten the brew!

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

 

The Road Un-Traveled

Michael Leave a comment

Boy the United States is a big place. I realized that when it hit me that the farthest I have ever traveled to get somewhere didn’t even get me out of the country. In fact, I had traveled farther more times when I hadn’t left the country than when I had gotten outside its borders. That’s a big place.

Becauseworld I have that kind of time, I took a few minutes over the weekend to figure this out. The greatest distance I’ve traveled from home to somewhere is a few miles over 2,500. That didn’t even get me completely across the country

I’m not complaining about any of this. I think Americans sometimes forget how close other countries can be to each other and how much of a challenge that might sometimes be. We can go pretty far and still be in a part of the  world where people speak the same language, eat the same food, and respect the same routines. We may have come from different places but we have a sameness that is quite comforting. If you live in the middle of the United States you have a long way to go before you leave home. But if you live in the middle of Europe, you’re never more than a day away from a different world, often from several different worlds.

Sometimes I envy a European version of me who can step across borders and immerse himself in other cultures as easily as I travel from state to state seeing few changes other than the colors of the license plates. While we take pride in our backgrounds and traditions it’s very likely the customs we observe in our families and friends may be our only exposure to different cultures. From generation to generation our ways of life mingle and meld becoming even less different. Other times I recognize how wonderful it is that I can sample fairly authentic foods and dances, customs and costumes of so many nationalities just by visiting nearby nationality days celebrations.

Yep, the US is a big place. It’s not the only one of course. Canada, Russia, China, India, Australia, and Brazil are all big with lots of space from end to end. Iceland isn’t so big but it’s so isolated that it’s still a trip to get anywhere else. And then Greenland is big and isolated.

I suppose this like many other things in my life if I could change I probably wouldn’t. I may not get to see a different country every time I want to take a trip somewhere but then I haven’t had to add any pages to my passport.

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

 

Falling in Line

Michael Leave a comment

It’s officially fall in my living room. I have the previously posted about fall peanut butter cups (see “Caution, Fall(ing) Pumpkin Ahead,” Aug. 29, 2016) and pumpkin spice Hershey’s Kisses (which in two years I’ve neither previously seen or really even wanted) spilling out of their candy dishes.  It won’t be much longer before I’ll start seeing the Fall Fifteen around my midsection. Certainly you’re familiar with the Fall Fifteen – every bit if not much immutable as the Freshman Fifteen yet not restricted to young college goers.

It’s no wonder that by the last week of December so many around the world consider “lose weight” a leading New Year’s Resolution candidate. We’re just barely into fall, not even to October, and cooking magazines, Internet sites, and television shows are expounding on fall 20160928_193516flavors, all of which come in hearty (aka “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing”) stews, soups, and sandwiches. From classic cassoulet to common casseroles, from homey hashes to homemade pot pies, calories are on the menu!

Just a week ago I was grilling salmon with peach salsa and roasted corn with fresh fruit for dessert and yesterday I was roasting a whole chicken with potatoes and beans, followed by a maple, brown sugar, spice cake with butter cream icing for dessert. That would make it about 150 calories versus 8,574. (I made those numbers up. You may recall just a few weeks ago I listed calories among those things I just don’t know. See “I Didn’t Know That,” Sept. 12, 2016.)

Often people will justify that by saying, “But winter’s coming. You have to prepare for it.” What are we, polar bears? The only prep we need to do is making sure the car has enough gas to get to the megamart. Well, and that we are appropriately attired for the weather, whether it’s weather out there or not. (See “Winter Rules,” Feb. 17, 2014.) But if that’s what it takes to get you to justify all the yummy soups, stews, casseroles, and roasted beasts, I say go for it.

As for me, I’ll just enjoy the extra calories and won’t even fret about putting “Lose Weight” on a New Year’s or any other resolution list. In fact, I resolve to enjoy all things fall. However, I do reserve the right to try the pumpkin spice kisses first.

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

 

Trust Me

Michael Leave a comment

Tonight, across America, viewers will be avoiding the season’s most unrequested multi-station premier of the new situation comedy, the U.S. Presidential Election Debate. Like all good comedies the magic starts with the scripts. Since this show was written primarily in Politispeak, the RRSB is thrilled to present to you this Politispeak-English dictionary. You may find it also handy for everyday use particularly if your day involves interactions with bosses, workers, children, parents, friends, siblings, enemies, or aliens (legal, illegal, or extraterrestrial).

