WASHINGTON - In the small but controversial world of men’s problems, a new menace affecting over 90% of the male population has recently pushed erectile dysfunction aside to become the prominent topic of the day. The issue? Urine Stream Accuracy Disorder, commonly referred to as USAD.
While the issue is not a pretty one, it is widespread, and sources say it has existed in relative obscurity for decades. “The problem has always been there,” said longtime urinal user Kent Shute, “but up until now, nobody wanted to talk about it. It’s just something we all wished would go away by itself.”
USAD is a disorder which causes men of all ages to relieve themselves on the walls next to, above, or even underneath bathroom urinals. But while everyone can agree that the problem exists, there is huge debate as the to actual cause of the malady. In one corner is the healthcare industry, which insists that USAD is a biological condition easily treatable with prescription drugs.
Just last year, pharmaceutical giant Plaxico-Burress, Inc. received FDA approval of it’s new super pill “Tak-āme!”, the first medical approach to combating USAD. But public acceptance has been slow, due in part because initial marketing efforts were directed at the wrong demographic; women between the ages of 18 – 45.
“That problem has been corrected,” said PBI Chairman Tony Bruschetta. “We cleaned out the whole marketing department. Whacked ‘em all.”
But while PBI may have cleared that particular obstacle, what they haven’t yet overcome is the other reason for lackluster sales, namely the severe side-effects associated with Tak-āme!, most alarming of which is permanent blindness in over 16% of those treated, a condition which many think actually exacerbates the problem of urine stream accuracy. PBI has refuted the claims, saying the numbers are inflated, and has taking legal recourse in it’s effort to fight what it calls “a smear campaign”.
“It’s all smoke & mirrors,” Bruschetta said. “Nobody knows how many of those guys were blind in the first place. It’s not something we checked upfront. And even if those numbers were correct,” Bruschetta continued, “it certainly doesn’t diminish the effectiveness of Tak-āme! on the problem of urine stream accuracy disorder. Blind or not, guys hit the target. Our product works, and we’re confident that people are going to start forking over the cold hard cash to get it.”
On the other side of the USAD controversy is the International Coalition of Urinal Providers who counter that USAD is not a biological problem at all, but is instead due to engineering defects in urinal design.
“If you look at what’s out there today,” says I.C.U.P. spokesman Seymour Butts, “what you’ll see is that there’s no standardization. You’ve got [wall urinals of] different shapes, different heights, different materials, different colors; it’s just insane. And don’t even get me started on troughs. How’s a guy supposed to handle all that and still be able to concentrate?”
However, Butts admits that while all member organizations of the I.C.U. P. may concur that standardization is the key, there is discord within the group when it comes to agreement on a comprehensive solution. Some industry insiders think that special UWP’s (urinals of wide proportions) will relieve 95% of the problem, while others argue that only a combination of UWP’s coupled with other devices such as self-cleaning floor grates will be truly effective.
Also engaged in the fray are service organizations such as Gentlemen’s Helper, LLC, who argue that labeling USAD as either a simple biological or mechanical issue is a rush to judgment.
“It’s a behavioral condition,” insists GH president Lucy Cannon. “There’s just no quick fix for this type of thing, and we certainly don’t intend to provide one. We’re in this for the long haul.”
What GH proposes are specially trained on-site bathroom consultants, whose services range from simple recommendations & tactical advice, to actual “hands-on” assistance for those suffering from advanced stages of USAD. But while behavioral counseling holds promise to many, most analysts think these guys are way out.
As the controversy continues to rage and a real cure remains as of yet just a distant hope, the vast majority of men seem to be content just with that fact that the topic is finally getting some attention.
“People suffering with USAD are just like everybody else,” concluded Shute. “We just want to be able to pee straight.”
Rest assured, Mr. Shute, anyone using a public toilet wants that for you too.
Showing posts with label Silly Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Silly Stuff. Show all posts
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, November 20, 2009
How to Get a Job in Government
Note: Neither of these are mine; just passing along. Enjoy!
Case Study #1:
A country boy answered an ad to buy a mule and paid $500 for it. A few days later he came by with his truck to pick it up and the seller came around and said, “I’m real sorry son, but the mule has died and I can’t give you your money back ‘cause I already spent it.”
The country boy said, “Well, just give me the mule anyway and I’ll raffle it off.”
Weeks later, the seller met the country boy and asked him how the raffle went. The country boy said it was a rip-roarin’ success; he raised $900 by selling raffle tickets for $2 apiece.
The seller exclaimed, “Wasn’t the winner upset when he found out the mule was dead?”
“Oh, landsakes, yes,” the country boy replied, “he was real mad.”
“Well, what did you do?” the seller asked.
“I apologized and gave him his $2 back,” the country boy said.
One year later, the country boy was hired to run the U.S. Treasury.
Case Study #2:
A father was trying to prompt his teenage son into choosing a career, but he had no idea what the boy’s interests were. Sneaking into his son’s room one day, he laid a Bible, a silver dollar, a flask of whiskey, and a girlie magazine all in a row on top of his son’s dresser.
He then hid in the closet with the door cracked open so he could see what his son would do when he came into the room, thinking to himself, “If he picks up the Bible, he’s going to be a preacher. If he picks up the silver dollar, he’ll probably be a banker. If he picks up the whiskey, he’ll wind up a drunk. And if he picks up the girlie magazine, he’s doomed to be a womanizer.”
Pretty soon the his son walked in the room and went straight over to the dresser. He picked up the Bible and put it under his arm, slipped the silver dollar into his pocked, took a shot of whiskey, and then started flipping through the girlie magazine.
“Oh, no!” the father thought, “he’s gonna be a congressman!”
Case Study #1:
A country boy answered an ad to buy a mule and paid $500 for it. A few days later he came by with his truck to pick it up and the seller came around and said, “I’m real sorry son, but the mule has died and I can’t give you your money back ‘cause I already spent it.”
The country boy said, “Well, just give me the mule anyway and I’ll raffle it off.”
Weeks later, the seller met the country boy and asked him how the raffle went. The country boy said it was a rip-roarin’ success; he raised $900 by selling raffle tickets for $2 apiece.
The seller exclaimed, “Wasn’t the winner upset when he found out the mule was dead?”
“Oh, landsakes, yes,” the country boy replied, “he was real mad.”
“Well, what did you do?” the seller asked.
“I apologized and gave him his $2 back,” the country boy said.
One year later, the country boy was hired to run the U.S. Treasury.
Case Study #2:
A father was trying to prompt his teenage son into choosing a career, but he had no idea what the boy’s interests were. Sneaking into his son’s room one day, he laid a Bible, a silver dollar, a flask of whiskey, and a girlie magazine all in a row on top of his son’s dresser.
He then hid in the closet with the door cracked open so he could see what his son would do when he came into the room, thinking to himself, “If he picks up the Bible, he’s going to be a preacher. If he picks up the silver dollar, he’ll probably be a banker. If he picks up the whiskey, he’ll wind up a drunk. And if he picks up the girlie magazine, he’s doomed to be a womanizer.”
Pretty soon the his son walked in the room and went straight over to the dresser. He picked up the Bible and put it under his arm, slipped the silver dollar into his pocked, took a shot of whiskey, and then started flipping through the girlie magazine.
“Oh, no!” the father thought, “he’s gonna be a congressman!”
Monday, October 12, 2009
Female Word Meanings
I don’t think Catherine attended the same type of schools that I did because she doesn’t seem to understand the meanings of normal everyday words. I’m also aware that she isn’t the only woman who doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of the basic concepts of the English language; it’s an affliction that apparently affects wives everywhere.
When I was in school, I paid attention sometimes, and that investment during my youth - added to the vast store of information that I have gleaned during my marriage - makes me somewhat of an authority on this subject.
With that in mind, and in my constant struggle to make the world a better place for all, I’ve decided to clarify a few simple words that seem to have completely a different meaning to women than those that have been officially defined by that famous bachelor Mr. Webster (and we know that he was a bachelor because if he had ever been married he might have actually defined some of these things differently and thus saved many a newly married man from countless hours of confusion and lonely nights sleeping on the couch, not to mention entire forests that have been mown down over the years to print out credit card receipts for roses).
1) nothing (n) – something of no importance
Female definition: something of great importance that is so ridiculously obvious it will not be explained to the husband even though he needs to apologize for it and make massive & immediate reparations. (In context: “What’s wrong, honey?” “Nothing.”) It should be noted that the magnitude of “nothing” will increase exponentially if the husband naively mistakes its use to actually mean “something of no importance”.
2) minute (n) – a period of time equal to 60 seconds
Female definition: any period of time required to accomplish a task that the wife wants done right now, the scope of which may range from hours to days. Usually preceded by the words “Honey, can you come here for a - ”
3) phone-call (n) - a convenient, easy way to transfer information over a distance
Female definition: a convenient, easy, and absolutely non-negotiable action required whenever a husband will miss his expected arrival by more than 5 minutes (of the type that equal 60 seconds). Not applicable to wives at all, regardless of time frame involved.
4) money (n) – coins or paper currency issued by a government as a medium of exchange
Female definition: an inexhaustible and magically appearing resource that must be exchanged for goods & services as quickly as possible in order to prevent its accumulation.
5) period (n) – an occurrence of menstruation
Female definition: a time of extreme fatigue and crankiness lasting from 5 to 31 days of any given month.
6) no (adv) – a term used to express categorical refusal
Female definition: a term used to express categorical refusal. Common synonyms: I’ve got a headache; I just washed my hair; Is that all you think about?; Your parents are sleeping in the next room; Your parents will be visiting next week; You have parents. Sometimes also used to mean “yes” - but rarely - and you’ll never realize it if it does.
When I was in school, I paid attention sometimes, and that investment during my youth - added to the vast store of information that I have gleaned during my marriage - makes me somewhat of an authority on this subject.
With that in mind, and in my constant struggle to make the world a better place for all, I’ve decided to clarify a few simple words that seem to have completely a different meaning to women than those that have been officially defined by that famous bachelor Mr. Webster (and we know that he was a bachelor because if he had ever been married he might have actually defined some of these things differently and thus saved many a newly married man from countless hours of confusion and lonely nights sleeping on the couch, not to mention entire forests that have been mown down over the years to print out credit card receipts for roses).
1) nothing (n) – something of no importance
Female definition: something of great importance that is so ridiculously obvious it will not be explained to the husband even though he needs to apologize for it and make massive & immediate reparations. (In context: “What’s wrong, honey?” “Nothing.”) It should be noted that the magnitude of “nothing” will increase exponentially if the husband naively mistakes its use to actually mean “something of no importance”.
2) minute (n) – a period of time equal to 60 seconds
Female definition: any period of time required to accomplish a task that the wife wants done right now, the scope of which may range from hours to days. Usually preceded by the words “Honey, can you come here for a - ”
3) phone-call (n) - a convenient, easy way to transfer information over a distance
Female definition: a convenient, easy, and absolutely non-negotiable action required whenever a husband will miss his expected arrival by more than 5 minutes (of the type that equal 60 seconds). Not applicable to wives at all, regardless of time frame involved.
