Tag People

Not so famous last words

Michael 11 Comments

There are entire books of famous last words. Most of them are famous solely because they were said by famous people rather than being famous because they were profound. There are some that are a little of both. Benjamin Franklin’s last words were, “A dying man can do nothing easy.” The back story – that was in response to his daughter telling him to turn over in bed so he can breathe more easily. Sort of profound on its own. Now that you know the story behind it, it sounds like something I’d say!

Anyway, most last words will never be remembered by someone other than to whom they were spoken, except for last words you see and hear every day.

An exceptionally famous set of last words seldom seen today, was de rigueur in a different century, early in a different century, was “the end,” seen on the last page of every book and last card of every movie.

Other last words often more memorable are the last words you see when that car passes you on the highway and you get a look at their license plate, license plate frame, or bumper sticker. There are some pretty clever examples of two of the above specifies at the links noted. I’ve not yet succumbed to a vanity license plate although the frame I have around the classic plate on Rosemary the Little Red Car reads, “Aged to Perfection. Old Guys Rule!”

I saw an interesting sight just yesterday that I had heard of but never had seen in the wild with my own eyes. A Tesla car with its stylized “T” removed and replaced with a lightning bolt. Not quite a last word but a lasting impression.

A particular type of last word I have a difficult time with is the one to end a text message conversation. Not a quick message like “on my way.” That doesn’t even require an answer. But the conversations that go back and forth for a while, the things that have taken the place of phone calls. Phone calls were easy to end. The last word typically was a simple “bye” plus or minus a dear, hon, or second bye. An e-mail’s last words are like any other correspondence. But a text message. No good way out of that and when you usually decide on a last word, it’s more likely an emoji.

Now I’m not sure what kind of last words would be best to tack on the end of these words. I think I’ll steal Michael Landon’s last words. On his deathbed, his son said to him, “I think it’s time to move on.” Landon’s reply – “You’re right. It’s time. I love you all.” Actually, it’s his last, last words that mean the most. I love you all.

Are you talking to me?

Michael 2 Comments

There are times when the things I think I think are stranger than the things I think and that I know. Like the other day, I was reading for enjoyment, yes a novel concept and every now then I do get the chance to take on such an inviting task. As is typical for my leisure activities, murder played a major role. Another major role was played by a major. A retired major I would assume because he was described as a “gentleman with a private income” and became a major (sorry) suspect. Now here’s what I think I think about that. At least I think I thought this.

Stories, whether played on pages, screen, or stage, set anytime through the early twentieth century and/or in England through modern days, are filled with captains, majors, colonels, and the occasional admiral or general (or brigadier (across the pond)). I think it would cool to actually see that happen in practice and/or real life. (And for all I know, it does – across the pond.)

Except for the odd “Mr. Michael” from a barely English speaking customer service phone representative, I never am never offered any honorific, haven’t hear a title associated with my name since I left hospital practice. But if people were to start introducing, and speaking of and to me as “Captain,” I could get along with that. And I promise I wouldn’t ever give reason to suspect me as the murderer. Everybody knows the butler always did it. (I wonder if I could still fit in my old uniforms. I’m sure the hat would still fit me.)

There is absolutely no way to tie this in with yesterday’s Uplift post other than to say it’s Thursday, it must be time for my shameless weekly plug. So…shamelessly speaking, if you know where you’re going and you know how to get there, trust that you will get there. Knowing where you’re going is more important than how fast you get there. You might even get there at the speed of popcorn. Check out, You’re a Pop Star at ROAMcare.org, this week’s Uplift offering.

Cite your sources

Michael 12 Comments

Somewhere sometime someone is having a crisis. It’s me!

I’m having a crisis. I am losing touch with the part of the world that feeds me information and I’m worried I am starting to sound like a one of those people who spouts so-called facts that you know aren’t true. Their verity may be questioned without question because they (the facts) are so ludicrous that nobody but a Dimwit Donny Disciple (DDD) would believe them (e.g., did you know gas is only $1.98/gallon), or because they (the fact-spouters) are DDDs or DD hisself.