 

We begin with some key phrases.

Connect the dots – I have no idea how these things go together but I’m pretty sure they are right, good, or otherwise suitable to whomever I am speaking so let’s go for broke and put all our eggs in one basket.

Hard work pays off -or- It takes hard work to get the job done – You do the work, I take the credit and/or reward, preferably monetary.

I approve this message – Although there is little if any truth in this message, my legal team tells me that there is little to nothing that anyone can prove is at all to completely untruthful.

I got your back – You really are gullible.

In all honesty – I have no idea what I’m talking about

No offense intended – You suck

People are our most important asset – People who agree with me are sort of tolerable; people who disagree with me are scum.

Together we can make a difference – I need your vote/approval to accomplish my personal goal. If you happen to get anything out of it, isn’t that a happy accident?

Trust me – Yeah, right.

What you think matters or Your opinion is important to me – You’re kidding me, right?

With all respect -Boy, you really suck!

With great power comes great responsibility – with great power come large book deals and obscenely high speaking fees.

 

In addition to key phrases, professional misleaders also rely on certain words to confuse, confound, or bewilder the listener.

Actually – “I haven’t given it any thought.” When a speaker uses “Actually” as in “this is actually what writers of the Constitution intended,” they are really saying “My advisers/handlers/trainers told me that this would be a good place to interject something thought provoking but I haven’t given it any thought myself.”  Everyday users probably recognize this as a common phrase uttered by spouses, partners, or persons otherwise of interest to yourself as in “That’s actually a good idea.”

But – Everything before the “But” is bullshit. Examples include, “You are the most wonderful person I have ever met, but I think it’s best if we never see each other again.”

Honestly – In its most basic meaning, everything after “Honestly” is bullshit as in “Honestly, I value your opinion.” Occasionally “But” and “Honestly” will be used together to create a compound incredulity. Thus, “I have the greatest respect for you but honestly I feel we need to explore this idea a little deeper” translates to “You suck and your idea does too.”

Really – When used to indicate degree of something positive as “I had a really good time,” the speaker means the opposite. To imply a good time was had, the correct phrase would be, “I had a good time.” Likewise, in Politispeak, “Really” interjected into an otherwise positive phrase such as, “I am really the best option,” means, “I question my own press releases.” Note that “Really” interjected in negative phrases can be successfully removed from the phrase without changing its meaning. “You really suck,” generally translates to “You suck.”

Seriously – When used as an adjective it means the opposite of what is being modified. For example, “This is a seriously important issue,” means “This has no bearing on life as we know it.” You may be more familiar with “this is seriously good coffee,” meaning “this coffee tastes like brown toilet water.” When used as an introduction, “Seriously“, connotes a desire for the listener to consider the speaker as a personal friend of the listener as, “Seriously, you can count on me.”

 

There you have it – the official, first ever Politispeak-English Dictionary. This is seriously the most fun I’ve had writing a post. I have researched this topic thoroughly but I’m sure there are some words or phrases I have left out. In all honesty, I value your opinion, so if you think of any really fabulous examples, add them in the comments section.  Actually I know our hard work will pay off and people will soon be able to completely understand what others are saying. Honestly, I look forward to continuing this discussion. Together we can make a difference. Trust me.

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

 

Pressing My Luck

Michael 1 Comment

Today marks the first day of autumn and the transition from those lazy, hazy days into the dark, blustery days. It’s a day to reflect on what I didn’t do on my summer vacation. I’ll warn you right now this post is just a tad long, but I think you’ll find it fun and interesting.

For the purposes of this discussion, the vacation season began on the unofficial beginning of summer in May sometime during the Memorial Day weekend and not the actual but much too late first day of astrological summer in June or the anticipatory but much too early first day of astrological spring in March.

Actually, for me, every day is a vacation. I have no urgencies in life nor engagements to keep but those imposed upon me by me. The list of things urgent or imposing this summer was pretty short. One thing both of those was wear long, adult-style pants. And save for a few hours in June, I didn’t wear long pants for the entire summer. It was a great summer to let your legs hang out. A pair of shorts, a golf shirt, some comfy footwear, and I was living the great outdoors. Adding to the comfiness of my summer attire comfy, it was iron-free.

