Normally I am not a neat person. Neatness demands constant attention to trivialities; I am too engaged with important thoughts to be bothered with miniscule and redundant tasks like making beds and dusting picture frames or putting books back on shelves.
This is not to say that I am un-hygienic. Lord knows, some folks think me to be an "obsessive germophobic". (Like my friend George who, despite my complaints, will seamlessly go from checking the dog for anal warts to handling the ice cubes to freshen your cocktail. echh.)
I admit to being a little disorganized, maybe even messy. Is that so wrong? Disorder is not against the law, nor is it specified as an affront against the Almighty in scripture. Please do not lecture me. I am unlikely to change my ways after all these years.
However, every now and then, I am possessed by an inexpicable desire to put things in order. Often it comes upon me after viewing an episode of "Hoarders" on cable TV. If you haven't seen it, it's one of those reality shows where they film some deranged old hag or toothless fellow living alone in an old house which is filled with so much crap that the occupant cannot use some of the rooms. The subject of each episode is simply unable throw anything away - even garbage, cat feces and ... other stuff that makes you feel itchy just watching.
Each episode starts with a video tour of the dilapidated and unkempt dwelling. Some well-meaning relative or concerned neighbor has notified the authorities, who come, on camera to evaluate the situation. Usually, the occupant is depicted as a bull-goose-loony. Then, they clean up the mess. It is a walking ad for 1-800-got-junk. Then they wrap the nutball in wet sheets and cart him or her off to the funny farm.
Even if you are clinically sane and can prove it, watching the outrageous behavior of some of these crazy people makes one feel guilty -- even if you are only a minor league collector -- who saves old neswpapers and magazines, maybe some old plastic bags and other stuff that might come in handy someday. Maybe your wife claims that people who can't make room in the garage to park the car may be in need of an Intervention. (Which is another reality show I do not want to be featured on.)
So, I am entering one of those phases where I put things away, coil the hose, put the wheelbarrow behind the shed - that sort of thing.
Recently I have also been cleaning up my social networking debris.
- I dropped-out of classmates.com - which has the clunkiest interface, sleazy ads, and virtually no useful content.
- I 'de-friended' a bunch of people on Facebook for inane postings, egregious postings of kid pictures or habitual religious quotations.
- I even cancelled Netflix. We got tired of subsidizing their marketing - intrusive popup ads and free membership for new subscribers. Besides they just installed a redbox kiosk at Roche Bros market $1buck a night.
- We are also letting our WSJ subscription run-out. Since Murdock took over, the slant of news and opinion has become embarassingly biased - worse than the left-leaning media that they constantly criticize. Talk about pot calling kettle black. The WSJ was once a fine source of real news; now it is merely a New York Times for neocons. The drone of anti-Obama ranting is just so over-the-line that it almost makes you want to vote him into a second term, even though you suspect that would be like gnawing off your arm just to make a point. So the easiest thing is to stop reading the nattering naybobs of negativism.
So, goodbye to the clutter and complexity of the past. Hello to the new and simple here and now.
1/25/2011
1/20/2011
Super Bowl Thoughts
The problem with watching football on TV:
If there was Truth-in-Broadcasting law, the TV announcers doing Super Bowl coverage would be required to say, “We Interrupt this 48 minute Commercial Break with a few minutes of football hype, some re-plays, some sideline interviews with the running back’s mom, highlight plays from other games, and every now and then, some real football action.”
Last year a record number of viewers -- more than 106 million -- tuned-in to the NFL football championship game between the New Orleans Saints and Indianapolis. They watched 48 minutes of ads, for a total of 66 commercial messages. This does not count all the pregame coverage hype and associated ads.
There is no news in the fact that the professional football industry is driven by TV advertising revenue. Even during the regular season games, they force lengthy time-outs during the game to inflict a barrage of commercials to the numb-nuts viewers who can’t find the clicker to see what else is on. (Chances are that most viewers over age 55 switch to a rerun of “Law and Order” and then forget to switch back until the next commercial break ).
