Tag Philosophy

A Gift of Time

Michael 2 Comments
 

I intended to post this last Monday but I instead did a mini tribute for Sean Connery. So, it may be a few days late but still timely. (Timely! Get it, timely. Hahahaa, oh I crack myself up!

—–

They say time marches on. They also say we should adjust our time twice a year. Did you remember to change your clocks before you turned in Saturday night or did you arrive everywhere an hour late on Sunday? Or would that have been an hour early? “They” tell us to do these things and we do, not often thinking of the consequence if we don’t because we never don’t.

In the grand scheme of things our time here is not terribly important. The world has been around for 4.5 billion years. Man has inhabited it for 200,000 of those. That’s about 0.0044%. Not statistically significant. But humans don’t think in terms of the grand scheme. We consider every hour precious and when we’re told to give one back, like we were last April, we spend days complaining about the hour we lost. It becomes the excuse for all time related failures. “I was late for work because I had to set the clock ahead last Saturday.” But this “Last Saturday” we were given a gift of an hour. For one hour on Sunday morning we got a redo. We had the chance to relive an hour of our lives. What did you do with your gift? If you just slept it away you’re probably in good company as I’m sure that was how many spent their time.

NewYearsClock

I’ve never made a true study of it but I would not doubt that “If I had to do it all over again … ” is one of the most oft uttered phrases in the English language and no doubt its equivalent in all the others. (Except maybe Esperanto. Well, it sounded like a good idea to somebody.) (Esperanto that is, not uttering “If I had to do it over again.” That doesn’t just sound like a good idea, it is a good idea.) (The phrase, not Esperanto.) (Sheesh!) I also don’t doubt that most people end that with “… I’d do the same thing.” It sounds like such a good idea. It is such a good idea! It’s such a good idea the golf people gave it a name – a Mulligan. It’s such a good idea don’t hold it against the golf people for coming up with such a stupid name. It’s such a good idea kids in the playground gave it a name too, a good name. A do over. It’s such a good idea, the world gifted us with twenty-four additional extra hours this year. Imagine all the things you might have redone with an extra day. (And that day came before most of the real Covid Craziness!) Imagine an extra day trip, an extra day to vacation, or an extra day on the slopes or on the beach depending on your personal preference. 

Or would you use an extra day as an opportunity to spend a day volunteering instead of selfishing. I’ll go closer to the end of the limb and say that thought probably doesn’t come up often. Maybe that’s why if presented an opportunity to do it all over again we profess to rather not changing anything. Maybe it has been so hard to get where we are we don’t want to take a chance on doing it differently. Or maybe we’re just plain old selfish.

The next time you wonder if you had to it all over again, if that opportunity to relive an hour of your life were to come again, would you do anything different? You’ll get your chance again about a year from now. Think about that that the next time you wish you had a do over.

 
 

Welcome Mat to my World

Michael 2 Comments
In a world where brevity is so important that people abbreviate three letter words (for example, “1 C bread flour or all purpose flour,” come on, if you’re going to go through the whole “bread or all purpose flour” bit in your recipe you can spell out CUP (sheesh)) it is no wonder some people distill their entire life philosophies onto license plates. So much so that I managed to expand those abbreviated thoughts into several thousand words over five posts, Walls O’ Wisdom, UDNTSAY, Mobile Philosophy, Writing on the Walls, and T(-Shirt) is for Thinking. (All good stuff by the way. You should call them up and read or read again if you’re so inclined and I should say you should be.) Maybe it’s been going on for ages but I only recently discovered another outlet for the “let me tell you about my life” crowd, the welcome mat.
 
I’ve had welcome mats all my life and most of them have said something, not surprisingly usually “WELCOME.” Around the holidays I often replace that with others that sport fallen leaves, Christmas scenes or Easter Bunnies, but by and large the message outside my door is “Hi, come on it” even if not in so many words. Apparently there are people  who will make a mat that says just that in just that many words and much else. 
20200824_131925
Living in a townhouse community where most front doors are right there off the main sidewalk, my morning walks through the neighborhood expose me to what people put on and about their front doors. Mostly I admire the wreaths and door adornments but today I focused on the foot of the doors (foots of the doors? feet of the doors? bottoms of the doors!) What I saw there was a wide array of sentiment from “Dogs Welcomed/People Tolerated” to “Wipe Your Feet!” to “Please Hide Packages From Husband.” Out of 50 or 60 door mats I passed, only a handful, mine being one of those, bore the single word “WELCOME” although a good number boasted simliar sentiment like “Hello,” “Come In,” and one “Home Sweet Home.”
 
