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Family Time

Michael Leave a comment

For the first time in a long time She and He were not out in public as the We’s.  We were out in public, just not together.  It’s an unusual feeling, but then, we’re not your usual couple.  Not only were She and He not doing our things together, even the Children of We were off doing their own things, sometimes in completely different states.   Let’s take roll.

He of We is mostly responsible for the disparate activities in WeLand this weekend.  He set out for the waters of Lake Erie with Friend of He and three others on their annual fishing trip which precedes the annual Fish Fry and the annual how high can you get your outdoor flame contest.  Actually, that is not a sanctioned competition and only happened one year.  The fishing trip happens every year and there are no she’s connected to any of the he’s there there.  So that started out the weekend early Friday with He of We and Friend of He blazing the trail for the others to follow, getting licenses, checking into the hotel, and timing the route from hotel to dock so we know what time to leave in the morning to be there at 5am, our assigned departure time.  The trip was wildly successful with the fisherpeople maxing out in record time.  So fast were the limits caught that when the group returned to the dock there was actually a wait for the cutters and cleaners to come in and turn the haul into groceries. But even with an early return, getting up at something after three in the morning made for needing much sleep the rest of Saturday and Sunday and therefore few she’s saw anything of any of their he’s who were part of that group.

So there you have the impetus for the We-free weekend.  But there were still others among us who managed to spend their weekend times without the rest.  For example, Daughter of He spent her Saturday in running gear running past those who would be lobbing powder-based paint at her and the others taking part in another annual event, the Color Run.  The Color Run is too hard to explain here but it involves people who run a fairly normal 5K fun run circuit except they are clean at the start and look something like bad graffiti at the finish.  Daughter of She was doing this about 150 miles from home so that shot her day with any other family members.

Sons of She weren’t there to put the family in family time either, both taking part in one of their many shared interests, golf.  For two brothers who act like brothers as much as two brothers can act like stereotypical siblings, they have remarkably similar interests.  They both golf, they both enjoy the presence of a pool in each of their respective backyards.  They are both fond of eating out but with different partialities.  She of We often has told the story of them as mere toddlers in restaurants, the older would order for both of them with “I’ll have the steak and my brother will have the shrimp.”  They both like vintage toys and as we found out for the first time last week, they both like being at the racetrack.  But this weekend they were both golfing and even if they both managed to keep all four wheels of the carts on the cart paths and no errant drives found their ways through either’s sun roof (both potential topics for this very post), it would still be a full day affair because that’s how they do it.  Whether separately or together.

So now you see why She of We was We-less through the weekend.  Before it was over, the Children of We did manage to find their respective ways to the respective parents and made less than token appearances, because that’s what our kids do.  And She and He of We managed to find some hours together either by phone or by text to keep each other up to date with their We-free Weekend because that’s what we do.

Even if none of us were able to get any of ourselves together for just a weekend it would be fine because we happen to know that for this small group of people, all adults, all with their own lives, we still keep it together.  For us, any time is family time, and all the time is quality time.

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

 

Hey Buddy, Gotta Hot Tip?

Michael Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Shopping Without a List

Michael Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We really need a new past time.

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

 

Get In Line

Michael Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paging Doctor Bombay

Michael 1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Boo Birds of Paradise

Michael Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ambassador and the Triscuit Inspector

Michael Leave a comment

Recently we stayed a few days at a Sheraton hotel.  At most Sheratons there is a club suite for the Starwood Preferred guests.  Go to the web-site and sign up and after the first stay or two you move into the preferred category or most touring stays will add you to that list.  It’s not a terribly exclusive club,  no more than many hotel and airline members-only clubs.  But this one was different.  This one came with a host who falls into the “Now that was an interesting person” category.  You decide how to define interesting for yourself.

Our host for our evenings at the Sheraton was a former Triscuit Inspector.  We don’t know if he actually had a numbered slip that he popped into each box or a personalized stamp that emblazoned the inner seal so we can’t go into the archives to confirm that but that is what he told us.  For years he worked at the local Nabisco plant as the Triscuit Inspector right up until they closed the plant and he had to make a decision as to how he should earn his keep until Social Security took over.  Since this story takes place in the general area of Niagara Falls he thought tourism.  And quite logically.  So now for the past while he has been the Sheraton’s Starwood Suite host and sees that the cracker plates are full (we didn’t notice any Triscuits), the cheese platter is balanced, and the beer and wine are cold and chilled respectively.  But what makes him interesting wasn’t the Triscuit background or his ability to keep the yellow and white cheeses equalized.  It was his willingness to share his background and his stories of when he worked at Nabisco, where to find the cheapest wines in town, and where the best smoke-free slot machines are in the casino.

Interesting people always find us. We already spoke of our tour guide in Puerto Rice who regaled us with stories of real life on the island, his life. We saw his home town, heard tales of his family, were told of his wife’s cooking, and saw his favorite beach.  All that while he managed to extract tales from those he was touring.  Another interesting soul from that trip was our hotel’s lobby ambassador.  Do resorts still have such a character, the cross between concierge and man on the street?  Not a day went by except the one he was off that we weren’t greeted by name by this giant of a man who split his life between Puerto Rice and New York and was a diehard Giants football fan but took a Steelers wrist band from us and wore it at least while we were still there.