4) money (n) – coins or paper currency issued by a government as a medium of exchange
Female definition: an inexhaustible and magically appearing resource that must be exchanged for goods & services as quickly as possible in order to prevent its accumulation.
5) period (n) – an occurrence of menstruation
Female definition: a time of extreme fatigue and crankiness lasting from 5 to 31 days of any given month.
6) no (adv) – a term used to express categorical refusal
Female definition: a term used to express categorical refusal. Common synonyms: I’ve got a headache; I just washed my hair; Is that all you think about?; Your parents are sleeping in the next room; Your parents will be visiting next week; You have parents. Sometimes also used to mean “yes” - but rarely - and you’ll never realize it if it does.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
A Walk Through the Gallery
Join me on a leisurely tour through the virtual museum of trivial stupidity . . .
Exhibit “A” - Attention to Detail
We have a park here in Liberty that includes several walls built of memorial bricks dedicated to veterans. A third and final wall is being constructed and the city has been taking applications for the bricks it will be built with, which can be purchased by the veterans themselves or family members in their honor. Each brick has the person’s name, service, dates of service, and the war they fought in (if applicable).
One of the applications received listed the individual’s service dates as “1921 – 1924” along with “World War I”.
Here’s a tip: If you’re going to “honor” a family member by giving them credit for a war they didn’t fight in, at least have the courtesy to take the time to find out when that war was actually fought.
World War I ended in 1918.
Exhibit “B” – Good Idea #1
I think it’s time to go back to our roots and put the Cosa Nostra boys back in charge of things. Imagine the Mafia running our banks, insurance companies, credit companies, mortgage companies; you get the idea. Let them run the whole show.
It’s not as crazy as you might think. First of all, the people involved in organized crime - while criminals by definition - are at least honest about it. They know who they are, they know what they do; and they also know that you know. Nobody’s trying to pass themselves off as something they aren’t.
Secondly, although they are criminals, they aren’t quite as greedy as those who are currently in charge of all of our country’s institutions. They even give back to the community on occasion. And you’re almost guaranteed to have a very nice funeral when the time arrives.
Finally, people will start paying their bills when they’re supposed to, because when you’re 15 days late on a payment, instead of getting a reminder in the mail that you completely ignore, you get a knock on your door from Vinnie & Sal.
Sal doesn’t talk much.
Exhibit “C” – Good Idea #2
This one isn’t my idea, but I think it has merit. If we really wanted to fix the economy, it sure seems like this would have more of a chance than pumping trillions of dollars into the same institutions that got us into this mess in the first place.
The concept is simple: Take 5 million of the current U.S. employees in the 54 – 65 age range and give each of them 1 million dollars. These are people who are going to be retiring within the next 10 years anyway. Send them on their way early with a nice little sum to enjoy in their golden years.
To accept the $1m, each of these employees MUST:
- Quit their job and retire (5 million new jobs created; unemployment crisis fixed)
- Buy a new GM, Chrysler, or Ford car (5 million new car sales; automotive crisis fixed)
- Pay off existing mortgage or buy a new home (5 million home sales; housing crisis fixed)
- Stay out of the workforce for at least 5 years. (They may, however, use their remaining money to start a new business if they wish).
That’s it. Sure sounds like it would work to me. Certainly better than giving the same money to the crooks who run our banking system (unless, of course, they happen to be crooks of Sicilian descent; see Exhibit “B”)
Exhibit “D” – Just in Case You Thought Exhibit “C” Was Stupid
A buck-a-day -- that's the incentive being offered to young girls to keep them from getting pregnant.
The group College-Bound Sisters was founded at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro by Hazel Brown, a maternity nurse who thought too many teens were having babies.
Brown said she hopes the program, which pays $1 each day to 12-to-18-year-old girls, will keep them from getting pregnant. In addition to remaining pregnancy-free, the girls must also attend weekly meetings.
The program is funded by a four-year grant from the state.
Source: Program Pays Girls $1 Per Day To Not Get Pregnant
Your tax dollars hard at work. I wonder if they’ll make the same offer to boys for not getting someone pregnant? Seems only fair . . . .
Exhibit “A” - Attention to Detail
We have a park here in Liberty that includes several walls built of memorial bricks dedicated to veterans. A third and final wall is being constructed and the city has been taking applications for the bricks it will be built with, which can be purchased by the veterans themselves or family members in their honor. Each brick has the person’s name, service, dates of service, and the war they fought in (if applicable).
One of the applications received listed the individual’s service dates as “1921 – 1924” along with “World War I”.
Here’s a tip: If you’re going to “honor” a family member by giving them credit for a war they didn’t fight in, at least have the courtesy to take the time to find out when that war was actually fought.
World War I ended in 1918.
Exhibit “B” – Good Idea #1
I think it’s time to go back to our roots and put the Cosa Nostra boys back in charge of things. Imagine the Mafia running our banks, insurance companies, credit companies, mortgage companies; you get the idea. Let them run the whole show.
It’s not as crazy as you might think. First of all, the people involved in organized crime - while criminals by definition - are at least honest about it. They know who they are, they know what they do; and they also know that you know. Nobody’s trying to pass themselves off as something they aren’t.
Secondly, although they are criminals, they aren’t quite as greedy as those who are currently in charge of all of our country’s institutions. They even give back to the community on occasion. And you’re almost guaranteed to have a very nice funeral when the time arrives.
Finally, people will start paying their bills when they’re supposed to, because when you’re 15 days late on a payment, instead of getting a reminder in the mail that you completely ignore, you get a knock on your door from Vinnie & Sal.
Sal doesn’t talk much.
Exhibit “C” – Good Idea #2
This one isn’t my idea, but I think it has merit. If we really wanted to fix the economy, it sure seems like this would have more of a chance than pumping trillions of dollars into the same institutions that got us into this mess in the first place.
The concept is simple: Take 5 million of the current U.S. employees in the 54 – 65 age range and give each of them 1 million dollars. These are people who are going to be retiring within the next 10 years anyway. Send them on their way early with a nice little sum to enjoy in their golden years.
To accept the $1m, each of these employees MUST:
- Quit their job and retire (5 million new jobs created; unemployment crisis fixed)
- Buy a new GM, Chrysler, or Ford car (5 million new car sales; automotive crisis fixed)
- Pay off existing mortgage or buy a new home (5 million home sales; housing crisis fixed)
- Stay out of the workforce for at least 5 years. (They may, however, use their remaining money to start a new business if they wish).
That’s it. Sure sounds like it would work to me. Certainly better than giving the same money to the crooks who run our banking system (unless, of course, they happen to be crooks of Sicilian descent; see Exhibit “B”)
Exhibit “D” – Just in Case You Thought Exhibit “C” Was Stupid
A buck-a-day -- that's the incentive being offered to young girls to keep them from getting pregnant.
The group College-Bound Sisters was founded at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro by Hazel Brown, a maternity nurse who thought too many teens were having babies.
Brown said she hopes the program, which pays $1 each day to 12-to-18-year-old girls, will keep them from getting pregnant. In addition to remaining pregnancy-free, the girls must also attend weekly meetings.
The program is funded by a four-year grant from the state.
Source: Program Pays Girls $1 Per Day To Not Get Pregnant
Your tax dollars hard at work. I wonder if they’ll make the same offer to boys for not getting someone pregnant? Seems only fair . . . .
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Idiots in the Mist
Forget the Gorillas; we’ve got these guys . . .
Study: Lots of Red Meat Increases Mortality Risk
I saw the above title for a news article a couple of days ago. I only embedded the link to prove that I didn’t just make it up. Please don’t bother reading it; when the title is this stupid, who really needs to know what they have to say?
I always recommend that people know the definition of a word before using it. Here are all of the definitions of “mortality” straight from Merriam-Webster:
1: the quality or state of being mortal
2: the death of large numbers (as of people or animals)
3 archaic : death
4: the human race
5 a: the number of deaths in a given time or place b: the proportion of deaths to population c: the number lost or the rate of loss or failure
The bottom line is that it really doesn’t matter which definition you choose; your “mortality risk” is pretty much going to be 100% no matter what you do. As the old saying goes, “Nobody gets out alive.”
Here’s another beauty: Why Toddlers Don’t Do As Their Told
Check out some of these groundbreaking observations from this story:
"There is a lot of work in the field of cognitive development that focuses on how kids are basically little versions of adults trying to do the same things adults do, but they're just not as good at it yet.”
Really? I never would have guessed.
“ . . . 3-year-olds neither plan for the future nor live completely in the present.”
GET OUT. Are you serious?
"If you just repeat something again and again that requires your young child to prepare for something in advance, that is not likely to be effective," Munakata said. "What would be more effective would be to somehow try to trigger this reactive function. So don't do something that requires them to plan ahead in their mind, but rather try to highlight the conflict that they are going to face. Perhaps you could say something like 'I know you don't want to take your coat now, but when you're standing in the yard shivering later, remember that you can get your coat from your bedroom."
Um . . . this may sound crazy, but how about you just put a coat on them when it’s cold outside instead of trying to REASON with them? Who's the adult here?
You want to know the real reason why toddlers don’t do as their told? Because they’re TODDLERS.
It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt. – Abraham Lincoln
Study: Lots of Red Meat Increases Mortality Risk
I saw the above title for a news article a couple of days ago. I only embedded the link to prove that I didn’t just make it up. Please don’t bother reading it; when the title is this stupid, who really needs to know what they have to say?
I always recommend that people know the definition of a word before using it. Here are all of the definitions of “mortality” straight from Merriam-Webster:
1: the quality or state of being mortal
2: the death of large numbers (as of people or animals)
3 archaic : death
4: the human race
5 a: the number of deaths in a given time or place b: the proportion of deaths to population c: the number lost or the rate of loss or failure
The bottom line is that it really doesn’t matter which definition you choose; your “mortality risk” is pretty much going to be 100% no matter what you do. As the old saying goes, “Nobody gets out alive.”
Here’s another beauty: Why Toddlers Don’t Do As Their Told
Check out some of these groundbreaking observations from this story:
"There is a lot of work in the field of cognitive development that focuses on how kids are basically little versions of adults trying to do the same things adults do, but they're just not as good at it yet.”
Really? I never would have guessed.
“ . . . 3-year-olds neither plan for the future nor live completely in the present.”
GET OUT. Are you serious?
"If you just repeat something again and again that requires your young child to prepare for something in advance, that is not likely to be effective," Munakata said. "What would be more effective would be to somehow try to trigger this reactive function. So don't do something that requires them to plan ahead in their mind, but rather try to highlight the conflict that they are going to face. Perhaps you could say something like 'I know you don't want to take your coat now, but when you're standing in the yard shivering later, remember that you can get your coat from your bedroom."
Um . . . this may sound crazy, but how about you just put a coat on them when it’s cold outside instead of trying to REASON with them? Who's the adult here?
You want to know the real reason why toddlers don’t do as their told? Because they’re TODDLERS.
It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt. – Abraham Lincoln
Monday, March 23, 2009
Laughter Speaks Louder Than Words
Just a little bit of humor for your Monday morning . . .