Most of us seasoned armchair sports fans use the commercial breaks to go to the bathroom or get a fresh beer. Feed the cats. Check our email. Or clean the garage. We might watch a new commercial the first time out of curiosity, but after the 3rd time we get bored and use the break to read the paper or update our Facebook profiles. Here is a partial list of samo-samo commercials that inevitably make me reach for the mute button:
Home Depot - I go there anyway, leave me alone.
Dominos - never tried it, never will.
Verizon –who gives a crap if I’m covered in Iowa?
Viagra, Cialis - How do you explain floppy wiener to a nine year old?
Coors Lite - How dumb are you if you need the label to turn blue to tell you if its cold enough to drink
Droid – what the heck is it anyway?
Promos for other upcoming shows
Lexus – can’t afford one, they are just sexed-up Camry’s anyhow.
Dunkin donuts – always disappointing
Toyota – just annoying
Chevy Silverado 500th time ive seen it
Ford F150 – Dennis Leary reading big print. Yawn.
Taco Bell - The drive thru diet.com - she lost 50 lbs yeah, right!
TD Ameritrade – yeah I need more risk in my life.
Geiko – WTF does a lizard have to do with insurance?
Progressive – Hey lady, just shut the f*ck up, willya?
Someone did a study a while back counting the percentage of time, the game is actually being played – i.e., when someone has the ball and is running with it, or trying to catch, throw or kick it. The clock time is 60 minutes, but most of that time is spent with players standing around waiting for someone to tell them what to do, or engaging in chest-bumping celebrations. I think they calculated about nine minutes of actual live football playing. And the announcers will not stop yakking.
Oh and don’t get me started about replay fatigue. And the endless attempts of the color announcer to kick up the interest level of the analysis by quoting useless statistics. "Brady hasn't thrown an interception in a game played in a stadium south of the 38th parallel!"
Some games I spend on the computer updating my blog or Facebook page with the sound turned down and if an interesting play happens (indicated by an elevated volume of crowd noise) I watch the inevitable replay. Or if I doze off on the couch, I am confident that I will not really miss any action because of the multiple game summaries, halftime reports and post game analyses.
If there was Truth-in-Broadcasting law, the TV announcers doing Super Bowl coverage would be required to say, “We Interrupt this 48 minute Commercial Break with a few minutes of football hype, some re-plays, some sideline interviews with the running back’s mom, highlight plays from other games, and every now and then, some real football action.”
Last year a record number of viewers -- more than 106 million -- tuned-in to the NFL football championship game between the New Orleans Saints and Indianapolis. They watched 48 minutes of ads, for a total of 66 commercial messages. This does not count all the pregame coverage hype and associated ads.
There is no news in the fact that the professional football industry is driven by TV advertising revenue. Even during the regular season games, they force lengthy time-outs during the game to inflict a barrage of commercials to the numb-nuts viewers who can’t find the clicker to see what else is on. (Chances are that most viewers over age 55 switch to a rerun of “Law and Order” and then forget to switch back until the next commercial break ).
Most of us seasoned armchair sports fans use the commercial breaks to go to the bathroom or get a fresh beer. Feed the cats. Check our email. Or clean the garage. We might watch a new commercial the first time out of curiosity, but after the 3rd time we get bored and use the break to read the paper or update our Facebook profiles. Here is a partial list of samo-samo commercials that inevitably make me reach for the mute button:
Home Depot - I go there anyway, leave me alone.
Dominos - never tried it, never will.
Verizon –who gives a crap if I’m covered in Iowa?
Viagra, Cialis - How do you explain floppy wiener to a nine year old?
Coors Lite - How dumb are you if you need the label to turn blue to tell you if its cold enough to drink
Droid – what the heck is it anyway?
Promos for other upcoming shows
Lexus – can’t afford one, they are just sexed-up Camry’s anyhow.
Dunkin donuts – always disappointing
Toyota – just annoying
Chevy Silverado 500th time ive seen it
Ford F150 – Dennis Leary reading big print. Yawn.
Taco Bell - The drive thru diet.com - she lost 50 lbs yeah, right!
TD Ameritrade – yeah I need more risk in my life.
Geiko – WTF does a lizard have to do with insurance?