Believe it or not, this is not a political post. It’s a true personal crisis. I’m forgetting not things, but that which made me aware of the thing. Don’t question. Just read on. It will become clear.

It came to me when I mentioned to my daughter, “I just read somewhere that keeping cut fruit in the fridge in glass containers will add at least 2 days to their use by date versus storing them in plastic.” This isn’t something I dreamed or something I overheard in the produce section while working my way around the gaggle of grocery gals gathered in front of the mango display. This was a real “read somewhere” moment, but I can’t recall where. If it was say in Food Network Magazine, then it’s probably a pretty good tip. Likewise in the food section of the newspaper or a real food expert’s social site. On the other hand, if I read it in the comments section of an online recipe or in the social site of the dingy broad who records entire recipes in 30 seconds and posts them to a site known for lip-synched videos and blasphemous AI generated images, it likely is as true as claims of sub $3.00 eggs (per dozen, not apiece).

This worries me because I always would be able to recite the source of my information as readily as the information. I know I found the cut fruit tidbit in a respected, responsible source, but not being able to recite that source feels like I should be being fitted for a red hat. (By the way, why does the Dummy in Chief always have those stupid hats on its desk in the Oval Office. Is there a merch table at the back of the room to visit between acts?) if I should be challenged in the fresh fruit freshness extension tip, I wouldn’t be able to cite my source other than to say, “I read it somewhere.” Well, that’s not an answer. I might as well expound on the sphericalosity of the earth without doing the math.

So you now understand my crisis. (You do, don’t you?) How will I ever be taken seriously again. How will I ever take myself seriously again. I won’t be long before I begin a conversation with, “I saw somewhere that someone did something that I thought was interesting. What do you think?” My sole reasonable conversation partners will be clairvoyants, mediums (It is mediums not media when you’re speaking of those who communicate with dead, right?) (I figure they’d be a decent one to chat with considering by then I’d be at least brain dead), or DDDs (because they are experienced in listening to unfounded, unproven, unreliable sources of disinformation).

Anyway, I read somewhere than fresh cut fruit stored in glass containers will extend its life. That all I had to say.

Looking for the Helpers

Michael 7 Comments

Where I am was affected greatly by the derecho. I had never heard that term before. According to weather.com it is an inland hurricane. According to the National Weather Service, we experienced winds of 81mph with heavy rain and hail. Unfortunately, there were 3 deaths in the area. Damage is still being added up. The most immediate impact was lost of power. Some, like my daughter, are not expecting restoration for 5-7 days. Some, like myself, were in the dark only a matter of hours. And we are a mere quarter mile apart.

It was a great opportunity for people to help others. That it was not as devastating as a tornado or an actual hurricane may have embolden people to act like asses and make their bat shit brethren proud.  Comments to newspaper articles (why they allow them I’ll never know), (anti)social media, and some news shows included things like the repair people are sitting on their hands so they can soak up the premium time by delaying repairs until the weekend, and there’s plenty of electricity, they just don’t want to turn it on. Honestly, if some people weren’t halfwits they’d be no wits.

You wouldn’t know it by the preponderance of ignorance and stupidity, but apparently people are meant to be social animals, working toward the good of the species. Love is generally considered the innate virtue while apathy and outright hatred are learned qualities. It is no wonder Mr. Rogers encouraged people to “look for the helpers” when they were in trouble, helping being so terribly out of fashion that is doesn’t simply flow from people.

Yesterday’s Uplift post Born Helpers explored some amazing acts of self sacrifice and love for mankind carried out in of all places, a prisoners of war camp. It is a remarkable and moving tribute to the helpers. You really should read it.

Undressed for Success

Michael 14 Comments

Okay guys, buckle up.  This is one if those posts. I know some if you will, “just don’t look,” but I’ll say, “then don’t go out in public like that.” The public was a doctors’ office waiting room. Yes, that’s doctors plural. One of those places with 45 different physicians with 45 different sub-specialties. So there are usually a couple dozen patients, some with the entourages, filling up the chairs placed with about as much attention to spatial management as the average airport gate area.