Every Sunday morning I sit next to a man named Bill in our Sunday School class. Bill was a lifetime Marine; he served combat tours in Korea and his body bears the scars. He’s old and has some trouble moving around. His body has its good days and its bad days. But Bill’s mind is still sharp as a tack, and he’s never lost his sense of humor.
Yesterday we were studying Nehemiah; specifically, the problems that the people of Jerusalem were confronting Nehemiah with as he was leading them to rebuild the city. Their problems sounded much like our own today; the fruits of their labor were overtaxed, their lands were mortgaged, their families were hungry and struggling.
Our Sunday School teacher then made a reference to Joseph by asking “What did Joseph do when hard times hit Egypt?”
Without the slightest hesitation and in perfect dead-pan form, Bill said, “He passed a stimulus package.”
The entire class erupted in laughter.
Every Sunday morning I sit next to a man named Bill in our Sunday School class. Bill was a lifetime Marine; he served combat tours in Korea and his body bears the scars. He’s old and has some trouble moving around. His body has its good days and its bad days. But Bill’s mind is still sharp as a tack, and he’s never lost his sense of humor.
Yesterday we were studying Nehemiah; specifically, the problems that the people of Jerusalem were confronting Nehemiah with as he was leading them to rebuild the city. Their problems sounded much like our own today; the fruits of their labor were overtaxed, their lands were mortgaged, their families were hungry and struggling.
Our Sunday School teacher then made a reference to Joseph by asking “What did Joseph do when hard times hit Egypt?”
Without the slightest hesitation and in perfect dead-pan form, Bill said, “He passed a stimulus package.”
The entire class erupted in laughter.
Friday, October 3, 2008
He Said: The Trappings of Marriage
Marriage is full of many traps. In fact, some might say that marriage itself is a trap; I’ve heard rumors that there is a story circulating in some corners of the world regarding free milk and a cow, but of course I’m not familiar with that story myself, and I can assure you that under no circumstances would I ever subscribe to it’s agenda, nor would I issue a melancholy laugh if anyone ever related it to me.
No, marriage itself is a wonderful thing. But there are some parts of it that take some getting used to. Like talking to your wife.
I’ll be blunt: there’s no talking to Catherine. It just can’t be done. Every conversation is like walking through a minefield, tip-toeing along while you wait for the bomb to explode. Because you know it’s just a matter of time before it will. Women will tell you that they always want you to be honest with them, and yet, I’m still searching for the correct way to do that. The truth may very well set you free, but it also has the very real potential to blow your foot off.
The core of the problem is that women do this thing they call “reading between the lines”. I’ve tried to do this myself, but all I ever see is blank space. I personally don’t think they see anything either, but it gives them a good excuse to “read” something into everything and twist it around to mean something completely different.
Take, for instance, the subject of cooking. On this topic I have to say – truthfully – that Catherine does a pretty good job overall. But not always. And on those occasions when the meal that she has prepared is, shall we say, something that I would not order twice at a restaurant (and in some cases, something that would result in harsh words and possible fisticuffs with the chef), I am presented with a dilemma for which there is no way out; a true “marriage trap”.
Try to tell her the truth – that you didn’t like it – and KABOOM!, she melts under a cascade of tears and suddenly you’re doing some serious time on the couch (the number of nights in direct proportion to how long it took her to prepare the offending meal). As bad as that is, however, the alternative, while not as immediately painful, has long term consequences that are just as devastating.
Because while she may be pleased when she sees you choke down the meal with a smile on your face and then tell her how much you liked it (while she remains blissfully ignorant the whole time to the beads of sweat running down your face), the problem is that she will think that you actually did like it. And so, completely oblivious to the fact that you normally don’t drink 8 glasses of water with your dinner, she will “make a note of it”. Which means that she will cook it for you again.
Frequently.
For the rest of your life.
And may the good Lord help you if she ever finds out some years down the line (after cooking this tripe for you dozens & dozens of times) that you don’t like it and never did. We’re not talking “couch time” anymore, gentlemen; we’re talking Motel-6.**
Then there is the infamous “hairdo” trap. In the early years of our marriage, I naively thought I could lick this trap by simply checking Catherine’s calendar to find out when she had a hair appointment, because - apt pupil that I am - I learned early on that when she comes home from the hairdresser, you sure as heck better notice something. But I learned just as quickly that it doesn’t matter what you say; you’re a dead man either way.
If you make a big deal about how much you love her new hairdo, what you are in effect doing (and this is where her ability to “read between the lines” kicks in) is telling her that you never really liked her previous hairdo, and in fact, had been lying when you told her that you had really loved it and had perpetuated that lie daily in all the weeks or months since.
The only other alternatives are to tell her that you don’t like it (duuuude, I really hope you like that couch), or, reverting back to your natural primal instincts, just don’t notice it at all, which, as previously stated, is just plain ignorant.
Such a perplexing puzzle is this “hairdo” dilemma, that I have even sought Biblical guidance in my efforts to try and solve it. Knowing that Solomon was the wisest man in history, I recently opened my Bible to “Song of Solomon” and pored over his words carefully - looking for anything that might help me - and found what I thought was the answer in Chapter 4, verse 2.
And so, the next time Catherine came home from the beauty parlor, I rushed up to her and - feeling more confident than I had in years - excitedly blurted out, “Hi honey, your hair looks like a flock of goats!”.
I’m not sure how well that line worked for good ole’ Solomon, but I’ll give you 3 guesses as to how well it worked for me. And I just don’t understand it either; I mean, this guy had like a thousand wives. How could that line not work? Unless the chicks just didn’t care what he said because he was the richest man on the face of the planet. Hmmmm. Maybe if I could get my hands on a whole lot of money . . .
In the meantime though, as far as my wife is concerned, well, there’s no talking to her.
It just can’t be done.
** There is actually one way out of this particular trap, and while I should charge money for sharing this intellectual property that took me years to attain myself, since it is my sincere wish that the bloodletting would stop in marriages everywhere, I will give it to you for free. The trick is to tell your wife that you love the meal, but within the hour become violently sick to your stomach “from something else.” (Anything will do here; bad wine, moldy Twinkies, etc.,). The next time she intends to cook the same thing, feign a nauseas reaction and tell her that you can’t eat it because your body has mentally linked that particular meal with your previous “sickness” (she’ll believe this because women are into that whole “mental” thing). And be sure to make a really big deal about what a shame it is that you’ll never be able to eat it again since it will always have the stigma of that involuntary reaction attached to it. Genius, I know. And while I still haven’t figured out the whole “hairdo” thing, take heart in the fact that I am working on it.
No, marriage itself is a wonderful thing. But there are some parts of it that take some getting used to. Like talking to your wife.
I’ll be blunt: there’s no talking to Catherine. It just can’t be done. Every conversation is like walking through a minefield, tip-toeing along while you wait for the bomb to explode. Because you know it’s just a matter of time before it will. Women will tell you that they always want you to be honest with them, and yet, I’m still searching for the correct way to do that. The truth may very well set you free, but it also has the very real potential to blow your foot off.
The core of the problem is that women do this thing they call “reading between the lines”. I’ve tried to do this myself, but all I ever see is blank space. I personally don’t think they see anything either, but it gives them a good excuse to “read” something into everything and twist it around to mean something completely different.
Take, for instance, the subject of cooking. On this topic I have to say – truthfully – that Catherine does a pretty good job overall. But not always. And on those occasions when the meal that she has prepared is, shall we say, something that I would not order twice at a restaurant (and in some cases, something that would result in harsh words and possible fisticuffs with the chef), I am presented with a dilemma for which there is no way out; a true “marriage trap”.
Try to tell her the truth – that you didn’t like it – and KABOOM!, she melts under a cascade of tears and suddenly you’re doing some serious time on the couch (the number of nights in direct proportion to how long it took her to prepare the offending meal). As bad as that is, however, the alternative, while not as immediately painful, has long term consequences that are just as devastating.
Because while she may be pleased when she sees you choke down the meal with a smile on your face and then tell her how much you liked it (while she remains blissfully ignorant the whole time to the beads of sweat running down your face), the problem is that she will think that you actually did like it. And so, completely oblivious to the fact that you normally don’t drink 8 glasses of water with your dinner, she will “make a note of it”. Which means that she will cook it for you again.
Frequently.
For the rest of your life.
And may the good Lord help you if she ever finds out some years down the line (after cooking this tripe for you dozens & dozens of times) that you don’t like it and never did. We’re not talking “couch time” anymore, gentlemen; we’re talking Motel-6.**
Then there is the infamous “hairdo” trap. In the early years of our marriage, I naively thought I could lick this trap by simply checking Catherine’s calendar to find out when she had a hair appointment, because - apt pupil that I am - I learned early on that when she comes home from the hairdresser, you sure as heck better notice something. But I learned just as quickly that it doesn’t matter what you say; you’re a dead man either way.
If you make a big deal about how much you love her new hairdo, what you are in effect doing (and this is where her ability to “read between the lines” kicks in) is telling her that you never really liked her previous hairdo, and in fact, had been lying when you told her that you had really loved it and had perpetuated that lie daily in all the weeks or months since.
The only other alternatives are to tell her that you don’t like it (duuuude, I really hope you like that couch), or, reverting back to your natural primal instincts, just don’t notice it at all, which, as previously stated, is just plain ignorant.
Such a perplexing puzzle is this “hairdo” dilemma, that I have even sought Biblical guidance in my efforts to try and solve it. Knowing that Solomon was the wisest man in history, I recently opened my Bible to “Song of Solomon” and pored over his words carefully - looking for anything that might help me - and found what I thought was the answer in Chapter 4, verse 2.
And so, the next time Catherine came home from the beauty parlor, I rushed up to her and - feeling more confident than I had in years - excitedly blurted out, “Hi honey, your hair looks like a flock of goats!”.
I’m not sure how well that line worked for good ole’ Solomon, but I’ll give you 3 guesses as to how well it worked for me. And I just don’t understand it either; I mean, this guy had like a thousand wives. How could that line not work? Unless the chicks just didn’t care what he said because he was the richest man on the face of the planet. Hmmmm. Maybe if I could get my hands on a whole lot of money . . .
In the meantime though, as far as my wife is concerned, well, there’s no talking to her.
It just can’t be done.
** There is actually one way out of this particular trap, and while I should charge money for sharing this intellectual property that took me years to attain myself, since it is my sincere wish that the bloodletting would stop in marriages everywhere, I will give it to you for free. The trick is to tell your wife that you love the meal, but within the hour become violently sick to your stomach “from something else.” (Anything will do here; bad wine, moldy Twinkies, etc.,). The next time she intends to cook the same thing, feign a nauseas reaction and tell her that you can’t eat it because your body has mentally linked that particular meal with your previous “sickness” (she’ll believe this because women are into that whole “mental” thing). And be sure to make a really big deal about what a shame it is that you’ll never be able to eat it again since it will always have the stigma of that involuntary reaction attached to it. Genius, I know. And while I still haven’t figured out the whole “hairdo” thing, take heart in the fact that I am working on it.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Pure Genius
I know that God gave Solomon the gift of wisdom, but sometimes I think He must’ve had a little left over that He threw my way. I don't think it would be boasting to call myself a genius. I mean, who would know that better than me, right? But sometimes my genius is so intense it scares me. Like today for instance. Let me explain.