Progressive – Hey lady, just shut the f*ck up, willya?
 |
| Guys Watching Football |
Someone did a study a while back counting the percentage of time, the game is actually being played – i.e., when someone has the ball and is running with it, or trying to catch, throw or kick it. The clock time is 60 minutes, but most of that time is spent with players standing around waiting for someone to tell them what to do, or engaging in chest-bumping celebrations. I think they calculated about nine minutes of actual live football playing. And the announcers will not stop yakking.
Oh and don’t get me started about replay fatigue. And the endless attempts of the color announcer to kick up the interest level of the analysis by quoting useless statistics. "Brady hasn't thrown an interception in a game played in a stadium south of the 38th parallel!"
Some games I spend on the computer updating my blog or Facebook page with the sound turned down and if an interesting play happens (indicated by an elevated volume of crowd noise) I watch the inevitable replay. Or if I doze off on the couch, I am confident that I will not really miss any action because of the multiple game summaries, halftime reports and post game analyses.
Between commercials, there is way too much talking –a lot of it repetitive. Did I mention that it seems repetitive and also redundant. Recaps, replays, highlights, more replays "wait, let's look at this in slo- mo. Did his knee touch the ground before he went out..."
Then they have those babes on the sideline interviewing the running back’s mother. "What type of soup does he like?" If you want to have women talking about football, fine, get some mannish looking female. A good looking woman with great hair and makeup has zero credibility when talking about football.
There are continual assaults on concentration. Every time there is a perceived lull, they cut away to the sports desk to highlight plays from other games that you are not interested in. Fast cuts make me dizzy.
 |
| Distractions abound |
Crawls – the person who invented crawls needs to be tortured and hanged. I will give a million dollars to the inventor who can give me the option to block the play-by-play and color commentary but keep the other crowd noise and player audio; and also block crawls and those annoying superimposed promos of upcoming events. Note to Fox: Your animated football playah robot has no conceivable purpose. It needs to be banned.
In summary, watching the Game on TV is getting to be a tedious,annoying and distracting experience. The only thing that could be worse is actually going to the stadium and paying $40 to park, plus the price of a case of scotch to freeze your ass off in one of their tiny seats, while the people in front will not sit down, and the drunk next to you spills his beer on your pants.
1/19/2011
Retired Guys and Sick Days
A recent nationwide survey found that three out of four people admit that they go to work when they are sick. So if you caught the flu from one of your co-workers who are to scared to stay home because they are worried about losing their job, you might think to yourself "Hey, I might just as well just go in and keep spreading it around just like 3/4 of my workmates did."
On the other hand, perhaps you are one of the few considerate people who don't drag your germy ass in to work (or the theater, or public transportation, etc.) when you are sick with something that is catchy.
If so, then you should be content in the knowledge that, if there is a Heaven, then you will be one of the Selected ones who is rewarded with eternal peace in a flu-free land where no coughs are heard, the phrase "gesundheit" is not necessary, and "the runs" is just a forgotton, earthly memory.
One of the surprise perks of Retirement is the no-fault ease of cancelling your luncheon or earlybird dinner outings with the other ROMEOs (Retired Old Men Eating Out).
We tend to be very understanding and forgiving when someone calls at the last-minute to say they can't make it because they have a cold. We don't want to catch it, so we are glad to re-schedule.
The thing is, when you are retired and on the slow track, it doesn't make much difference if you go to lunch on tuesday versus thursday. This week, next week, it's all the same. We don't have anything else to do except go fishing, play golf and go to our medical appointments.
And, none of us bounce back from those maladies the way we did in our youth. The old macho ethic (Wild horses couldn't keep me away) has given way to a heightened sensitivity to the role of microbes to our sense of well-being. We have become a generation of weenies. Now our comitment to a date is tempered with caveats about weather and health.
By the way, I hate going to medical appointments -- those waiting rooms are filled with sick people.
On the other hand, perhaps you are one of the few considerate people who don't drag your germy ass in to work (or the theater, or public transportation, etc.) when you are sick with something that is catchy.
If so, then you should be content in the knowledge that, if there is a Heaven, then you will be one of the Selected ones who is rewarded with eternal peace in a flu-free land where no coughs are heard, the phrase "gesundheit" is not necessary, and "the runs" is just a forgotton, earthly memory.