The”who” who couldn’t be overlooked was a 50-60ish woman about as skinny as a dining room table leg. Seriously thin. But of above average height. I would say about 5’10” – 5’11” and she carried about 20 pounds. I’ve seen sacks of potatoes heavier and dowel rods chunkier. Some how, she managed to find clothes tight enough to look painted on those legs that could be the literal “pins” as slang for women’s legs going back to the 1500s. Capri style naturally. But that wasn’t the eye catching portion of her body. At least it was t the part that caught my eye.

She walked in – no, she wobbled in on strappy sandals, the type you might find cruising the runway if your local fashion shoe, except they sported a 4 inch platform adding to her obvious natural height. But we still haven’t gotten to the eye catching part.

Stuffed into those sandals (and I’m not sure how you “stuff” something into somewhere that is built mostly of leather straps, but stuffed they wear) were foot so long the entire length of all 10of her toes extended beyond the front edge of the footwear. Made more noticeable by the lime green nail polish.

In 99.7% of my interactions with other humans, including the just see and be seen variety, I am a live and let live, you do you, whatever floats your boat, play it as you like it. Every now and then comes the other 0.3%. And she was it.

I am the first to admit, even before other people see me, that I a, not a fashion plate of the male variety. There were, are, and never will be pin-up pictures of me gracing the insides of women’s lockers, and I dress a tad more conservatively for the 21st century than the average male. But I do dress, and I cover all my parts, including the parts that don’t comfortably fit within the confines of clothing, sometimes even breaking down and being a larger size of said clothing if the current occupants of my closet are not up to the challenge. Is that too much to ask for of my fellow planet sharers.

I think you for the chance to get that off my chest. If you’ll excuse me, I must now write apology letters to all those when saw me at dinner last Saturday wearing a half-Windsor knotted tie when a Kelvin was definitely the least acceptable.

There goes that fox again

Michael 4 Comments

Why can’t the lazy brown dog have jumped over the quick fox? Wait, what? The lazy blue fox jumped over the quick brown dog. No. That’s not it. Well… isn’t it. I mean if the purpose is to test all the letters of the keyboard, either of those works as well as the quick brown fox doing the jumping over the lazy dog, even if I want to make the dog blue. On the other hand, none of them work because they only check letters and don’t stray into the numbers and symbols. What about them?

Imagine being a typing teacher in the classic 1960s classroom in front of a bunch of 1960s high schoolers and having to answer questions like that. Actually, there wouldn’t be any answering. Back then the teacher would have simply slapped her yardstick across the black board (or did you call them chalkboards?) and sputter out, “Because I said so!”

None of that has anything to do with what I was going to write this morning. I sat down and stared at a blank screen looking for the perfect opening when I heard my inner Warhol say, “Don’t think about art. Just get it done.” And that’s what fell out of my fingers.

I was going to talk about the first time I ever talked in front of “civilians.” It was way back in a different century. We, the people I worked with, had put together a program to increase awareness that there are pharmacies in hospitals. We were going to do a “brown bag” where people would put all the prescriptions in a bag and bring them to us and we’d check for duplicates, interactions, out dates, and some other etceteras. I went on a local talk radio show to promote the program. I got there for my 15 minute time spot and the producer asked if I could stay and do a second spot, they just had a scheduled guest call in to say he couldn’t make it. I was thrilled!

Everything went fine for the first 3 minutes when I did my prepared comments. And then the host said “Let’s open the phone lines for your questions.” And boy did they have questions! Everything from vitamins to flu shots to why can’t they invent something to work on Aunt Bessie’s daggum headaches. To say I wasn’t ready for that broad of a discussion would have misused “understatement.” It was a humbling experience.

We talked about humbling experiences and why humility is a virtue too few consider a virtue in this week’s Uplift, Out of Town Experts. I think you’ll like it. Check it out.