I was visiting a local business and heard them talking about what to do with their old “display” cell phones. They had a whole basket of them, and since they were just going to go in the trash anyway, I asked if I could have one. I picked out a really cool looking silver flip-phone; it has that “faux-executive” look.
A display phone looks & feels just like the real thing, the only difference - and I do mean the only difference - is that it doesn’t actually work. That may sound like it would defeat the whole purpose of having a cell phone, but I beg to differ. Having a cell phone that doesn’t actually work is actually better than one that does, for a whole host of reasons.
Don’t believe me? Think your “real” phone is better than mine? Let’s compare, shall we?
Just like you, I can use my phone to get out of meetings or annoying face-to-face conversations. I just pretend I feel it vibrating in my back pocket, and the next thing you know I’m walking away to answer “that important call that just can’t wait”. Scott free & no hurt feelings.
Just like you I can look cool driving down the road with my phone to my ear, but with the added advantage of not getting distracted by having to actually concentrate on having a conversation.
And just like you I can pretend to take pictures of suspicious people for the Department of Homeland Security.
But it doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. Here’s just a few of the other features of my non-functional phone. Read ‘em and weep, baby. Read ‘em and weep:
* No long-term contracts; just pay $0 for the first 6 months, and No Charge thereafter. Cancel anytime. No penalty.
* Unlimited minutes.
* Water-proof. In fact, it’s completely submersible with no loss of functionality. Guaranteed.
* Batteries never need charging.
* So easy to use it doesn’t even come with a manual.
* No harmful microwave radiation to my head.
* No dropped calls.
* “5-bar” service everywhere. I can even pretend to take a call while diving at a depth of 60 feet somewhere off the Florida Keys.
* Only “works” when I need it to. No annoying interruptions to my day (unless I want one).
* No roaming charges, FCC fees, or interstate surcharges.
* Built-in GPS; if I have it in my hand, I know that’s exactly where I’m at.
* Nobody gets upset if I don’t answer their calls.
* Won’t interfere with airplane navigation systems.
* Completely impervious to any illegal NSA wiretapping attempts.
* And as if that’s not enough, I NEVER have to actually listen to someone’s inane blathering in my ear.
Shocking, isn't it? I guess it's all how you look at things, of course, but the way I see it, I just can't think of a single benefit of a working cell phone that outweighs the benefits of a non-working one. In fact, I am so happy with my non-functional phone that I picked up some extras for Catherine and the kids.
We’re all on the same plan.
I was visiting a local business and heard them talking about what to do with their old “display” cell phones. They had a whole basket of them, and since they were just going to go in the trash anyway, I asked if I could have one. I picked out a really cool looking silver flip-phone; it has that “faux-executive” look.
A display phone looks & feels just like the real thing, the only difference - and I do mean the only difference - is that it doesn’t actually work. That may sound like it would defeat the whole purpose of having a cell phone, but I beg to differ. Having a cell phone that doesn’t actually work is actually better than one that does, for a whole host of reasons.
Don’t believe me? Think your “real” phone is better than mine? Let’s compare, shall we?
Just like you, I can use my phone to get out of meetings or annoying face-to-face conversations. I just pretend I feel it vibrating in my back pocket, and the next thing you know I’m walking away to answer “that important call that just can’t wait”. Scott free & no hurt feelings.
Just like you I can look cool driving down the road with my phone to my ear, but with the added advantage of not getting distracted by having to actually concentrate on having a conversation.
And just like you I can pretend to take pictures of suspicious people for the Department of Homeland Security.
But it doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. Here’s just a few of the other features of my non-functional phone. Read ‘em and weep, baby. Read ‘em and weep:
* No long-term contracts; just pay $0 for the first 6 months, and No Charge thereafter. Cancel anytime. No penalty.
* Unlimited minutes.
* Water-proof. In fact, it’s completely submersible with no loss of functionality. Guaranteed.
* Batteries never need charging.
* So easy to use it doesn’t even come with a manual.
* No harmful microwave radiation to my head.
* No dropped calls.
* “5-bar” service everywhere. I can even pretend to take a call while diving at a depth of 60 feet somewhere off the Florida Keys.
* Only “works” when I need it to. No annoying interruptions to my day (unless I want one).
* No roaming charges, FCC fees, or interstate surcharges.
* Built-in GPS; if I have it in my hand, I know that’s exactly where I’m at.
* Nobody gets upset if I don’t answer their calls.
* Won’t interfere with airplane navigation systems.
* Completely impervious to any illegal NSA wiretapping attempts.
* And as if that’s not enough, I NEVER have to actually listen to someone’s inane blathering in my ear.
Shocking, isn't it? I guess it's all how you look at things, of course, but the way I see it, I just can't think of a single benefit of a working cell phone that outweighs the benefits of a non-working one. In fact, I am so happy with my non-functional phone that I picked up some extras for Catherine and the kids.
We’re all on the same plan.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
He Said - The Diaper Years
I love my kids. They’re great. And not just because they’re nice to have around when I need another cup of coffee and don’t feel like going to the kitchen myself, or when it would really be nice for somebody to hand me the remote control because I already sat down, or on those occasions when I just feel like ordering someone around for no other reason than because I feel like it.
No surprise to me that some people call these the “wonder years.” I would agree wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, children do not come into this world directly into the “wonder years”. Prior to that is a much darker period of time known as the “diaper years”, and it is a time perhaps not quite filled so much with wonder as it is with something else altogether.
I learned many things during the diaper years. I learned that I had badly underestimated how expensive diapers are, not to mention how many are required for the daily care of a baby. I learned that there is no such thing as a “leak proof” diaper. I learned that the Diaper Genie we purchased to dispose of dirty diapers was a complete waste of money because the kitchen trash was much easier to use and would fill up so fast that you had to empty it every 4 hours anyway.
And, in one very memorable rookie mistake, I learned that you should never stick your finger inside of a baby’s diaper to see if it needs to be changed.
Because sometimes it does.
But the biggest thing I learned during these years is that I did not want to change a diaper AT ALL if I could possibly avoid it, and being a quick study, I did find a few ways to get out of it. Gentlemen, the information that follows is priceless knowledge that was gleaned from my own personal trials of slogging through many a diaper year. It is yours to use as you see fit. All that I would ask in return is that when you speak of me, speak well.
* Over-powder. Nothing will rankle your wife more than to have a cloud of baby powder shoot out of your baby’s diaper every time she picks them up or sets them down. It won’t be long before she starts saying those 5 blessed little words that you love to hear: “Just let me do it.” After that, it’s all football & Fritos, baby.
* Claim complete ignorance of the female anatomy. Only works for baby girls, obviously. The basis for this excuse is that you might possible hurt the baby and/or not clean them properly because, well, you’re completely ignorant of the female anatomy. The best part about this excuse is that you don’t have to lie to pull it off. (Note: To help illustrate your ignorance, take the time to earnestly question your wife about how it was again that she became pregnant in the first place.)
* Install Diapers Very Loosely. There’s nothing like a good poopy dribbling down your baby’s leg and onto her dress while she’s breastfeeding to get your wife’s attention. Also very cool when - much to her horror - Grandma or Grandpa pick the baby up and the diaper falls off completely. If asked, you put the diapers on loosely because you don’t want them to constrict the baby and cause them pain. Your wife won’t argue that point, but she will feel compelled to attempt to show you the right way to put the diaper on. Stick to your guns no matter how many times she does this and continue to tell her in your most adamant voice, “that’s exactly what I did!”. Eventually she’ll give up, but you may take a few shots before she does.
* Pretend That You’re “Right in the Middle of Something.” Tell your wife that you are at a “critical juncture” of a project and you can’t stop right at the moment because “you just mixed the epoxy”, and then run out of the room. Women don’t know what epoxy is or what it’s for, but that’s exactly why they won’t call your bluff. If the “project” in question is something on the “Honey-Do” list, so much the better, because they’re the ones that wanted it done in the first place. WARNING: Do not attempt this excuse if you’ve been sitting on the couch watching TV. She won’t buy it.
* Barter. Let’s face it, no new father wants to fold laundry, clean up the dishes, make the bed, or buy his wife that trip to Paris that she’s been begging for, but if you can’t fake your way out of diaper duty, there’s nothing dishonorable about buying your way out. Many a man has done it, and if my guess is correct, this is probably how the whole concept of “trade” was invented in the first place.
No surprise to me that some people call these the “wonder years.” I would agree wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, children do not come into this world directly into the “wonder years”. Prior to that is a much darker period of time known as the “diaper years”, and it is a time perhaps not quite filled so much with wonder as it is with something else altogether.
I learned many things during the diaper years. I learned that I had badly underestimated how expensive diapers are, not to mention how many are required for the daily care of a baby. I learned that there is no such thing as a “leak proof” diaper. I learned that the Diaper Genie we purchased to dispose of dirty diapers was a complete waste of money because the kitchen trash was much easier to use and would fill up so fast that you had to empty it every 4 hours anyway.
And, in one very memorable rookie mistake, I learned that you should never stick your finger inside of a baby’s diaper to see if it needs to be changed.
Because sometimes it does.
But the biggest thing I learned during these years is that I did not want to change a diaper AT ALL if I could possibly avoid it, and being a quick study, I did find a few ways to get out of it. Gentlemen, the information that follows is priceless knowledge that was gleaned from my own personal trials of slogging through many a diaper year. It is yours to use as you see fit. All that I would ask in return is that when you speak of me, speak well.
* Over-powder. Nothing will rankle your wife more than to have a cloud of baby powder shoot out of your baby’s diaper every time she picks them up or sets them down. It won’t be long before she starts saying those 5 blessed little words that you love to hear: “Just let me do it.” After that, it’s all football & Fritos, baby.
* Claim complete ignorance of the female anatomy. Only works for baby girls, obviously. The basis for this excuse is that you might possible hurt the baby and/or not clean them properly because, well, you’re completely ignorant of the female anatomy. The best part about this excuse is that you don’t have to lie to pull it off. (Note: To help illustrate your ignorance, take the time to earnestly question your wife about how it was again that she became pregnant in the first place.)
* Install Diapers Very Loosely. There’s nothing like a good poopy dribbling down your baby’s leg and onto her dress while she’s breastfeeding to get your wife’s attention. Also very cool when - much to her horror - Grandma or Grandpa pick the baby up and the diaper falls off completely. If asked, you put the diapers on loosely because you don’t want them to constrict the baby and cause them pain. Your wife won’t argue that point, but she will feel compelled to attempt to show you the right way to put the diaper on. Stick to your guns no matter how many times she does this and continue to tell her in your most adamant voice, “that’s exactly what I did!”. Eventually she’ll give up, but you may take a few shots before she does.