I mentioned there were a few hours that I had to dress like an adult. As much fun as I had hanging out at the pool, using much less sunscreen that I really should have, there were a few hours in June that required a traditional shirt, tie, jacket, long pants, and uncomfy footwear. No, it wasn’t a wedding. It wasn’t a graduation. It wasn’t a life-event celebration of epic proportions. It wasn’t even a night of champagne, caviar, and cocktails at a mid-summer gala. Nope, none of those. For a few hours in June I dressed and acted like an adult in order to witness two evenings of my state’s daily lottery drawing.

You’ve probably seen them or something like them. Three or four machines blow some bingo balls around and then a vacuum cleaner sucks up a few numbered balls and somebody becomes rich. All in 35 seconds of bingo ball madness. You’ve probably never wondered if somebody is watching what’s going on there. Somebody at the state lottery office did more than wonder and required that each drawing be witnessed by a member of the public. That’s why they do it. Why I wanted to was because it seemed fun and interesting.

The 35 seconds of the actual drawing probably don’t need a “member of the public” witness. In my state each drawing is conducted under the eyes of two on-site lottery officials, two on-site auditors, two cameramen (camerapeople?), one floor director, one off-site lottery official, one announcer, one off-site auditor, and the two (yes, two) “public” witnesses. In addition, each ball is tagged with a RFID chip read by a sensor as it passes through the capture tube and transmits its ID number to a computer receiver. That confirms the number you see on TV is actually the number that got sucked out of the pack. And all that is just for those 35 seconds.

But the actually witnessing started a couple of hours before those frantic on-air seconds. It took three different people to disengage the alarm and unlock the room and cabinets where the machines and balls are kept at the television station where the drawing was held. Once inside, the witnesses select the machine that will be used for each game and the ball set that will be placed into the machine. One lottery official verifies the weights of the balls and the operation of the machines. Another official places the selected ball set into the chosen machine for a particular game. On the first night that I witnessed, six games requiring six machines and 16 separate ball sets were scheduled. Six machines out of a possible 12 were selected for the four daily number games and 14 sets of 10 balls each were picked from 30 possible locked sets. Four two additional games two machines out of a possible 8 and two different sets of balls (one of 42 and one of 47) were chosen from 6 possible sets of each. All of the ball sets were confirmed to be complete and properly weighted. Each chosen machine was loaded and confirmed intact. Then all the machines were moved from the storage room to the studio by lottery and studio employees under the eyes of the auditors and witnesses. And under the eyes of at least a dozen security cameras that I was able to spot plus who knows how many other.

Once in the studio each game was simulated three times to confirm proper operation and allowed the auditors to confirm that all drawn numbers were within appropriate randomness limits. Then a rehearsal was held, the 35 frantic seconds played out, a final round confirming each machine’s operation run through, the machines locked, returned to the storage room, and the sequence reversed where the machines were emptied and put into their places, the removed balls were re-weighed, reset in their cases and lock away and the three people locked the various cabinets and doors, and the alarm was reset.

Twenty-one hours later I returned to the studio for day two of my witnessing obligation which was more of the same except that there was one less game and thus one less machine and one less set of drawing balls required.

Because on one of those days I would appear on camera I had to be dressed at least a little less like Ernest Hemingway on Key West. And because the TV station where all this was taking place is about 200 miles from home, those clothes made the trip in a suitcase. So wouldn’t you know it, the only times I had to not only be in long pants and a real shirt I also had to iron them.

It was still fun and interesting.

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

 

5-1/2 Reasons that Numbers are Better than Letters

Michael Leave a comment

Do you remember the Top 40 Countdown? Do they still have a Top 40 Countdown? Who decided on 40? Why not 50? Was it perhaps a conscious attack on the Top Ten? We all have some fascination with numbers. Sometimes that fascination becomes an obsession, sometimes a compulsion, and sometimes a headline writer’s dream.

I noticed something the other day while perusing the headlines on a national news web-site. Once I got past the REALLY BIG BANNERS IN LARGE, BOLD FONTS, about half of the headlines were counting something.  22 Terrible Songs by Terrific Artists, 5 Hottest New TV Shows, 7 Things that Trigger Alzheimer’s. Again, once you get past the REALLY BIG stories, these are the articles that get mouses clicking. Why is that?

I proposed these reasons why we are fascinated with numbers.