The mats that conveyed more complex feelings than “Hey, How Ya Doing” were the ones that got me thinking. Where do these all come from? Some I’ve seen in stores. The moronic, ironic “Go Away!” must have been a recent clearance item somewhere because I noted about a half dozen of those and I can’t imagine anybody paying full price whatever the price might be for that. But many had to be custom made, the aforementioned hide the package from hubby and another that had me giggling (I hope I remember the wording right), “If you ever want to see these people again bring five pounds of hamburger in a plain brown wrapper. Signed, The Dog.” Who thinks these things and then who turns those thoughts into 18 x 30 inches of foot level text. I have to find out because I think (some of) these people are brilliant. 
 
Some of my favorites including what I dubbed the Hubby and Dog mats were “Run While You Still Can,” “Hi, I’m Mat,” “What are you looking at?” and “Get Your Feet Off Me!” I give special tribute to those with the most welcoming message of all, those who know some people are just as happy to leave, to wit:
20200824_151002
 
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Singing the Goat Song

Michael 4 Comments
The other day I saw an old Peanuts cartoon. Its panels told the tale that if Charlie Brown catches the ball he’s the hero but if he misses it he will be the goat. Charlie “The Goat” Brown. Today Charlie Brown would never be the goat. Well, maybe the goat but he would never be the GOAT. Somehow we’ve managed to screw up the English language yet again.
 
Back in the days when Charles Schulz was drawing the Peanuts gang a goat was the worst thing you could be on the baseball field. In fact, to be a goat anywhere in life was the worst. The goat was the loser. Not only the loser, the goat was the reason for the loss regardless of the reason for the loss. It was always his fault, absolving all others from blame for the failure. He was the scapegoat and it was not a good thing to be the goat.
 
How did we ever work this into our vocabulary? Historically, the scapegoat was one of two goats religious leaders would sacrifice for atonement. One goat was offered as a blood sacrifice and the other, the scapegoat, was removed from the herd and set off into the desert carrying the sins of the people. Most often associate with ancient Judaism, similar rituals were performed by other religions and societies. Ancient Greeks actually used humans, often criminals or slaves, as scapegoats. It was not a good thing to be the goat back then either. 
 
Or was it? Sticking with those old Greeks, according to myth and legend the ancient Greeks’ ancient Greeks’ scapegoat was someone of importance who would be recognized and accepted by the gods, receiving him among them and honoring their request to grant favor upon the mortals. It was a honored role and one only those of the highest status in society could fill. In time when real people took the place of the legends, the people of importance were not so keen on being exiled and left to die to bring about drought relief or for whatever the townsfolk were currently praying. They would find one from the dregs of society and make him appear important by lavishing him with fine clothes and jewels before being driven into the wilderness. Often a tragedy was performed in recognition of the sacrifice. Not a play but more of an opera. The modern word tragedy comes from the ancient Greeks and literally means “Goat Song.” Was that a lament because they were sad that a person was being sacrificed or was it a celebration of the ritual and they were entertaining the gods? That’s the trouble with things that happened over 2500 years ago. Who can say for sure? There just aren’t any good records.
 
And now we have the newest goat, not a scapegoat, the antithesis of the hero, but the GOAT, even better than a hero. GOAT, The Greatest Of All Time. When I look at some of the people who have been declared the GOAT, often by themselves, I wonder if we might not be better off setting them loose in the wilds without their entourages and the fawning public celebrating one whose greatest claim to fame is playing a child’s game better than all the other kids who never grew up. To them the wilderness might be what the rest of us deal with every day in our real lives without entourages, carrying our own sins and asking atonement of our own accord.
 
Maybe the goat, the scapegoat goat is the real hero. Imagine the courage it must take to know you are leaving all alone, you won’t be coming back, and you won’t ever see anybody ever again, but on your shoulders you carry away all the bad of society and those left behind reap the benefit from your action. We need more goats. The goats are the heroes and thanks to Charlie Brown we know it is better to strive to be the hero than claim to be the GOAT.
 