* Pretend That You’re “Right in the Middle of Something.” Tell your wife that you are at a “critical juncture” of a project and you can’t stop right at the moment because “you just mixed the epoxy”, and then run out of the room. Women don’t know what epoxy is or what it’s for, but that’s exactly why they won’t call your bluff. If the “project” in question is something on the “Honey-Do” list, so much the better, because they’re the ones that wanted it done in the first place. WARNING: Do not attempt this excuse if you’ve been sitting on the couch watching TV. She won’t buy it.
* Barter. Let’s face it, no new father wants to fold laundry, clean up the dishes, make the bed, or buy his wife that trip to Paris that she’s been begging for, but if you can’t fake your way out of diaper duty, there’s nothing dishonorable about buying your way out. Many a man has done it, and if my guess is correct, this is probably how the whole concept of “trade” was invented in the first place.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
He Said - The Call of the Domestic
There I am, braving the elements of the Yukon winter, ice crystals frozen to my face as my trusty sled dogs bravely charge across the frozen wasteland. As I fight against the blinding light of the cold sun, the frigid wind lashing my face, and the uncertainty of my own survival, I have never felt more like a man.
Jack London’s world has become my own, but just as I begin to think that nothing could ever tear me away from this land, a jagged crack rips through the sky, and The Call of the Wild is suddenly – viciously – overwhelmed by the call of the domestic.
“Blaine, honey,” she calls. “Can you come here for a second?”
I snap back to the present, and with some chagrin I find that I am of course relaxing in a warm, comfortable chair. (Despite appearances, I am not completely stupid; while I certainly don’t mind reading about 60 degrees below zero, I could certainly make it to my grave with no great amount of disappointment if I never actually experience it).
I quickly analyze the “Blaine, honey”. While I proclaim general ignorance to the overall ways of women, like most men who have shared years of their lives with a woman, I have come to some understanding of the subtle nuances of how my name is called. From the common you’re in big trouble “Blaine” to the less frequent that was so sweet of you “Blaine”, I can often prepare myself for what lies ahead (and sometimes actually put the shovel away) prior to answering.
To my dismay, I realize that this is the I want to completely rearrange the furniture in the living room for no particular reason “Blaine”, with the “can you come here for a second?” meaning that she intends to have this done right now. Tentacles of basic instinct reach out to me from the rapidly fading arctic, urging me to make a decision on which my life may depend:
Fight or flight?
I don’t think most men really understand the “rearranging of the room” disorder that seems to constantly plague the fairer sex. In fact, I doubt that the thought would ever even occur to us. Left to my own devices, I can fairly admit that wherever the moving guys put the stuff when they unloaded the truck would no doubt be perfectly okay with me. They are trained professionals, you know.
But whether it’s some aberrant genetic trait or simply a less appealing aspect of “nesting syndrome”, it is a predicament that husbands often seem to find themselves in for no good reason at all. And no matter how reassuring my agreement is to her that “it most certainly does in fact need to be done”, I’m still puzzled that it should be so bewildering to Catherine that I don’t share the urgency of the situation. It’s not like it can’t be done tomorrow.
“Blaine,” she calls, with the I know you can hear me and if you don’t come down here in the next few seconds you’re going to be in big trouble “Blaine.”
Well, I’ve got to go. Like I said, I’m not completely stupid.
Jack London’s world has become my own, but just as I begin to think that nothing could ever tear me away from this land, a jagged crack rips through the sky, and The Call of the Wild is suddenly – viciously – overwhelmed by the call of the domestic.
“Blaine, honey,” she calls. “Can you come here for a second?”
I snap back to the present, and with some chagrin I find that I am of course relaxing in a warm, comfortable chair. (Despite appearances, I am not completely stupid; while I certainly don’t mind reading about 60 degrees below zero, I could certainly make it to my grave with no great amount of disappointment if I never actually experience it).
I quickly analyze the “Blaine, honey”. While I proclaim general ignorance to the overall ways of women, like most men who have shared years of their lives with a woman, I have come to some understanding of the subtle nuances of how my name is called. From the common you’re in big trouble “Blaine” to the less frequent that was so sweet of you “Blaine”, I can often prepare myself for what lies ahead (and sometimes actually put the shovel away) prior to answering.
To my dismay, I realize that this is the I want to completely rearrange the furniture in the living room for no particular reason “Blaine”, with the “can you come here for a second?” meaning that she intends to have this done right now. Tentacles of basic instinct reach out to me from the rapidly fading arctic, urging me to make a decision on which my life may depend:
Fight or flight?
I don’t think most men really understand the “rearranging of the room” disorder that seems to constantly plague the fairer sex. In fact, I doubt that the thought would ever even occur to us. Left to my own devices, I can fairly admit that wherever the moving guys put the stuff when they unloaded the truck would no doubt be perfectly okay with me. They are trained professionals, you know.
But whether it’s some aberrant genetic trait or simply a less appealing aspect of “nesting syndrome”, it is a predicament that husbands often seem to find themselves in for no good reason at all. And no matter how reassuring my agreement is to her that “it most certainly does in fact need to be done”, I’m still puzzled that it should be so bewildering to Catherine that I don’t share the urgency of the situation. It’s not like it can’t be done tomorrow.
“Blaine,” she calls, with the I know you can hear me and if you don’t come down here in the next few seconds you’re going to be in big trouble “Blaine.”
Well, I’ve got to go. Like I said, I’m not completely stupid.
Monday, March 3, 2008
He Said - Communication . . . or the Lack Thereof
So Catherine comes up to me about 4 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and asks me “if I’m ready”. Having only just gotten out of the shower after yet another hard day of slaving away – yard maintenance, home repairs, etc., (you’re right; I don’t know how I do it either) – I am of course prompted to ask her (with no small amount of trepidation), “ready for what?”
At which point she informs me that we are supposed to go to a wedding that night.
At which point I ask “What wedding?” followed by the statement, “You didn’t tell me that we had to go to a wedding tonight”.
At which point she tells me that oh, yes, she most certainly did tell me about it. Two weeks ago, in fact.
Forget for a moment that I have no desire to go to any wedding and watch yet another unsuspecting young man “tie the knot” (in his own noose, of course, though they never tell you that part. You should know that years ago when I was a young man and still had the motivation to do such things, I once climbed a mountain to seek counsel from an ancient wise man. In an effort to test the value of his wisdom, I asked him what the longest sentence in the English language was, to which he replied without hesitation, “I do”).
So it shouldn’t surprise you to know that regarding yours truly, the idea of “going to a wedding” ranks just above “witnessing an execution” on the ole’ fun-meter. (None of this applied in any way to my own wedding, of course; it was completely different in every way.)
But forget all that for a moment. The real problem here is communication, or maybe more specifically, the lack thereof. And it’s not even that Catherine doesn’t actually tell me the things that I need to know (like having to go to a wedding, for instance), because she does. What I call into question, however, is her timing at informing me of such things.
Consider the following moments in time that Catherine decided would be good opportunities for her to relay important information to me:
* when I am taking evasive action to miss a deer that has suddenly jumped in front of the car
* when I have just woken up, when I am trying to go to sleep, or any other time my body is in a horizontal or near-horizontal position (up to but not including perfectly vertical)
* during the final 5 minutes of the Fiesta Bowl
* anytime there is food nearby
* when I am looking her straight in the eye while nodding my head and saying things like “Uh-huh”, “Yes”, and “I understand completely”
Ladies, you just have to understand, these are not good times to speak with your husbands about anything, much less “something important”. We simply do not have the capacity to hear what you are saying in these instances, and it’s really not fair to hold us accountable for what you might have said.
It’s not that we don’t value what you have to say – we do – it’s just that we don’t necessarily want to hear you tell us what it is, especially if it has anything at all to do with opera houses, malls, tuxedos, valet parking, activities that require applause, driving further than 5 miles in any direction, window-shopping, or eating at a restaurant where you can’t throw your peanut shells on the floor.
So, knowing that there are some inherent obstacles in every relationship that impede the effective transfer of information between husband & wife, how can you ladies open – and keep open – the lines of communication with your husband? Simple. All you have to do is keep your eye open for the 2 or 3 minutes of any given day where your husband is actually receptive to listening to what you have to say.
Once you’ve found that window of opportunity (and don’t blame us if you miss it; it’s not our fault if you’re in the other room when it happens) feel free to speak openly and honestly – and quickly, please – about whatever it is that is weighing on your heart. I can promise you on behalf of all men everywhere that we will listen intently to everything that you have to say, unless you start telling us something that we don’t want to hear.
At which point she informs me that we are supposed to go to a wedding that night.
At which point I ask “What wedding?” followed by the statement, “You didn’t tell me that we had to go to a wedding tonight”.
At which point she tells me that oh, yes, she most certainly did tell me about it. Two weeks ago, in fact.
Forget for a moment that I have no desire to go to any wedding and watch yet another unsuspecting young man “tie the knot” (in his own noose, of course, though they never tell you that part. You should know that years ago when I was a young man and still had the motivation to do such things, I once climbed a mountain to seek counsel from an ancient wise man. In an effort to test the value of his wisdom, I asked him what the longest sentence in the English language was, to which he replied without hesitation, “I do”).
So it shouldn’t surprise you to know that regarding yours truly, the idea of “going to a wedding” ranks just above “witnessing an execution” on the ole’ fun-meter. (None of this applied in any way to my own wedding, of course; it was completely different in every way.)
But forget all that for a moment. The real problem here is communication, or maybe more specifically, the lack thereof. And it’s not even that Catherine doesn’t actually tell me the things that I need to know (like having to go to a wedding, for instance), because she does. What I call into question, however, is her timing at informing me of such things.
Consider the following moments in time that Catherine decided would be good opportunities for her to relay important information to me:
* when I am taking evasive action to miss a deer that has suddenly jumped in front of the car
* when I have just woken up, when I am trying to go to sleep, or any other time my body is in a horizontal or near-horizontal position (up to but not including perfectly vertical)
* during the final 5 minutes of the Fiesta Bowl
* anytime there is food nearby
* when I am looking her straight in the eye while nodding my head and saying things like “Uh-huh”, “Yes”, and “I understand completely”
Ladies, you just have to understand, these are not good times to speak with your husbands about anything, much less “something important”. We simply do not have the capacity to hear what you are saying in these instances, and it’s really not fair to hold us accountable for what you might have said.
It’s not that we don’t value what you have to say – we do – it’s just that we don’t necessarily want to hear you tell us what it is, especially if it has anything at all to do with opera houses, malls, tuxedos, valet parking, activities that require applause, driving further than 5 miles in any direction, window-shopping, or eating at a restaurant where you can’t throw your peanut shells on the floor.
So, knowing that there are some inherent obstacles in every relationship that impede the effective transfer of information between husband & wife, how can you ladies open – and keep open – the lines of communication with your husband? Simple. All you have to do is keep your eye open for the 2 or 3 minutes of any given day where your husband is actually receptive to listening to what you have to say.
Once you’ve found that window of opportunity (and don’t blame us if you miss it; it’s not our fault if you’re in the other room when it happens) feel free to speak openly and honestly – and quickly, please – about whatever it is that is weighing on your heart. I can promise you on behalf of all men everywhere that we will listen intently to everything that you have to say, unless you start telling us something that we don’t want to hear.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
He Said: Doing the Laundry
After all the whining and complaining that women do about housework - not to mention the whole “a man works from sun to sun, but a woman’s work is never done” thing - I figured my wife would really appreciate it if I went out of my way to assist her in her wifely duties.