1. Numbers are universal. There is no question that numbers are everywhere. And wherever they are, they are almost always the same. “Five” might be “five,” “cinco,” “cinq,” “cinque,” “fimm,” “viisi,” “besh,” or “ezinhlanu,” but “5” is just plain “5.”

2.  Numbers are easier to read than letters. Until they get really, really big, like 1,817,654,427,003 your brain sees, reads, identifies, and processes “117” much faster “one hundred, seventeen.”

3.  Numbers play favorites. Go ahead, ask someone what his or her favorite number is and you will certainly get an answer. Favorite numbers end up in passwords, on security keypads, on roulette tables, and being played in the daily lottery drawing. Ask someone what his or her favorite letter is and you will get a blank stare.

4.  Numbers are memorable. Spirit of 76, Apollo 13, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. All you have to do is think of the number portion and right away you know the significance of what you’re seeing. That’s why ATMs use PINs, not PILs.

5.  Numbers are pleasing to the eye. Seriously, numbers are attractive little devils. Rattle off 36-24-36 and everybody knows exactly what picture to paint in your imagination.

5-1/2. Sorry, there is no 5-1/2 but it sure did make the title of this post more memorable, didn’t it?

Numbers. As the Science Officer aboard NCC-1701 would say, “Fascinating.”

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

I Didn’t Know That (Ooops, corrected copy)

Michael 1 Comment

I recall a time when a graduate student would say something and by gosh, that was the way it was. It was sort of like the 1970s (ugh) equivalent of the Internet. You know darn well that 99.9% of what is on it would be disallowed in a court of law as hearsay, unfounded, or speculative, yet there is that part of you that is sure if you read it there, just as we used to be sure if we heard it from them, then it must be true.

There is no end to the things that I am sure are true. Well, that’s probably a bit overstated. I’m sure there is some end but I figure my end is closer than that end so to me it’s all endless. However, there are still some things that I don’t know that I want to add to the things that are true before one of those ends shows up around the bend.

For example, I know exactly where dust comes from. (If you don’t, don’t look it up, it’s disgusting! Ok, I’ll tell you. It’s mostly sloughed off skin. Yuck.) But I have no idea how I get dust inside a closed cabinet. Is that where the kitchen fairies who clean up the messes and put the dishes away hang out and let their skin hang out with them. If so, why are they just hanging out in my drawers and cabinets and not wiping the kitchen experiments gone awry off the counters and walls.

Another thing I can’t figure out is radio. I’m an educated person, a science educated person, who actually understands (and can spell) gluconeogenesis. I understand the theory of radio waves and how transmitters excite the air and receivers replicate the original wave patterns. But I have no idea how they know which is which. They say (“They” being the grad students of the 70s from whom I first heard this and “They” also being the Internet of the new millennium where I confirmed this just yesterday) that radio waves never stop. Whatever has been still is. So if everything ever transmitted – radio, television, cell phones, CB radios, walkie talkies, blue tooth, satellite radio, GPS, and the thousands of other things that I’ve forgotten or never knew about – is still floating around out there, how does my car always know what station to pluck out of the air for me? Personally, I think it’s magic.

They (there go them again) claim that it takes more calories to eat celery than celery contains making it a true negative calorie food. Assuming that you consider celery food. I’ll buy that because I can read how many calories celery contains (6 calories per stalk according to some sources) and how many calories it takes to chew, swallow, digest, and -ummm- eliminate celery (8 calories based on a University of Warwick study when extrapolated per stalk). I even know what a calorie is. That is, the energy needed to raise one gram of water one degree centigrade. And I know that the US FDA wants to require that calorie content of food be included in labeling, menus, even on vending machines. What I have no idea of is how you figure out how many calories a food has. Does burning that one stalk of celery raise one gram of water by six degrees? Or to make it more easily measured would you burn 1,440 stalks of celery to attempt to raise the temperature of one cup of water 240 degrees? And how would you even do that with a Quarter Pounder with Cheese or an Extra Crispy Chicken Little Sandwich, or a pack of Grandma’s Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies (the vending pack)?

So, in an Internet filled with people proclaiming all the things that they know, there you have a few things I am willing to admit that I don’t know. If you do, please feel free to add your comment and add to the things that I know and help me get the end a little further away from that other end. One thing though, even if you do know, I really don’t want to know how to measure how many calories are burned by digesting a bowl of chocolate moose tracks ice cream. Some things are best left a mystery.

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