The things people do

Michael 11 Comments

People watching should be an official event. I’m not sure if it should be a sport or a game or an unstructured pastime, but it needs to be something. I was convinced of this when we went out to lunch yesterday. The entire restaurant was in people watching mode, and personally, I can’t think of a better way to pass the time.

Nobody doesn’t mind their own business but somehow, it works. From the moment we walked in the restaurant we heard it (and we knew we were among our people). Murmurs of, “Such cute sandals!” “Look at that skirt, the one with the print!” “I want those earrings!” (Nobody said anything about my tie. Bummer.) After we were seated, we were able to join in. “Look, is that the crab cake or the crab cake salad?” “I don’t know but I’m definitely getting that for dessert…The one over there.” “I don’t see that on the menu, be sure to ask if it’s one of today’s specials.”

The best part of people watching in a restaurant is that people are constantly coming and going, so there are always new things to ooh and aah over. And unlike just a few years ago, it’s all open and above board. Nobody is sneaking around anymore trying to catch a glimpse of how the filet is served. If you can’t tell, you just lean over and ask your table neighbors.

Yes, the restaurant is THE place to people watch.

I’m a people watcher from way back. Back in the day we had to hide our watching or at least be minimally circumspect of who we were watching. Bars were always a good place because you can blame the 1,000 mile stare when you can’t believe someone would come out in public like that by blaming it on being over-served. Pools were reasonable people spotting spots mostly because anybody who went to one was planning on being watched anyway. Of course, they were also sort of the classic double-edged sword. People didn’t mind being watched, but they never did anything worth watching. Yes, for sheer volume of sights, bars were the place to be. Not late night. After work happy hour was the best time.

That was then though. This is now, and now the place is a restaurant, a little crowded, preferably mostly filled with people who don’t get out much. (You know. My people.) And for maximum participation, wear the dangling earrings and order the special.

Not your usual Thursday fare

Michael 12 Comments

My gosh, it’s Thursday again. Where does the time go? At least Thursdays are fairly easy days for me. I would imagine it’s everyone’s favorite weekday, or at least in the top five. Apparently, Thursday are quite good days for bars and taverns, particularly happy hours. People who just can’t quite make it one more day without a little assistance must tend to stop on the way home. It is also a big night for take-out. I would imagine for the same reason.

This year, this week, this Thursday may be an even bigger day out for folks who are trying to do their best to stick it to the big corporation who have been sticking it to the little guy. The economic blackout is to hit April 18-20. No purchases at any big corporate anything, buy local, buy small.

I am a huge proponent of buy local. Which is why I don’t understand these ‘blackouts’ like nobody shopping at Target since January. It makes for nice social media posts. “Store traffic is down again this week!” I don’t suppose anybody is checking to see if there is a corresponding decrease in associate hours. See, as far as the big corporations go, they really don’t care about foot traffic or gross sales, as long as net profit, stock price, and most importantly dividends go up. If they don’t make enough cash to make their dividend payments (and to pay their salaried employees), they simply take that money from the most convenient available bucket, usually the bucket that showers payroll dollars on the hourly employees. Less foot traffic = less sales and stock people. The little guys. So those big boycotts sticking it to the big corporations eventually just get little guys laid off.

 Do I have a solution. I do indeed. Shop local. And boycott local. Do yu really want to make a difference and get someone to reconsider their support for Donny McScrooge and his merry band of Dingy Donny followers. Find a local business, florist, bakery, gift shop, restaurant, bar and tavern, dry cleaner, or what have you (maybe even the stray car dealership), who vociferously supports or supported the current regime and boycott them. They are the people who need to be convinced that if there is ever another election, the nice lady with the economic degree probably knows more about running a country’s economy that a part time golfer and business bankrupter.

Normally this is where I make some clever tie in with this week’s ROAMcare Uplift post. And it is a good one. So good that it doesn’t deserve to share space with such Debbie Downer content. And I can honestly say, I’m not feeling very Abrahamic right now. Read it anyway.