First, let me be very frank: I never complain. Ever. Not once have I ever said anything to Catherine like, “Maybe women could get their work done if they weren’t sitting on the couch all day watching Oprah and eating Bon-Bons.” I would never hurt her in that way. After all, what would I gain by throwing such factual information into her face?
Oh, I can hear you ladies crying “foul!” already. You don’t know what it’s like, you say. You don’t have to cook . . . you don’t have to clean . . . you don’t have to take care of the kids . . . blah, blah, blah. Got it. But let’s just put all this into perspective, okay? For example, here’s part of an actual conversation that took place at my home recently:
Me: Hello my beautiful sweetheart, light of my life. I’ve finally made it home to you again. Knowest thou that every minute away from your presence was sheer agony for my soul.”
Cat: “You’re late. Where have you been?”
Me: “I built a bridge for you today, my darling. It compliments the massive skyscraper I constructed for you last week, and will safely ferry many people across a wide expanse of water in luxury automobiles much like the one I recently bought for you.”
Cat: “Oh. Well, I started to do the laundry, but I couldn’t get it all done.”
You see? That’s perspective. Today, I built a bridge; she couldn’t get the laundry done. Is it just me, or does there seem to be a just a slight imbalance of achievement here? And yet, even though I got more done by accident before breakfast this morning than she was able to accomplish all day, I am not here to judge. Maybe there is more to “doing the laundry” than I at first imagine. So, in an effort to help relieve her burden, as well as to gain valuable wisdom for myself, I decide to do the laundry for her.
I put the clothes in the machine. I add soap. I push the button. I walk away to enjoy 30 minutes of absolutely free time. Then I take the clothes out of the first machine and put them into the second machine conveniently located right next to it. I push another button. I walk away to enjoy another 45 minutes of absolutely free time. Total elapsed time: 76 minutes, only 1 of which required any actual human intervention. I’m sorry folks, but this isn’t work. Beating the clothes on rocks down at the stream, yes, but not this. This is easy.
So easy, in fact, that I go ahead and do all of the laundry in the house for her. And as if that isn’t enough, in the process I also find a couple of shortcuts that she can use in the future (it’s amazing how many clothes you can fit into the washing machine if you just push them down with your foot). I am a cleaning machine, and by the time I’m done, I’ve not only washed & dried 9 full loads of laundry, but all of it now fits into this one little basket. Pretty darn efficient if you ask me.
And guess what? Not only am I completely finished, but the sun hasn’t even set yet. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.
Let the appreciation begin!
First, let me be very frank: I never complain. Ever. Not once have I ever said anything to Catherine like, “Maybe women could get their work done if they weren’t sitting on the couch all day watching Oprah and eating Bon-Bons.” I would never hurt her in that way. After all, what would I gain by throwing such factual information into her face?
Oh, I can hear you ladies crying “foul!” already. You don’t know what it’s like, you say. You don’t have to cook . . . you don’t have to clean . . . you don’t have to take care of the kids . . . blah, blah, blah. Got it. But let’s just put all this into perspective, okay? For example, here’s part of an actual conversation that took place at my home recently:
Me: Hello my beautiful sweetheart, light of my life. I’ve finally made it home to you again. Knowest thou that every minute away from your presence was sheer agony for my soul.”
Cat: “You’re late. Where have you been?”
Me: “I built a bridge for you today, my darling. It compliments the massive skyscraper I constructed for you last week, and will safely ferry many people across a wide expanse of water in luxury automobiles much like the one I recently bought for you.”
Cat: “Oh. Well, I started to do the laundry, but I couldn’t get it all done.”
You see? That’s perspective. Today, I built a bridge; she couldn’t get the laundry done. Is it just me, or does there seem to be a just a slight imbalance of achievement here? And yet, even though I got more done by accident before breakfast this morning than she was able to accomplish all day, I am not here to judge. Maybe there is more to “doing the laundry” than I at first imagine. So, in an effort to help relieve her burden, as well as to gain valuable wisdom for myself, I decide to do the laundry for her.
I put the clothes in the machine. I add soap. I push the button. I walk away to enjoy 30 minutes of absolutely free time. Then I take the clothes out of the first machine and put them into the second machine conveniently located right next to it. I push another button. I walk away to enjoy another 45 minutes of absolutely free time. Total elapsed time: 76 minutes, only 1 of which required any actual human intervention. I’m sorry folks, but this isn’t work. Beating the clothes on rocks down at the stream, yes, but not this. This is easy.
So easy, in fact, that I go ahead and do all of the laundry in the house for her. And as if that isn’t enough, in the process I also find a couple of shortcuts that she can use in the future (it’s amazing how many clothes you can fit into the washing machine if you just push them down with your foot). I am a cleaning machine, and by the time I’m done, I’ve not only washed & dried 9 full loads of laundry, but all of it now fits into this one little basket. Pretty darn efficient if you ask me.
And guess what? Not only am I completely finished, but the sun hasn’t even set yet. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.
Let the appreciation begin!
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
What I Would Do If I Were President
Note from Blaine - With all of the serious stuff I've been posting lately, I felt it was time to lighten things up a bit!
It has recently come to my attention that apparently there is a presidential race going on. You would think that the media would do a better job of letting everyone know about this, but who am I to be critical? It got me thinking though, about what a great presidential candidate I would be, because, well, not to boast, but I am a genius.
Seriously, I’m just full of great ideas, and I also have a history of successful and wide ranging accomplishments. Back when I was 11 years old, for instance, me and Mike Sadusky were the only kids in our neighborhood who figured out a way to dam the flow of water in that ditch behind Mr. Turner’s house (made all the more difficult by the fact that he hated kids and would sic his dogs on us whenever he caught us on his property).
It’s well known that I am a celebrated life-coach and motivational speaker, as evidenced by the time I said “Get a job, you bum” to a homeless man who had asked me for a quarter – a homeless man that you may now know as Donald Trump.
My financial expertise for handling the economy? Well, let’s just say it’s legendary. I have – on numerous occasions – displayed the uncanny ability to quickly expend large sums of cash and then walk away completely unscathed with absolutely nothing to show for it. And, of course, as if that’s not enough already, I also choreographed and taught John Travolta the dance steps to “Saturday Night Fever.”
So, what would a man like me do as President of the United States?
First off, I would promise that during my presidential campaign, I would not spend a single dime of the millions of dollars donated to me on things like advertisements, direct mail flyers, stickers, buttons, signs, or compensation for staffers. No, it would be my commitment to the American people to use those funds only for things that would directly benefit myself. Like a nice new deck and Jacuzzi for my backyard, a membership in the Columbia Record Club, or perhaps my own private Caribbean island. That’s my promise to you America, and I’m not even president yet.
But after I am unanimously elected, what then? What could you expect from a true agent of benevolent change such as myself? Well, my friends, let’s explore the possibilities together, shall we? As president, I would:
* Abolish the Federal Reserve and establish acorns as legal tender, thereby wresting the reins of financial power from the Wall Street elite and transferring it instead to rural farmers and suburbanites. Why acorns? Because they are all-natural, very tough to forge, and, unlike the current US dollar, they have some amount of inherent value. In addition to creating a more stable economy, this plan will also assist with hardwood reforestation efforts as people scramble to plant as many oak trees as they can.
* Legalize personal cell phone jamming equipment that creates a “no signal” zone anywhere within 20 feet of the wearer, so that no one has to listen to somebody else flapping their jowls if they don’t want to. (If you have a cell phone and are offended by this, please remember: Nobody cares. You’re not special; everybody has a cell phone these days. Even kids. You’re not important and neither is the person you’re talking to. Important people don’t have cell phones anymore; they use peons like you to make their calls for them).
* Do away with the current half-hearted “faux recycling” industry and require instead that people and companies store all of the trash that they generate throughout the year inside of their homes & businesses until their annual trash pickup day. I’ll bet we’d figure out ways to “reduce, reuse, & recycle” then.
* Cancel “Grey’s Anatomy”. No special reason. Just seems like a good idea.
* Abolish the federal income tax and require the US government to plant its own oak trees. Current IRS employees will be invited to transition to the field of botany.
* Turn Long Island, NY into the lone federal penitentiary in the country and dump all convicts there to fend for themselves in much the same way as depicted in the classic motion picture “Escape from New York” starring Kurt Russell in the lead role of “Snake” Pliskin and also starring Adrienne Barbeau as somebody else in the film. Seriously, this is a good idea. Give it some thought.
* Do away with the “electoral college”. We don’t need it anymore. I’m not even real sure what it is.
* Abolish corporate sponsorship of college bowl games, football stadiums, and ballparks. If I’ve already heard of your company (Read: FedEx, Tostitos, etc.,) you don’t need to remind me of who you are; you ship things and make tortilla chips and sell etceteras. I got it already. On the flip side, if I’ve never heard of your company before, please realize that spray painting your name & logo all over a football field is NOT going to make me run out and buy anything from you, because I don’t buy things from companies that annoy me.
* Appoint my wife Catherine to be the Secretary of Defense, because she hasn’t lost a fight with me yet.
* Require the medical “establishment” to actually come up with a CURE for something instead of just the continuous barrage of “treatments” that do nothing except line the pockets of pharmaceutical & insurance companies. Failure to comply will result in moving their entire field of operations – and I’m talking about anybody even remotely involved in the field of medicine – to Manhattan.
* Make it illegal for women to touch the remote control at any time, except in those instances when it is necessary for them to pick it up off of the floor and hand it back to their husbands so that they don’t have to bend over and do it themselves.
* Mandate that NASCAR remove any and all rules regarding speed restriction devices and let’s see how fast those puppies can really go. Let ‘em strap a rocket engine on the back of the car if they want. What do I care?
Well, what do you think? That seems like a pretty busy first day to me. And I can promise you that there’s plenty more where that came from, too. I know, I know, it really makes you wonder how any of these yahoos currently in Washington ever got elected when there are minds like mine around.
Thanks for taking the time to hear me out, and you’re welcome. I agree, it is refreshing to know that there are people like me ready to man the helm of this great nation. I am nothing if not a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.
I’ll be counting on your vote this September.
It has recently come to my attention that apparently there is a presidential race going on. You would think that the media would do a better job of letting everyone know about this, but who am I to be critical? It got me thinking though, about what a great presidential candidate I would be, because, well, not to boast, but I am a genius.
Seriously, I’m just full of great ideas, and I also have a history of successful and wide ranging accomplishments. Back when I was 11 years old, for instance, me and Mike Sadusky were the only kids in our neighborhood who figured out a way to dam the flow of water in that ditch behind Mr. Turner’s house (made all the more difficult by the fact that he hated kids and would sic his dogs on us whenever he caught us on his property).
It’s well known that I am a celebrated life-coach and motivational speaker, as evidenced by the time I said “Get a job, you bum” to a homeless man who had asked me for a quarter – a homeless man that you may now know as Donald Trump.