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…making all his nowhere plans…

Michael 4 Comments

Recently a friend asked me what I think of when I go to bed. An odd question not quite in the same category as what’s your sign and certainly more thought provoking than what’s your favorite color.

Since I go to bed alone I most often think alone thoughts. You know, “sigh, another night alone.” Now alone isn’t necessarily alone in bed. I much more often think of being alone as being the only one in the apartment than of being the only one in the bed. Of course it’s nice to have somebody care so much that they share their whole body with you but it’s nicer when somebody shares their whole person. But that’s the philosophical me. It took a while to learn that and I’m ok with it even if the bodily me would like to feel another body next to it sometimes. But I think not having someone in the same house is a more profound kind of alone.

They say there’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely. I’m pretty sure those people were never really alone for any length of time. You can talk to someone every day, you can see people during all the waking hours, you can have someone nearby, but those will never take the place of sharing space. When you go through days of going to bed at night never having another person to check in on, never having someone to say goodnight to, knowing if something happened nobody is there to say “it’s going to be ok,” that’s being alone. And if you don’t think that’s also being lonely, you haven’t not had someone to say goodnight to on a regular basis.

I can’t imagine anybody who lives alone who hasn’t thought about what happens if something happens. Is that just part of being alone? Or lonely?

Oh well.

Fire Sale

Michael 24 Comments

If your house was on fire and you could carry one thing out of it with you, what would it be? A question like that has been asked for ages. In philosophy classes, on psych papers, over drinks at happy hour, in bible groups, at marriage counseling. It should be getting easier to answer. Or maybe not.

When asked the question, in public the answers all sound very altruistic. My baby. My pet. The picture of my long dead parents, long suffering spouse, long loved child. In private we’d probably say, grab the tablet, CD, or memory stick with all our family financial info and maybe the one with pictures too if possible, or the purse or wallet with driver’s license and the credit cards because who wants that replacement hassle right after the house burns down. No! Get the phone!

I really was thinking about this recently. If I could save just one thing, what one thing would I want above all that I may risk my life to get?

My grandparents might have had a really hard time answering. Both trunks of my family tree started their branches in this country during World War I. Although not yet the depression Era as far as the United States was concerned, the European bank scare of 1914 had a dramatic effect on the Italian economy and its people. When they emigrated they took their distrust for banks with them. If it was of value, it was in the house. A fire would be devastating to the future of the family unless all of the children, 12 on my mother’s side, were old enough, big enough, and strong enough to each bring at least one item with no room for sentiment.

By the time my parents were contributing boomed babies to the landscape, the American economy was on an upswing and even middle class families had nest eggs that could be proudly secured by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation. Up to $10,000 per depositor at the time. Like now though, nobody but the very rich had $10,000 nest eggs. But they still didn’t trust everything to the banks. Safety deposit boxes were for rich people. Personal treasures and savings bonds purchased almost painlessly through the Payroll Savings Plan were secreted in a strong box, itself cached away at the back of a linen drawer, the bottom of a cedar chest or top shelf of a closet, or among the pantry items in the newfangled built-in kitchen cabinets. In case of evacuation, a responsible adult, probably the dad, was in charge of collecting the canned collectibles, while another adult of authority went after more sentimental treasures.

My generation was the tween of generations. Everything from the first half of my life is on paper, the last 2 or 3 decades could and does fit easily on a flash drive. I have a strong box but other than my passport almost nothing in there is irreplaceable. Almost nothing else in there is probably worth trying to replace. If I was running from a fire I have to pleasure of knowing that I could grab all the sentimental items like the picture album filled with a record of the daughter’s formative years and perhaps a cherished bobble head.

But wait! I should go get that passport. I doubt I’ll be doing much travelling in the future but just in case I win one of those crazy on line raffles for an all-expense paid trip to Iceland, I’d hate to have to decline because I’m waiting on replacement documents proving who I am and what I look like. So that settles it, pictures, passport, and a cherished bobble head.