One of the surprise perks of Retirement is the no-fault ease of cancelling your luncheon or earlybird dinner outings with the other ROMEOs (Retired Old Men Eating Out).
We tend to be very understanding and forgiving when someone calls at the last-minute to say they can't make it because they have a cold. We don't want to catch it, so we are glad to re-schedule.
The thing is, when you are retired and on the slow track, it doesn't make much difference if you go to lunch on tuesday versus thursday. This week, next week, it's all the same. We don't have anything else to do except go fishing, play golf and go to our medical appointments.
And, none of us bounce back from those maladies the way we did in our youth. The old macho ethic (Wild horses couldn't keep me away) has given way to a heightened sensitivity to the role of microbes to our sense of well-being. We have become a generation of weenies. Now our comitment to a date is tempered with caveats about weather and health.
By the way, I hate going to medical appointments -- those waiting rooms are filled with sick people.
1/16/2011
Memory and Vision
Recently, I decided to do something about my PC, which was running like a turtle. It took forever to open new applications or to save data. I read somewhere that you can speed things up by adding a RAM card. Simply put, the more RAM memory, the faster the computer processes the data. My old Dell had only .5 GB.
I went to Staples. For $44, I was able to buy a 1 GB memory card which I was able to install in my computer. Presto, now my PC runs like a jackrabbit.
It occurred to me: Wouldn't it be great if we could just go down to the Mall and buy a snap-in, add-on memory upgrade for our human brains?
As we age, most of us lose our keys and glasses periodically, but these are not the dreaded signs of senility. The experts say that you don't need to start worrying when someone misplaces the keys; you worry when they don't know what the keys are for.
As I grow older I tend to be sensitive to memory issues. While I often have flashbacks that are vivid and detailed, I find that large chunks of memories have seemingly disappeared. Sometimes it is just a temporary lapse of memory, like when you are looking for your keys and suddenly you wonder "What the heck am I looking for?"
Not long ago, I read a new book by Nora Ephron titled "I Remember Nothing." If you have forgotten who Nora Ephron is, she wrote the screenplays to the movies "When Harry met Sally" and "Sleepless in Seattle."
She admits that she can't remember the names of people she meets at parties, and can't even recall the names of her favorite movie stars without Googling them on her Smartphone. She frequently gets lost.
This may sound like familiar complaints to aging baby boomers. It is inspirational to read her reflections which are often, admittedly, blurry. It shows that a mentally competent writer can forget important people and things, just like the rest of us.
My most annoying item of forgetfulness is reading glasses. I am always losing them. I cant read the computer screen, caller-id readout, or read the daily newspaper without magnifiers. Recently, I decided to solve my vision problem.
BJ's, one of the warehouse outlets nearby was offering a free trial membership, and while perusing the vast aisles, we noticed a display of 4 pairs of eyeglasses (readers) for less than $20. Clearly this was the solution to the problem. The plan: put one pair by the PC, one in the bedroom nightstand, one on the kitchen counter and one in my coat so wherever I went there would always be a pair of glasses to read small print.
This worked great for a few days. Last night, searching for a pair of glasses, I noticed that there were five pair on my bureau.
Where the heck did the other pair come from?
I went to Staples. For $44, I was able to buy a 1 GB memory card which I was able to install in my computer. Presto, now my PC runs like a jackrabbit.
It occurred to me: Wouldn't it be great if we could just go down to the Mall and buy a snap-in, add-on memory upgrade for our human brains?
As we age, most of us lose our keys and glasses periodically, but these are not the dreaded signs of senility. The experts say that you don't need to start worrying when someone misplaces the keys; you worry when they don't know what the keys are for.
As I grow older I tend to be sensitive to memory issues. While I often have flashbacks that are vivid and detailed, I find that large chunks of memories have seemingly disappeared. Sometimes it is just a temporary lapse of memory, like when you are looking for your keys and suddenly you wonder "What the heck am I looking for?"