My financial expertise for handling the economy? Well, let’s just say it’s legendary. I have – on numerous occasions – displayed the uncanny ability to quickly expend large sums of cash and then walk away completely unscathed with absolutely nothing to show for it. And, of course, as if that’s not enough already, I also choreographed and taught John Travolta the dance steps to “Saturday Night Fever.”
So, what would a man like me do as President of the United States?
First off, I would promise that during my presidential campaign, I would not spend a single dime of the millions of dollars donated to me on things like advertisements, direct mail flyers, stickers, buttons, signs, or compensation for staffers. No, it would be my commitment to the American people to use those funds only for things that would directly benefit myself. Like a nice new deck and Jacuzzi for my backyard, a membership in the Columbia Record Club, or perhaps my own private Caribbean island. That’s my promise to you America, and I’m not even president yet.
But after I am unanimously elected, what then? What could you expect from a true agent of benevolent change such as myself? Well, my friends, let’s explore the possibilities together, shall we? As president, I would:
* Abolish the Federal Reserve and establish acorns as legal tender, thereby wresting the reins of financial power from the Wall Street elite and transferring it instead to rural farmers and suburbanites. Why acorns? Because they are all-natural, very tough to forge, and, unlike the current US dollar, they have some amount of inherent value. In addition to creating a more stable economy, this plan will also assist with hardwood reforestation efforts as people scramble to plant as many oak trees as they can.
* Legalize personal cell phone jamming equipment that creates a “no signal” zone anywhere within 20 feet of the wearer, so that no one has to listen to somebody else flapping their jowls if they don’t want to. (If you have a cell phone and are offended by this, please remember: Nobody cares. You’re not special; everybody has a cell phone these days. Even kids. You’re not important and neither is the person you’re talking to. Important people don’t have cell phones anymore; they use peons like you to make their calls for them).
* Do away with the current half-hearted “faux recycling” industry and require instead that people and companies store all of the trash that they generate throughout the year inside of their homes & businesses until their annual trash pickup day. I’ll bet we’d figure out ways to “reduce, reuse, & recycle” then.
* Cancel “Grey’s Anatomy”. No special reason. Just seems like a good idea.
* Abolish the federal income tax and require the US government to plant its own oak trees. Current IRS employees will be invited to transition to the field of botany.
* Turn Long Island, NY into the lone federal penitentiary in the country and dump all convicts there to fend for themselves in much the same way as depicted in the classic motion picture “Escape from New York” starring Kurt Russell in the lead role of “Snake” Pliskin and also starring Adrienne Barbeau as somebody else in the film. Seriously, this is a good idea. Give it some thought.
* Do away with the “electoral college”. We don’t need it anymore. I’m not even real sure what it is.
* Abolish corporate sponsorship of college bowl games, football stadiums, and ballparks. If I’ve already heard of your company (Read: FedEx, Tostitos, etc.,) you don’t need to remind me of who you are; you ship things and make tortilla chips and sell etceteras. I got it already. On the flip side, if I’ve never heard of your company before, please realize that spray painting your name & logo all over a football field is NOT going to make me run out and buy anything from you, because I don’t buy things from companies that annoy me.
* Appoint my wife Catherine to be the Secretary of Defense, because she hasn’t lost a fight with me yet.
* Require the medical “establishment” to actually come up with a CURE for something instead of just the continuous barrage of “treatments” that do nothing except line the pockets of pharmaceutical & insurance companies. Failure to comply will result in moving their entire field of operations – and I’m talking about anybody even remotely involved in the field of medicine – to Manhattan.
* Make it illegal for women to touch the remote control at any time, except in those instances when it is necessary for them to pick it up off of the floor and hand it back to their husbands so that they don’t have to bend over and do it themselves.
* Mandate that NASCAR remove any and all rules regarding speed restriction devices and let’s see how fast those puppies can really go. Let ‘em strap a rocket engine on the back of the car if they want. What do I care?
Well, what do you think? That seems like a pretty busy first day to me. And I can promise you that there’s plenty more where that came from, too. I know, I know, it really makes you wonder how any of these yahoos currently in Washington ever got elected when there are minds like mine around.
Thanks for taking the time to hear me out, and you’re welcome. I agree, it is refreshing to know that there are people like me ready to man the helm of this great nation. I am nothing if not a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.
I’ll be counting on your vote this September.
Monday, December 10, 2007
He Said: The "Honey-Do" List
Buried deep in the fine print of every wedding vow is a clause that legally enables the creation of what is commonly known as the “Honey-Do” list. For those not familiar with it (read: all unmarried men), the “Honey-Do” list is a compilation of tasks, chores, repairs, and improvements that wives would like their husbands to accomplish.
It usually germinates from a single, innocuous request placed upon the husband early in the marriage, which, in his desire to please his new bride, he nobly accepts as his duty. The problem is that once started, the “Honey-Do” list cannot be killed, and from that initial tiny mustard seed of a request will sprout a monster as thorny and unstoppable as an over-fertilized Bouganvilla bush.
In my early married years I did my best to try and accomplish the items that were on the list, however, I soon found that for every item I was able to scratch off as complete, two more were instantly added. My feverish attempts to make any headway against this list eventually became all consuming, until one night my little daughter asked me a question which made me realize that I would need to take a completely different approach in order to conquer it:
“Daddy, what are those white things poking through your fingers?”
“Those are daddy’s bones, sweetheart.”
The dilemma was a tricky one though, for just as you can never complete the “Honey-Do” list, neither can you ignore it (to do so will alternately whip your wife into an uncontrolled fury or send her crashing to the floor in a fit of tears depending on what day of the week it is).
The solution, I have to admit, came about quite by accident during a period of time where – although I was trying – I was unable to finish anything on the list for several weeks. What I discovered is that once the list grew to a certain point, Catherine stopped adding things to it. Whether this was out of compassion for my weary soul or contempt at my incompetence I have no idea, but the fact remained that it did not grow beyond a certain size. And this is where my genius kicked in.
You see, the trick to dealing with the “Honey-Do” list is not to actually get things done, but to pretend that you’re getting things done. Let me show you what I mean.
Every Saturday morning when Catherine asks me what I’m going to be doing that day, I grab the “Honey-Do” list off the fridge, give it a very serious look, and say “I think I’m gonna try and knock some of these out.” What happens next depends on what she does.
If she stays around the house, I’ll make tracks outside and hang out somewhere for awhile, usually with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. After a few hours, I’ll spritz myself down with water to make it look like I’m sweating, cross off the first 5 or 6 things on the list, and then proudly show it to Catherine so she can see that I scribbled through some of the tasks. She’ll give me a big smile because she thinks I actually did something, at which point I’ll go upstairs and pretend I’m taking a shower while I rewrite the list in the bathroom and put the things that I had crossed off back on at the bottom of the new list. To her, it appears that I’m making headway, but since the list never actually gets any smaller she won’t add anything more to it.
And bada-boom, bada-bing, just like that I post it back on the fridge and I’m off the hook for another week.
Sometimes - as a cool variation - I’ll head off in the car on Saturday morning to get some “supplies” that I need to “complete” something on the list. After fishing down at the lake for a few hours (it’s actually better if you don’t catch anything because then you don’t have to try and come up with an explanation for where you got the fish; that can be tricky) I’ll come home, tell her that I drove around to several stores but couldn’t find what I needed, and then go upstairs and take a nap (I’ve gone to great pains over the years to make sure Catherine knows that operating a motor vehicle really wears me out).
It’s even easier if Catherine goes out on Saturday morning instead of sticking around the house. If she does that, I just park it on the couch and watch TV for a few hours. When she comes home, I hold up the list, tell her I just got out of the shower, give her my best “I’m exhausted” look, and then try not to smile as she tells me to just lie down and take it easy for the rest of the day.
No matter how it plays out, she’s happy, and that makes me happy, so even if it may sound like I’m being a little devious, to me, the end absolutely justifies the means. When all is said and done, a happy wife makes for a happy home. And if a happy wife feels the need to head off to the kitchen to cook up a great big dinner for her hardworking man, well, that ain’t all bad either.
It usually germinates from a single, innocuous request placed upon the husband early in the marriage, which, in his desire to please his new bride, he nobly accepts as his duty. The problem is that once started, the “Honey-Do” list cannot be killed, and from that initial tiny mustard seed of a request will sprout a monster as thorny and unstoppable as an over-fertilized Bouganvilla bush.
In my early married years I did my best to try and accomplish the items that were on the list, however, I soon found that for every item I was able to scratch off as complete, two more were instantly added. My feverish attempts to make any headway against this list eventually became all consuming, until one night my little daughter asked me a question which made me realize that I would need to take a completely different approach in order to conquer it:
“Daddy, what are those white things poking through your fingers?”
“Those are daddy’s bones, sweetheart.”
The dilemma was a tricky one though, for just as you can never complete the “Honey-Do” list, neither can you ignore it (to do so will alternately whip your wife into an uncontrolled fury or send her crashing to the floor in a fit of tears depending on what day of the week it is).
The solution, I have to admit, came about quite by accident during a period of time where – although I was trying – I was unable to finish anything on the list for several weeks. What I discovered is that once the list grew to a certain point, Catherine stopped adding things to it. Whether this was out of compassion for my weary soul or contempt at my incompetence I have no idea, but the fact remained that it did not grow beyond a certain size. And this is where my genius kicked in.
You see, the trick to dealing with the “Honey-Do” list is not to actually get things done, but to pretend that you’re getting things done. Let me show you what I mean.
Every Saturday morning when Catherine asks me what I’m going to be doing that day, I grab the “Honey-Do” list off the fridge, give it a very serious look, and say “I think I’m gonna try and knock some of these out.” What happens next depends on what she does.
If she stays around the house, I’ll make tracks outside and hang out somewhere for awhile, usually with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. After a few hours, I’ll spritz myself down with water to make it look like I’m sweating, cross off the first 5 or 6 things on the list, and then proudly show it to Catherine so she can see that I scribbled through some of the tasks. She’ll give me a big smile because she thinks I actually did something, at which point I’ll go upstairs and pretend I’m taking a shower while I rewrite the list in the bathroom and put the things that I had crossed off back on at the bottom of the new list. To her, it appears that I’m making headway, but since the list never actually gets any smaller she won’t add anything more to it.
And bada-boom, bada-bing, just like that I post it back on the fridge and I’m off the hook for another week.
Sometimes - as a cool variation - I’ll head off in the car on Saturday morning to get some “supplies” that I need to “complete” something on the list. After fishing down at the lake for a few hours (it’s actually better if you don’t catch anything because then you don’t have to try and come up with an explanation for where you got the fish; that can be tricky) I’ll come home, tell her that I drove around to several stores but couldn’t find what I needed, and then go upstairs and take a nap (I’ve gone to great pains over the years to make sure Catherine knows that operating a motor vehicle really wears me out).
It’s even easier if Catherine goes out on Saturday morning instead of sticking around the house. If she does that, I just park it on the couch and watch TV for a few hours. When she comes home, I hold up the list, tell her I just got out of the shower, give her my best “I’m exhausted” look, and then try not to smile as she tells me to just lie down and take it easy for the rest of the day.