My essentials

My essentials

Oh no. But wait again (he says somberly). Forget the albums. Forget the bobble head. Forget the passport. (I’m going to have to find a more readily reachable place for that.) I forgot even more essential, if not sentimental items that I have to have. I have them with me all the time so I sometimes don’t consider that I actually have to carry them for them to be with me all the time. One is my cane. I can walk without it. For about 20 or 30 yards. About 50 to 100 feet depending on the day. That might get me as far as across the street from the theoretical blaze, but unless I’m planning on camping there forever, or unless I want to live the rest of my life 100 feet at a time, I better grab the cane.

That still leaves one hand free. Why not snag that cherished bobble head? Well…this a little personal. So much so that I don’t even tell people what’s in the bag I always have if someone who even suspects that it’s anything other than just a small day bag should ask. It’s a small bag but it’s huge in what it means to me.

You might recall from two posts ago that I am pretty much running on spare parts and that some of those parts actually are performing functions they were not originally designed to. And they require some help. That ever present bag carries the external pieces my spare-parted body needs to perform some otherwise routine internal functions. Yeah, that’s more than a little cryptic, but let’s say I can’t go but about 6 hours without it.

So. Two hands. Two things I sort of need more than pictures, bobble heads, or even passport. It looks like for me, like it was a couple of generations ago, there’s no room for sentiment.

Now I’m curious. What would you carry out?

 

The Meaning of Life – No, I’m Not Kidding!

Michael Leave a comment

Some day I have to figure out how my mind works. Not my brain. I have that figure out. Seven years of school better have taught me something. No, what I can’t figure out is how my mind works. That unfathomable piece of consciousness that works on its own stream and might or might not let us in.

Monday I woke up with a sore back. Check that. I woke up with a back that hurt like all the gods on Olympus and in the Coliseum (or wherever the Roman gods lived) were mad at it. I called my doctor; he worked me into his schedule, poked, prodded, and ordered some x-rays and gave me some muscle relaxers. Monday night I took some muscle relaxers and Tuesday woke up and did my normal morning stuff, sore but not in outright pain. Tuesday night I took more muscle relaxers and Wednesday woke up even less sore and certain I wasted my doctor’s time on Monday. Wednesday afternoon he called and told me I have three compression fractures in my spine. All of a sudden I can’t sit still I’m in such pain.

Normally I walk with a cane. I’m not too weak to walk but if I don’t use some support I wobble. In fact, without it I look for all the world like I’ve had one bourbon too many. (Yes, I used to also believe that was a contradiction in terms but you really can have one too many. Try not to spread it around.) Every morning I walk a couple of miles and if it’s not raining I go to the pool for an hour or so. To get to my pool I go out the door, through the breezeway, across the courtyard and up a flight of stairs. Since the stairs have a railing and to get to them is a short walk I usually leave my cane behind. Yesterday, before I found out that my back is living on borrowed time, on the way in from the pool I detoured down the front walk to the mailbox. The mailman was just dropping off the day’s haul but he hung around long enough to comment that it looked a little early to be “hitting it” (aka “the bottle”). I immediately felt bad to be out in public like that. It was only after he was pulling away for the next mailbox that I realized how little I had to be feeling foolish of.

Why do we put so much stock into what others say? Nothing changed in my back between Tuesday and Wednesday other than the doctor confirming what other doctors had already told me several years ago. I hadn’t removed the cap from the Marker’s Mark for a couple of weeks when I fortified the glaze for a steak I put on the grill. Yet I was willing to change how I felt, indeed how I was, based on what others – one supposedly learned and one supposedly a federal employee – had to say. (How many people work for the federal government? About half of them.) (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

Quite some time ago I found this, printed it, framed, it and took it to heart. Since then I’ve Lifechanged. I got an incurable condition. I got cancer. I beat cancer. I still have an incurable condition. Through it all I see this every morning. I have to. It’s on the wall above my toilet tank. It’s a great place for a bit of inspiration. At first I misinterpreted it to mean that if we want to live life to its fullest we have to physically beat the odds. We have to literally skid in sideways. Not so! As long as we don’t give in we won’t give up. I sort of like that expression. Maybe I’ll hang that on the wall too.

As long as you don’t give in, you won’t give up.

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

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention
of arriving in an attractive and well preserved body,
but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other,
thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming
“Woo hoo, what a ride!”