Not long ago, I read a new book by Nora Ephron titled "I Remember Nothing." If you have forgotten who Nora Ephron is, she wrote the screenplays to the movies "When Harry met Sally" and "Sleepless in Seattle."
She admits that she can't remember the names of people she meets at parties, and can't even recall the names of her favorite movie stars without Googling them on her Smartphone. She frequently gets lost.
This may sound like familiar complaints to aging baby boomers. It is inspirational to read her reflections which are often, admittedly, blurry. It shows that a mentally competent writer can forget important people and things, just like the rest of us.
My most annoying item of forgetfulness is reading glasses. I am always losing them. I cant read the computer screen, caller-id readout, or read the daily newspaper without magnifiers. Recently, I decided to solve my vision problem.
BJ's, one of the warehouse outlets nearby was offering a free trial membership, and while perusing the vast aisles, we noticed a display of 4 pairs of eyeglasses (readers) for less than $20. Clearly this was the solution to the problem. The plan: put one pair by the PC, one in the bedroom nightstand, one on the kitchen counter and one in my coat so wherever I went there would always be a pair of glasses to read small print.
This worked great for a few days. Last night, searching for a pair of glasses, I noticed that there were five pair on my bureau.
Where the heck did the other pair come from?
1/12/2011
1/05/2011
Beginnings
They say that every storm begins with a single drop of rain. Perhaps this is what we're seeing in the reports of massive animal kills and Arkansas and Louisiana. In Beebe, Arkansas more than 5000 redwinged black birds fell from the sky on New Year's Eve over a square mile. Just a few days before that, hundreds of fish were found dead in a river. Now, we hear that hundreds more redwinged blackbirds fell from the sky in Louisiana. Can reports of alien sightings/abductions be far away?
Elsewhere in the news there are reports of all kinds of scary happenings. Brett Favre formerly (and briefly of the Jets) was named in a lawsuit today by two so called "massage therapists" who accused him of sending lewd messages. There was another reporter who accused him of sending her pictures taken by his phone of his junk.
Since when is that a crime?
While we're on the topic of women reporters interviewing male athletes and coaches, I disapprove. Some of you might accuse me of being a piggy male chauvinist, but someone needs to point out that there are times and situations where gender bias is legitimate. A few weeks ago I heard a woman doing color of a football game and I just had to shut it off. It was all wrong. It was awful! Here I was ready for sports talk and this Barbie voice is talking about blocking and tackling. It was like listening to someone playing Shostakovich's 5th symphony on an accordion -- all wrong.
If you ask me, they shouldn't allow women reporters to follow players into the locker rooms or even on the field on game day. Invariably, they ask the coach "What did your mother have for lunch?" Or, " how great is it to be ahead by 14 points at the half?" Feelings? Excitement? You can see it in the eyes of the interviewee: Please shut-up. Stop asking useless questions. Go away.
If they want to have chicks on the TV screen, why don't they show more extensive coverage of the scantily-clad cheerleaders?
============
The other big story today is about the Navy captain who produced what they call "raunchy" videos for use aboard the ship the good ship Enterprise. Certainly captain Kirk wouldn't have approved, but what's the big deal? by all accounts, the films were appreciated by the people for whom they were intended (i.e. the members of the ship.)
What has become of us, When a popular and effective ship's captain is to be punished and his career to be destroyed because he had a good sense of humor and was willing to perhaps go over the line on a few occasions?
Just typical of the wussification of our culture, I guess.
Elsewhere in the news there are reports of all kinds of scary happenings. Brett Favre formerly (and briefly of the Jets) was named in a lawsuit today by two so called "massage therapists" who accused him of sending lewd messages. There was another reporter who accused him of sending her pictures taken by his phone of his junk.
Since when is that a crime?
While we're on the topic of women reporters interviewing male athletes and coaches, I disapprove. Some of you might accuse me of being a piggy male chauvinist, but someone needs to point out that there are times and situations where gender bias is legitimate. A few weeks ago I heard a woman doing color of a football game and I just had to shut it off. It was all wrong. It was awful! Here I was ready for sports talk and this Barbie voice is talking about blocking and tackling. It was like listening to someone playing Shostakovich's 5th symphony on an accordion -- all wrong.