No matter how it plays out, she’s happy, and that makes me happy, so even if it may sound like I’m being a little devious, to me, the end absolutely justifies the means. When all is said and done, a happy wife makes for a happy home. And if a happy wife feels the need to head off to the kitchen to cook up a great big dinner for her hardworking man, well, that ain’t all bad either.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Tongue in Cheek - The New & Improved PETA
By now everyone is familiar with PETA and the tactics they use to push their agenda: They protest in the nude, they throw blood on people wearing fur coats, they give fishermen a hard time, and they harass hunters during deer season (which, by the way, seems pretty dangerous to me since a 12-point buck and a protestor holding a sign look a lot alike).
In fact, PETA seems to pretty much do whatever they want in any manner they want, no matter how ridiculous or distasteful it may be to the rest of us who don’t accept their particular ideology and who also recognize that the human mouth is equipped with sharp canine teeth that are designed to rip apart flesh.
That’s why I’m thinking of starting my own group to give PETA a little of their own medicine. I have to tell you, though, I’m just too downright lazy to think of my own acronym, so the first thing I’d do (which they’d probably get really upset about) would be to use their acronym, except instead of standing for “People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals” - which in truth should be “PFTETOA” if you really want to get right down to it - in my group PETA would stand instead for “People who Eat Tasty Animals”.
I think this is a great idea. Anybody using the internet to find out what PETA is all about might get directed to our website by mistake, which would give us the opportunity to remind them of how delicious animals are when slow roasted over an open pit barbeque. For the intellectuals in the crowd, I’d write a downloadable essay that would explain to them in simple terms that the whole concept of being at the top of the food chain means that you have to be able to eat the rest of the food chain. Otherwise, a less politically correct minded animal will be more than happy to assume his place at the top and relegate the human race to nothing more than what it would simply refer to as “food”.
We could have protests just like the original PETA folks do, but instead of boring, physically demanding things like running around in the woods or smacking the water with a canoe paddle to scare the fish away, we could do less challenging stuff, like sitting at a sidewalk cafe and ignoring people who wear man-made leather.
Members of “People who Eat Tasty Animals” could also participate in protest “eat-ins”, where we would all gather together in front of a vegetarian food market and chow down on pulled-pork sandwiches. Or, even better, stuff ourselves with so much turkey & dressing that we all pass out on the ground from a really nasty triptafan rush. I mean, the possibilities are endless.
Oh, and we could sell stuff too, like T-shirts and coffee cups and bumper stickers with cool sayings like “Vegetarians are People Too” and “Be Nice to Animals Before You Eat Them”, and “You Know, There’s a Lot of Good Meat on a Cat”.
I have to tell you, the more I think about this idea, the more excited I get, and not just because it would get the folks at the original PETA a little steamed (though in all honesty, I’ll admit that that’s pretty fun to think about too). No, I’m excited mostly because by thinking about all of this, I’ve come to realize how truly hungry I am. So if anybody else thinks that this is a good idea and would like to discuss it in further detail, please feel free to meet me down at Sonny’s.
(Note: Before anyone demonizes me for poking fun at PETA, please note that I actually very much agree with the core tenet of PETA; the ethical treatment of animals. However, they have gone so far beyond that principal in both their agenda and their methods that, with me at least, they have lost all credibility).
In fact, PETA seems to pretty much do whatever they want in any manner they want, no matter how ridiculous or distasteful it may be to the rest of us who don’t accept their particular ideology and who also recognize that the human mouth is equipped with sharp canine teeth that are designed to rip apart flesh.
That’s why I’m thinking of starting my own group to give PETA a little of their own medicine. I have to tell you, though, I’m just too downright lazy to think of my own acronym, so the first thing I’d do (which they’d probably get really upset about) would be to use their acronym, except instead of standing for “People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals” - which in truth should be “PFTETOA” if you really want to get right down to it - in my group PETA would stand instead for “People who Eat Tasty Animals”.
I think this is a great idea. Anybody using the internet to find out what PETA is all about might get directed to our website by mistake, which would give us the opportunity to remind them of how delicious animals are when slow roasted over an open pit barbeque. For the intellectuals in the crowd, I’d write a downloadable essay that would explain to them in simple terms that the whole concept of being at the top of the food chain means that you have to be able to eat the rest of the food chain. Otherwise, a less politically correct minded animal will be more than happy to assume his place at the top and relegate the human race to nothing more than what it would simply refer to as “food”.
We could have protests just like the original PETA folks do, but instead of boring, physically demanding things like running around in the woods or smacking the water with a canoe paddle to scare the fish away, we could do less challenging stuff, like sitting at a sidewalk cafe and ignoring people who wear man-made leather.
Members of “People who Eat Tasty Animals” could also participate in protest “eat-ins”, where we would all gather together in front of a vegetarian food market and chow down on pulled-pork sandwiches. Or, even better, stuff ourselves with so much turkey & dressing that we all pass out on the ground from a really nasty triptafan rush. I mean, the possibilities are endless.
Oh, and we could sell stuff too, like T-shirts and coffee cups and bumper stickers with cool sayings like “Vegetarians are People Too” and “Be Nice to Animals Before You Eat Them”, and “You Know, There’s a Lot of Good Meat on a Cat”.
I have to tell you, the more I think about this idea, the more excited I get, and not just because it would get the folks at the original PETA a little steamed (though in all honesty, I’ll admit that that’s pretty fun to think about too). No, I’m excited mostly because by thinking about all of this, I’ve come to realize how truly hungry I am. So if anybody else thinks that this is a good idea and would like to discuss it in further detail, please feel free to meet me down at Sonny’s.
(Note: Before anyone demonizes me for poking fun at PETA, please note that I actually very much agree with the core tenet of PETA; the ethical treatment of animals. However, they have gone so far beyond that principal in both their agenda and their methods that, with me at least, they have lost all credibility).
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tongue in Cheek: Kentucky History You May Not Be Aware Of . . .
I’ve lived in Kentucky for almost 2 years now, and I can honestly say that I love it here. I’ve also learned a lot in that short time. For instance, I’ve learned that all cities in Kentucky (“Versailles”, “Yosemite”, and “Athens” for example) are pronounced exactly as they are spelled, rather than in the less correct way that the rest of the world would believe (the only notable exception to this rule being “Louisville”, which, other than beginning with an “L” sound, is pronounced nothing close to the way it is spelled).
I’ve also come to realize that fully half of all cars in Kentucky don’t have mufflers, and the other half have been modified to sound like they don’t. This is apparently a state law, and fortunately most residents seem to be in compliance.
But I’ve also learned some facts that I doubt most native Kentuckians even know. For instance, we all know that today Kentucky is known as the “Horse Capitol of the World”, but did you know that it wasn’t too long ago that it was known instead as the “Squirrel Capitol of the World”? That may seem strange, seeing as how there aren’t too many squirrels around here these days, but there was a time a century or two ago when herds of those furry little tree rodents scampered around the countryside with reckless abandon, upsetting bird feeders in every corner of the state.
And then, quite without warning, an unthinking and rather arrogant European arrived and introduced what would become the bane of the squirrel kingdom to our fair state - the horse – and within but a few short decades, Kentucky’s squirrel population was all but wiped out.
The problem is that squirrels are natural prey for horses (I learned that early on in public school), and without a natural enemy of their own, horses multiplied in record droves as they feasted relentlessly and without check on the smaller, natural inhabitants of the state.
Many people don’t know the truth, but contrary to popular belief, when you see horses with their heads bowed to the earth - ostensibly “grazing” on bluegrass - they are in fact actually sniffing & rooting for squirrels, which, upon finding one, they then snort up in a flash through their overlarge nostrils.
I can’t tell you how many times I have driven past a horse farm only to see one of these vicious brutes prancing about with a squirrel tail still sticking out of it’s nose, and my heart breaks as I think of that poor furry little creature – shivering and scared – stuck in the sinus cavity of a horse too high, mighty, and unfeeling to even consume it properly.
Personally, I think it’s high time to affect a change. That’s why I will soon propose a bill to the Kentucky legislature that would introduce another animal to our state that is, like the horse, not native to the area. An animal which will, for the first time in our history, provide the horse with a natural predator of its own, and ultimately help re-balance the scales of nature.
While this legislation and the change that would result from it will take decades to be fully realized, the promise that it would provide to all future generations of Kentuckians should not be underestimated. I love living in Kentucky, and I - along with the other 3 people who agree with me on this - want to do my part in making it a better place for our children.
Imagine if you will, perhaps in as little as only 20 years into the future, a time when every visitor driving into the state of Kentucky will be able to look up and see the sign that so proudly & boldly proclaims: “Welcome to Kentucky, the Mountain Lion Capitol of the World”.
I’ve also come to realize that fully half of all cars in Kentucky don’t have mufflers, and the other half have been modified to sound like they don’t. This is apparently a state law, and fortunately most residents seem to be in compliance.
But I’ve also learned some facts that I doubt most native Kentuckians even know. For instance, we all know that today Kentucky is known as the “Horse Capitol of the World”, but did you know that it wasn’t too long ago that it was known instead as the “Squirrel Capitol of the World”? That may seem strange, seeing as how there aren’t too many squirrels around here these days, but there was a time a century or two ago when herds of those furry little tree rodents scampered around the countryside with reckless abandon, upsetting bird feeders in every corner of the state.
And then, quite without warning, an unthinking and rather arrogant European arrived and introduced what would become the bane of the squirrel kingdom to our fair state - the horse – and within but a few short decades, Kentucky’s squirrel population was all but wiped out.
The problem is that squirrels are natural prey for horses (I learned that early on in public school), and without a natural enemy of their own, horses multiplied in record droves as they feasted relentlessly and without check on the smaller, natural inhabitants of the state.
Many people don’t know the truth, but contrary to popular belief, when you see horses with their heads bowed to the earth - ostensibly “grazing” on bluegrass - they are in fact actually sniffing & rooting for squirrels, which, upon finding one, they then snort up in a flash through their overlarge nostrils.
I can’t tell you how many times I have driven past a horse farm only to see one of these vicious brutes prancing about with a squirrel tail still sticking out of it’s nose, and my heart breaks as I think of that poor furry little creature – shivering and scared – stuck in the sinus cavity of a horse too high, mighty, and unfeeling to even consume it properly.
Personally, I think it’s high time to affect a change. That’s why I will soon propose a bill to the Kentucky legislature that would introduce another animal to our state that is, like the horse, not native to the area. An animal which will, for the first time in our history, provide the horse with a natural predator of its own, and ultimately help re-balance the scales of nature.
While this legislation and the change that would result from it will take decades to be fully realized, the promise that it would provide to all future generations of Kentuckians should not be underestimated. I love living in Kentucky, and I - along with the other 3 people who agree with me on this - want to do my part in making it a better place for our children.
Imagine if you will, perhaps in as little as only 20 years into the future, a time when every visitor driving into the state of Kentucky will be able to look up and see the sign that so proudly & boldly proclaims: “Welcome to Kentucky, the Mountain Lion Capitol of the World”.
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