Writing on the Walls

Michael 1 Comment

I love Christmas time. It’s the craft shows. I admit it, I’m a sucker for craft shows and craft shows multiply at Christmas time like nobody’s business while making somebody some pretty good business. Not being terribly creative I appreciate those who can make things out of the whole cloth, especially the ones who use wood. I ooh and ahh over the wreaths and the glassware, the etchings and the paintwork.  But I will always stop and read the walls on the booths of those who write wisdom on 6×24 inch planks. For on them one might almost always find the perfect philosophy to live life by.

This certainly isn’t new ground. Past posts discussed self-expression by signage (Walls O’ Wisdom, March 19, 2012) with the help of departments of motor vehicles (UNDTSAY, April 2, 2012), squeezed onto license plate frames (Mobile Philosophy, June 30, 2014) and apparelly apparent (T(-Shirt) is for Thinking, July 30, 2015). The problem is that most of what gets reduced to writing has been reduced so many times over so many years that there is little left. How many times in how many different fonts in how many different finishes can you read “A Penny Saved is a Waste of Time?”

What we need are custom mass-produced pearls of wisdom, or even a good glass knock-off. I have found some of the best worded signs at shows – “Things Haven’t Been the Same Since that House Fell on My Sister,” “Don’t Tell Me What Kind of Day to Have,” and my all-time favorite “If at First you Don‘t Succeed, Redefine Success.” Still, I think we are missing some needed enlightened encouragement or encouraging enlightenment.

Things I thought I’d appreciate on my walls might be:
<<< 120 Minutes Equals One Happy Hour >>>
<<<Is it still a gift card if you buy it for yourself?>>>
<<< You can be whatever you want to be so don’t be stupid. >>>
<<< Nothing Is So Bad That You Can’t Make It Worse >>>

Just in case you didn’t know what to get me for Christmas.

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

T(-Shirt) is for Thinking

Michael 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Michael Leave a comment

I don’t want to get maudlin here but lately I’ve been wondering if there are some things I want to do before kicking the proverbial bucket.  Proverbially.  Not so long ago we posted a “Hole in the Bucket List,” or those things we really don’t want to do.  (See “I Would Do Anything – Not!” Feb. 11, 2013.)  That list ran the gamut from alligator wrestling to tornado chasing.  And even in thinking of those things I’d like to do there are more that I don’t and certainly won’t than those that I wish I had and will try to do.  But if one was to write a bucket list and if that one was me, what would be there?  First it would be of three parts – things to do, places to go, and experiences to um, experience.

Starting with the second first we find the easiest category.  There was once a time that I’d have been convinced that I couldn’t call it a life fulfilled if I hadn’t visited all fifty of the United States.  With apologies to the Midwest, once I got to Kansas, that goal tarnished.  There’s only so much flat and level one can take.  There just isn’t that much difference between North and South Dakotas, and ditto the Carolinas to require four stops on that Triptik.  Alaska is way too big and Rhode Island is way too small to compose jaw dropping long weekends. Fifty states are just too many for more than just weekends.  Regions are a different story.  New England, Mid-Atlantic, Southeast, Southwest, Midwest, West Coast, Northwest.  Those are manageable.  And I’ve been to them all so that’s off the list.  But within each region there are special places.  And some special places deserve special notice.

One city that I have to get to while the getting is still getable is Punxsutawney Pennsylvania, home of Punxsutawney Phil, the world’s greatest weather rodent.   Another go to place is the home of the world’s greatest, and first pizza, Naples.  Naples is also the home of half of my heritage so a trip there would kill two tomatoes with one wheel of cheese.

Things to do before that bucket tips are probably at the top of everyone’s list.  I guess I never have been that conventional.  If I wanted to do it, it has already been done.   There aren’t that many noteworthy things that I feel I have to do again.  Drive across country – done that.  Jump out of a flying object – once was enough and I did it more than that!  Race around a race track in a race car just like a race car driver – no desire.  Nope, there aren’t many things to do to be done or else feel like there is something missing in my life.  Two things to continue to do are to wind down in the hot tub and to wind it up cruising top down along a country lane.  And if I get to pick a companion it would be She.