It was also on that trip that we found the artist in his gallery in Old San Juan telling the tale of how his wife came to visit her sister six years before and still hadn’t gone home.  So he painted each town with his stories in each.  We made sure to bring a piece of his back to grace a wall.  There it joins two local artists’ works.  Both of those artists have gone from favorite artist to favorite story teller to favored member of our circle.  We spend much time when we see either of them at shows and we can now pick out the one’s husband who is a shadow in every piece she does and know what room of his grandmother’s house the other used as a mental model for the window in the painting that becomes a window to his memories of her backyard, real and imagined.

There are many, many others. Most people have their favorite people who aren’t necessarily a part of their circle but make the circle more interesting.  We’ve been blessed that almost everywhere we go we can find that person and eventually find him or her again.   The pleasantries are shared, new stories are spoken and heard, and ultimately our circle grows.

So if you should be travelling in the Niagara Falls, NY area and you happen to stop into the Sheraton there, make your way to the Starwoods Suite and ask to speak with the Triscuit Inspector.  Grow your circle a bit too.

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

 

The Happiest Place in the World

Michael 5 Comments

With our most sincere apologies to Walt Disney, the Disney parks together or separately are not the happiest place on — well, they have it copyrighted so you might think it’s so or else how could they, but we really don’t think so.

We have been thinking about happy places and where the happiest place in the world is.  We asked some friends and relatives, and some who are both where their happiest places might be.  We got beaches, favorite vacation spots, fabulous restaurants, designer shops, and even not yet invented places.  All good choices and all somebodies’ happy places.  But not universal.  One man’s beach may be another’s sun burn spot.  The jeweler who boasts the happiest place two days before Valentine’s Day may be someplace entirely different the weekend after.  A designer bag coup for one could be a mark of arrogance to another.  And while life-size Snow Whites and Gastons may be awe inspiring to certain youngsters, others may cower at the sight at a six foot tall mouse or a Pooh who is big enough to hold the young one cradled in his arms at night.

Happy places all perhaps.  But happy places to all?  Not on your life.

You must suspect by now that we have someplace particular in mind.   We do.  No, it’s not one of our vacation spots nor a favorite getaway location.  It has almost nothing to do with fabulous purchases that may be the envy of most who we will meet in a morning elevator ride to the office.  It’s not a specific spot in nature nor a non-specific spot where they do unnaturally good things to some favorite foods.  Nope, it’s none of those.  Where in the world could it possibly be?  It’s the dollar store!

Yes, the dollar store must be the happiest place in the world.  Not one of the imitation dollar stores that are dollar stores only because they have the world “dollar” in their store name.  Copyrighted or otherwise.  We mean the real dollar stores, the ones where everything’s a dollar, every item, every day, every trip.  Where 5 dollars buys five items (tax extra).  Where there are no express lines because no one can buy twelve items or less in a trip around those aisles.  Where there are things that haven’t been seen on retail shelves since – well, since the last dollar store stocked up.

How did we come to this conclusion?  We were recently in need of a couple of gift bags.  All things being equal, all gift bags are equal.  After years of unscientific research we have come to the conclusion that the $1.00 gift bags found in the dollar store are the same color, construction, volume, and with the same rope handles as the $6.99 national card store gift bags.  So to the dollar store we went, armed with the color and style of the bags we wanted and a twenty dollar bill for all the other stuff we’d find there. 

We pulled up in front of our local dollar store, just a spot or two away from the door.  As we were undoing our seat belts and planning our shopping strategy, we noticed several shoppers coming out of the store.  Not a single one was empty-handed.  Not a single child was being warned to wait until they got home.  Not a single shopper was not broad faced smiling, content in the knowledge that bargains had been had that evening.  Bargains indeed, and every one of the a dollar.

Once inside the magic continued.  There was not one screaming child.  Why should there be?  If a child wants a carrot colored and shaped baseball bat there is one hanging prominently on the wall.  Give it to the kid.  After all, it’s only a dollar.  There was not one couples complaint.  If he wants a 16 ounce tumbler and she wants the red wine goblet, get them both.  A set of 4 each will still return you change from your 10 dollar bill.  Can’t decide between the St. Patrick’s Day shamrock head band and the Easter Bunny ears for the family pooch?  Don’t decide, get ’em both.  And don’t fret that the doggie usually makes dinner out of one or the other.  They’re only a dollar!

We tell you now, the proof is in.  The happiest place in the world isn’t inhabited by six foot tall mice.  The happiest place in the world is your local dollar store! (Does anybody have change for a fifty?  There are some limits to happiness.)   

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

Credit Where Credit Is Due?