If you ask me, they shouldn't allow women reporters to follow players into the locker rooms or even on the field on game day. Invariably, they ask the coach "What did your mother have for lunch?" Or, " how great is it to be ahead by 14 points at the half?" Feelings? Excitement? You can see it in the eyes of the interviewee: Please shut-up. Stop asking useless questions. Go away.
If they want to have chicks on the TV screen, why don't they show more extensive coverage of the scantily-clad cheerleaders?
============
The other big story today is about the Navy captain who produced what they call "raunchy" videos for use aboard the ship the good ship Enterprise. Certainly captain Kirk wouldn't have approved, but what's the big deal? by all accounts, the films were appreciated by the people for whom they were intended (i.e. the members of the ship.)
What has become of us, When a popular and effective ship's captain is to be punished and his career to be destroyed because he had a good sense of humor and was willing to perhaps go over the line on a few occasions?
Just typical of the wussification of our culture, I guess.
1/02/2011
12/30/2010
What's New?
I wrote this at the end of 2005 and not much has changed, except I spellchecked it this time:
Another New Year. I guess we all share a universal sense of optimism when a new year rolls around. Even those jaded cynics among us who (perhaps like me) who have begun so many New Years with a list of resolutions and the hope of peace and prosperity, and then witnessed the dissolution of those hopes in the fire hose of reality.
It was another one of those years when the idea of World Peace seems like a childish aspiration. Threats - real and imagined - abound. China and Russia are drifting back to totalitarianism.
None of our old friends likes us anymore. Perhaps Randy Newman (Let's drop the big one and see what happens) should be the next president. We need someone with a sense of humor.
We don't even like each other! The Dems are calling the Republicans liars and corrupt. The Neocons seem to have patented a new definition for patriotism which sounds to me too much like nationalism. I recall that the Nazi's came to power by focusing the people's attention on the internal and external threats and then ruthlessly punished eliminated any form of dissent or opposition. As a country, we have polarized to the extremes. There is no middle. The bell curve is now a statistical pucker when it comes to politics. Each side says "Either you are with us (and shut-up). or you are helping the enemy." Good old-fashioned compromise is out of the question. How can you find common ground with traitors, socialists, Nazis?
Amazingly, after centuries of barbaric warfare (much of it over differences in religious beliefs), we have learned nothing. Some of us have distilled (or should I say, "dumbed-down") our political philosophy down to a few defining issues. Unfortunately it will take another national tragedy for the sides to come together.
But, despite the gloomy assessment for the prospects of peace, I look ahead to a new year with a sense of renewal and optimism, just like the rest of the naive children.
12/17/2010
More Humbug Notes
Electronic Season's Greetings
Oh yeah, Don't let me forget to mention how annoying those electronic E-vites and E-Greeting Cards are. (If you have sent me one, I probably deleted it instead of reading it.)
Do you people think the rest of us are just sitting around grumbling in our porridge, wondering why our lives aren't more cutesy -- so you think you can warm our spirits with an animated cartoon of a dog wearing a Santa hat? Cripes, why don't you just send us an email that says:
Giving toCharity
Oh, and could that annoying person ringing the Salvation Army bell just give it a rest for a few minutes? Better yet, Go away! I hate having to walk around you to get through the door at the supermarket every time I go there. Stop making eye contact like I was some kind of cheapskate, trying to make me feel guilty while you are ever so smug standing there freezing your ass off for a noble cause. The bell is just annoying! Stop it!
Anyway, I already gave. I sent a check when I got the solicitation in the mail just before Thanksgiving. Not a huge amount, I admit, but did that make them happy?
No, since I sent the check I have received no fewer than 4 more solicitations in the mail.
But no acknowledgement for my donation.
Mailing isn't free. Why are they wasting contributed cash on marketing? I conclude that it is unlikely that any of my donated money will make a difference in any needy person's life. The Salvation Army has become another one of those charity machines that use small donations to fund an ever-expanding marketing campaign. This is rewarding, I'm sure, for list-processors, mailing companies and executives, but I do not feel that my contributions are being well spent.
