Tag Wisdom

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

Michael 1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Mobile Philosophy

Michael 4 Comments

In the past we’ve written about how people have expressed their personal thoughts on vanity plates (UDNTSAY, April 2, 2012) and in their homes (Walls O’ Wisdom, March 19, 2012).  There’s another place where people are articulating their point of view, a license plate frame.

Most people who have a frame around their license plates have their favorite sports team, their former college or university, the dealer from whom they purchased their car, a pet they love, or the brand of car they have.  But every once in a while we get behind a motorist whose frame is quite thought-provoking.

The thing about license plate frames is unlike bumper stickers there is a limited space to deal with.  Not as restricted as a vanity plate but unless it’s going to use a very small font, there aren’t a lot of letters available.  They are sort of the Readers’ Digest versions of the Walls o’ Wisdom.

The other thing about license plate frames is that except for those decrying the car dealer, favorite sports teams or animals, or place of matriculation, there aren’t many of them.  But the ones that are there tell a tale.

Some that have appeared in front of our windshields include:

Hit Me.  Ex-Husband in Trunk.  It’s interesting that it specifies Husband.  Is the solicitation of ex-ocide gender specific?  Perhaps wherever this former wife bought her plate there is an Ex-Wife in Trunk version for the other half.

Don’t Follow Me. I’m Lost Too.  No explanation if the frame owner is referring to his or her way to a physical place or a state of mind.

To Bee Is To Do.  Buy Honey.  We’re not sure where to go with that one, but we like the sentiment.  Honey is good.

Do I Look Like I’m Having a Good Day.  This was complete with frowny faces in the corners.

Grandma’s My Name.  Spoiling’s My Game.  Does it need any more explanation?

Just like the walls of wisdom and the vanity plates, these frames tell us something not just about the frame owner but about ourselves also.  There’s something to smile about for each one, even the ex-husband.  And if you can smile while being lost, being sweet, or being cantankerous, it won’t be a long trip.

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

 

Walls O’ Wisdom

Michael 4 Comments

Friends of ours have a plaque hanging above the entrance to their house’s center hallway.  One has to pass it on the way to almost any room in the house.  Every seat in their favorite gathering spot has a clear view of it.  It holds the wisdom of centuries, the hope of generations, and the fear of all who read it.  “What if the hokey pokey is what it’s all about?”

Years ago we took philosophy classes in college to ask the unanswerable, to earn motives, to seek fulfillment, to learn the wisdom of the ages.  Today we just need a good craft show and a vendor with access to the Internet.  All the hard work has been done.  The answers are there.  Along with some questions that we never even thought to ask.

And so we thought of it one day last week.  It came while He of We was standing at the kitchen sink at She of We’s.  There sits a piece of ceramic tile.  Painted on it the thought we all have many times a day but won’t, or can’t verbalize.  “I can only compensate so much for your stupidity.”  Admit it.  You too have wanted to tell your boss just that very thing.  You can’t, or won’t.  You head home knowing something isn’t right.  You can feel it but you aren’t sure what it is that is making you “not right.”  If you were She of We when you get home, you’d know as soon as you stood before your sink what it is that you are feeling.  That one little phrase puts you back on top and sets all right for the rest of the evening.

What are some of the other great wisdoms our walls share with us?  A quick scan at our offices, dens, kitchens, hallways, foyers, even bathrooms provides us with so much enlightenment that we will forever be at inner peace. 

                Half of the people in the world have below average intelligence.

                Behind every great man is an enormous amount of caffeine.

                Don’t believe everything I think.

                If at first you don’t succeed, redefine success.

                Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.

And so it goes.  Maybe they aren’t the world’s greatest pearls of wisdom but they make us smile.  Sometimes they even make us think.  Now wasn’t that the goal of freshman philosophy.  Not to answer questions, or define our motives, or to become fulfilled.  It was to make us think.  Maybe after all the years that have gone by we still need that reminder that not only don’t we have all the answers, we still aren’t sure what the questions are.  Maybe it’s time to slow down and think.  To recognize that success doesn’t equal fulfillment.

We like our walls of wisdom.  So yes, we still need to be reminded that we shouldn’t work so hard at making a living that we forget to make a life.  But we also need to be reminded that nobody gets in to see the wizard, and that somewhere, the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about.

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