Michael 1 Comment

Over the last couple of weeks, we’ve seen a lot of movies.  It must be winter.  It’s much more comfortable sitting in a cozy theater nibbling on popcorn than speeding around an ice skating rink at 15 miles per hour in 15 degree weather.  Then again, maybe we just like movies better.  For whatever reason, over the last couple of weeks we’ve seen a lot of movies.

You’ll remember that a couple of weeks ago we wrote about watching a television network’s idea of the greatest movie ever filmed.  We disagreed with that but we watched it all the way through.  It was from the 1940’s so you really didn’t have to watch it all the way through to read all the credits.  They were all in front of the movie, some before the title, some after, and all of them taking a grand total of about a minute to read.

The movie that we saw most recently was filmed in the 1990’s and was nobody’s pick of the greatest movie ever filmed but not a bad story.  We stayed at the end of the movie to read the credits all the way through.  That took about 7 minutes.  Then there was the last of the new releases that we saw in the cozy theater with the popcorn.  It was nominated for a bazillion Academy Awards and someday will be on somebody’s list of the greatest movies ever filmed but we’ll probably disagree with that also.  We stayed all the way through to read those credits and those took about 15 minutes to read. 

So where are we going with this?  We aren’t sure either but we wonder who all these people are.  Some of them clearly have something to do with the movie.  That might be the Third Unit Director.  Director of any unit should have something to do with the movie important enough to get noticed.  But Assistant Paint Foreman?  We’re not kidding.  How about Catering Auditor?  We don’t doubt that somewhere in the making of this movie somebody audited the caterer’s invoices.  And for that they are mentioned at the end of the movie.  Hmm.   

Many people are involved in bringing you your morning newspaper.  There are the writers, the editors, the publisher.  These peoples’ names are prominently mentioned so you can ooh and ahh over them.  And several people are required to get you your semi-annual teeth cleaning.  There is the dentist and then there is the hygienist, and the office receptionist.  You probably won’t see the name of the person who services the dental chair on your dentist’s statement any more than you’ll see the person who changes the oil in the car of the person who delivers you newspaper noted on the masthead.  Yet aren’t these the equivalent of the catering auditor? 

So we have to ask, are we being too generous with the credits for those who work in the movies, or not generous enough with those who really make a difference in our lives.  We wonder about that.  We really do.

 

The Real Reality Show Blog

Based on life as noticed by Both of We
Created by Both of We
Written by Both of We
Edited by She of We
Typed by He of We
Proofread by She of We
Posted by He of We
Heavy duty thinking by Both of We
Snacks by Both of We
Naps by whoever gets there first
Audited by ———– hey do we audit this?  Didn’t think so.
Music by whoever is playing in our heads at the time
Produced by Both of We

This has been a We Production
in association with
The Real Reality Show Blog People

 

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

 

Mutts That Matter

Michael Leave a comment

Were you one of the 17 bazillion people who watched the Westminster Kennel Club dog show on television this week?  We haven’t seen the actual ratings figures but it seems that at least everybody in the United States watched it.  At the very least, everybody either of us has spoken with over the past couple of days had watched it.  Why not?  Dogs are cute.  Two nights of dogs strutting their way around Madison Square Garden in the doggie version of Project Runway is indeed must see TV. 

While glued to the set for those two nights we learned a lot.  The Labrador Retriever, even though geographically challenged and originated in Newfoundland rather than Labrador, is the most popular AKC breed in the United States.  There are about 11,000 Labs registered here.  Very impressive numbers.  But the large breed was not wearing the blue ribbon when the show was over.  That went to the diminutive Affenpinscher, the breed’s first win at Westminster, beating out 2,500 entries.

There is a local animal shelter just about a mile away from He of We.  We have stopped by often to drop off a donation, ogle at the pets, or adopt a dog.  That particular shelter has adopted out over 2,500 animals last year, more than were entered the Westminster show.  About half were dogs.  That’s just one shelter.  If 11,000 registered Labs makes that breed the number one breed in the country, think of how many of America’s really most favorite dog, the Shelter Pup, there are out there.  We think they deserve a show also.

It would be a bit different from the AKC sanctioned events.  Since 80% of the dogs adopted from shelters are mixed breeds you couldn’t have standards and conformity judged.  But you could judge fun, energy, intelligence, and affection. Picture this, a round of pound puppies march around Madison Square Garden and The Cutest into the finals.  Another round of scraggly scruffies now takes center stage and The Ugliest is selected.  Other rounds pick out the Hairiest, the Baldest, the Best Trick, the Longest Nap, and the Best Dog Kisser.  Each of these seven “Group Winners” now moves on to the Best We Know final round!

Here audience participation is not only encouraged, it’s mandatory!  The crowd cheers as each group winner marches around the stage,  past the TV cameras that flash the four leggers strutting their stuff onto the Jumbotrons  And out of these, the one with the loudest crowd approval wins the coveted Blue Ribbon, a lifetime supply of Milk Bones, and the title of Mutts That Matter, the Best We Know. 

Now that’s puppy love!

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