What’s wrong with this picture

Michael 9 Comments

I am having a hard time this week with a post. Not true. I’m having a hard time this week coming up with an intelligent post. I’ve taken a swipe at this over 3 or 4 days. Most of the world has gone crazy and I’m worried about putting something intelligent out into the ether.

The craziness for me culminated Sunday morning when I read the news report that the governor’s mansion in Harrisburg Pennsylvania was the target of an arsonist. Someone had scaled a 7 foot iron fence carrying homemade incendiary bombs, broke into the banquet room, and set off his explosives. He later “surrendered” and confessed he did it because he “hates the governor.” He also had a small sledgehammer he planned to beat the governor with if he had a chance.

Is it coincidence the arson targeted the room where Governor Shapiro with his family and guests had used just hours earlier to hold their Seder dinner on the first day of Passover? Is that why the lunatic “hates the governor”? Or is it because Charcoal Charlie has a nifty little criminal record and maybe resents Gov. Shapiro from his time as state attorney general. Or could it be that the ding dong was having a boring Saturday night and was hoping to come up with something to impress the bar crowd and random acts of violence are always in style among that class of primate.

But let’s not stop at one ding-a-ling with a match and a pocketful of explosives. That was almost sane compared to what else is going on in the world. The federal “government” “refuses to say” what their plans are (translation = “refuses”) to bring back a mistakenly deported man, who is most likely only one of thousands mistakenly deported people.

Measles continues to spread primarily in Texas but also in significant numbers in 4 other states, even though it was declared eliminated in the US in 2000. Of the 700+ confirmed cases reported to the CDC through last Friday, 97% were in unvaccinated patients. For those interested, it’s not just children. 198 of the 712 reported cases, that’s 28% are in adult patients.

Random shootings continue. Helicopters and planes are falling from the sky. The House of So-called Representatives passed a budget plan that includes cuts to even more social services. The stock market is in shambles. Through it all, Daffy Donald has spent millions pursuing his personal favorite pastime, combining golf while screwing whoever is handy, this time the American taxpayer, who is footing the bill for these excursions this year through March 31 to the tune of $26,127,531.

And I’m worried about putting something intelligent out into the ether.

Poor me. Alas, I knew me well

Michael 8 Comments

The great comedian, song and dance man, and Gracie’s husband, George Burns said, “I wake up every morning and I read the obituaries. If my name isn’t in there, I eat breakfast.” Somewhere around 517 other lesser stage dwellers have also uttered those lines. I too read the obituaries every morning but I like breakfast, it’s my favorite morning meal, so I am sure to read them after breakfast so if I am there, I won’t miss my eggs that day. Imagine my surprise when last week I found me there. Hold that thought, we’ll be back in a moment.

Checking the obituaries is not a morbid pastime. In addition to seeing if there might be a name I recognize, it is also a way of centering oneself to the day, and to remind oneself of the true importance of the day. One thing all those people in all those little notices have in common is that they won’t have today. It is a great honor to be able to be the recipient of another day. It is why every morning the first t thought I verbalize is, “Thank you God for another day. Help me become the person you want me to be today.”

With all that said, you can imagine my surprise when I say my name in last Thursday’s list of those who will not be aging another day this year. It’s a fairly common name but it’s still a shock to see it in writing, unless it’s in the sections devoted to lottery winners or unexpected awardees of a major endowments. What really sent. my heart aflutter, the age was right. I seriously began to regret that morning’s breast was a simple sausage and egg sandwich on a muffin with fresh berries in yogurt and not something more fitting for a last meal. Eventually I calmed down long enough to notice the middle initial was different from mine. Whew! That was close.

It solidified in my the long held contention to approach each day expecting the unexpected. We broached that subject yesterday at the ROAMcare Uplift post Up Down Round and Round, only we didn’t compare life to the obituary column.  Use used an amusement park instead. I think it turned out pretty well. Check it out and see if you agree.