Part place to go, thing to do, and experience to experience is the last item on the list.  Last here is certainly not least but is at least the least likely to be experienced, or done, or gone to when last call is called.  That would be the Mediterranean Wine Cruise.  Years ago while dreaming of vacations to consider, She and I ran across an ad for a two week cruise across the Mediterranean Sea and all the ports of call were where “wine country” was one of your first thoughts of the area.  Whoever put this together did not use Mediterranean euphemistically like we feel compelled to in this country.  It was not code for Turkey or Greece.  It covered all of the countries that touch that body of water and there are a lot of them.  And they all make wine.  We didn’t get there and for why ever that was it never seemed to be a big deal except for now when I think of places I’d like to go or things I like to do or an experience I’d like to have that I didn’t, or hadn’t, or wanted.

So they aren’t the most adventurous things and places and what nots.  That’s my list and I’m sticking to it.  I wonder now, what would happen if you compare this list with the Hole in the Bucket List?  I guess that makes these sort of the pros and cons of things to do today.

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

 

On Rode the 300

Michael Leave a comment

It’s milestone day!  Or should that be Milestone Day?  Subtle differences make differences.  Anyway…

It’s a milestone day – this is Post #300!  That means the next one starts counting all over again.  And it will, but the first 300 still hang out.  It’s also the start of a new year (or New Year if you prefer).  That means there should be some changes.  And there are but the old stays just as dear as always.

Like we did with the first and second hundred there are some favorites to call out.  It held to the original concept of the first post – this is real reality, not what some housewife, fisherman, storage locker junkie, dancer, prancer, or gator-bait would have you believe is.  What gets posted here really happened – unscripted, unplanned, sometimes unwanted, but always real.  Scary.

What were some of the best of the really real?  Well, best is in the eye of the beholder – or reader – not unlike an ugly Christmas sweater in one of the more recent and memorable posts “Being Beholden” (Dec. 11, 2014).  Another favorite on this side of the keyboard was “Good Things, Small Spaces” (Oct. 6, 2014), the real life adventures of a visit to a public restroom where everything was automatic and proved it!

Rarely was a post controversial other than if it actually fit in the selected category.  One that bucked that trend was “You Thought That Was Politically Incorrect” (Aug. 11, 2014) which was written after He completed several real surveys, each with remarkably different multiple choice answers to the same question – what race are you?  Seemed that someone said that shouldn’t be important yet it keeps getting asked.  Discrimination that made a difference was the subject of “Hair Today, Gone Yesterday” (Aug. 4, 2014), the true tale of a man getting a haircut in the twenty-first century.

There were lots of posts about spending money and buying stuff.  One of the more obtuse offerings was “What I Did on My Summer Vacation” (July 21, 2014).  The title notwithstanding it was about sales, Back to School sales specifically and a search for a new toaster.  Real, not necessary rational.   Shopping took a nasty turn at “Handicap Hate Crime” (June 19, 2014) another true story (they all are), this one of how one grocery store almost crippled the recovering He trying to negotiate his way to the handicapped parking slots.  Technology is not always wonderful.

With all this shopping there has to be somebody doing the selling.  Posts abounded about salespeople and clerks, with an emphasis on the occupant of the drive-thru window.  “If You Give a Teen a Penny” (April 7, 2014) detailed what was the first day behind the cash register for a high schooler whose parents you know told her to get a job.  Unfortunately, they didn’t tell her how to make change.

Fashion is always abuzz (not to be confused with a buzz).  The first post for this 100 posts hitting the fashion world was “Winter Rules” (Feb. 17, 2014).  It included the first two rules of winter fashion.  I’ll add Rule #3 here – It may be a new winter but use the old rules.

Almost a year ago we posted the recap of the second hundred posts with “Marching Onto the Third Hundred” (Jan. 2, 2014).  There we said “If we were going to pick a “best of” list we wouldn’t be able.  Yes, we liked them all but more than that, we liked what they all said about us.   What gets said in the third hundred might be completely different. But it will still say this is who we are and what we do.”

Well the third hundred has been different.  You might have noticed more of the posts were what He did rather than what We did.  She is still there in posts and in thoughts but sometime over the year the blog became more his chronicles.  And they will continue every Monday and Thursday as planned.  Or at least as anticipated.  About the only differences you might notice are more “I” and “me” than “he” and “we.”

And so the Real Reality Show Blog marches onto the four hundred however funny, thoughtful, observant, or a little off-kilter.   That’s the thing about blogs.  They are what you make of them.  And whether there are readers or not, there will always be writers.  And happy new year, too.

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