A news item the other day, repored that some "charities" are spend more than 50 cents of every dollar received to pay off the marketing firm that made the calls and sent out the solicitations. Such schemes and scams go on all the time.
For the record, the only charity I am giving to in future us The Boston Globe Santa which uses 100% of the donated funds to buy necessities for the poor kids in Boston Area. You go Globe!
There are more things that annoy me at this time of year, but that's enough for now.
Oh yeah, Don't let me forget to mention how annoying those electronic E-vites and E-Greeting Cards are. (If you have sent me one, I probably deleted it instead of reading it.)
Do you people think the rest of us are just sitting around grumbling in our porridge, wondering why our lives aren't more cutesy -- so you think you can warm our spirits with an animated cartoon of a dog wearing a Santa hat? Cripes, why don't you just send us an email that says:
"Hi, this is probably an afterthought or perhaps I am too lazy or cheap to actually put any effort into this greeting, I only send real cards with holiday themed postage stamps to my A-list people, and well, you know..."Humbug!
Giving toCharity
Anyway, I already gave. I sent a check when I got the solicitation in the mail just before Thanksgiving. Not a huge amount, I admit, but did that make them happy?
No, since I sent the check I have received no fewer than 4 more solicitations in the mail.
But no acknowledgement for my donation.
Mailing isn't free. Why are they wasting contributed cash on marketing? I conclude that it is unlikely that any of my donated money will make a difference in any needy person's life. The Salvation Army has become another one of those charity machines that use small donations to fund an ever-expanding marketing campaign. This is rewarding, I'm sure, for list-processors, mailing companies and executives, but I do not feel that my contributions are being well spent.
A news item the other day, repored that some "charities" are spend more than 50 cents of every dollar received to pay off the marketing firm that made the calls and sent out the solicitations. Such schemes and scams go on all the time.
For the record, the only charity I am giving to in future us The Boston Globe Santa which uses 100% of the donated funds to buy necessities for the poor kids in Boston Area. You go Globe!
There are more things that annoy me at this time of year, but that's enough for now.
12/15/2010
Christmas Shopping notes: Humbug
Like most executives, ship captains and other sensible adults, I don't like surprises. Most people would agree that unforeseen circumstances are the bane of good plans, the downfall of the mighty, and the spoiler of sleep.
Yet when it comes to gift giving, the consensus is that the recipient must be surprised by the gift -- As if the sudden delight of seeing a matching pen and pencil set somehow makes the mundane thing more magical. Well, I don't like surprise gifts.
To people who don't understand this point of view, it seems like a challenge. They will go out of their way to prove to me that I was not sufficiently surprised in the past, because as everyone knows, "everybody loves surprises".
I really don't like giving gifts or getting them. I am too picky to let other people choose things for me. It just creates stress. Relatives yell at me, "You are so hard to buy for, you are so fussy!" Hey, don't get me a gift; it's OK. If I want something that I can afford, I just go and buy it anyway. I don't need gloves, ties or screwdriver sets made in Korea.
Bah!
Some people think its fun to do Secret Santa. I always receive some useless $10 gift card to some place I never go. What can you buy for $10 anyway? No wonder 40% of all gift cards are never fully used by the recipient. This amounts to a $1.8 billion rebate to retailers.
Needless to say, I hold the idea of a Yankee Swap to be a naked exercise in greed and disapointment. Who decided that it would be fun to steal someone elses gift? One person gets what they want and everyone else gets crap.
OH, and let us not forget the "Gift of Disapointment" the Lottery scratch ticket. 99% of the time You end up with nothing but green wax under your fingernails.
So in my book Christmas gifts and surprises are fine for the kiddies, but once you realize that Christmas is just another excuse for retailers to embrace large portions of your net worth, the wow factor is kinda fading after the first fruitcake you get in the mail from Aunt Matilda.
I hate to pile reindeer poop on your oatmeal, Virginia, but there is very little chance for peace on earth, much less goodwill towards your fellow man. No matter how many cards you send or receive.
Hey, enjoy your holidays in your own way. You may get a big kick from the mystery of a wrapped gift under your holiday tree waiting for the big morning. I don't -- Unless the package looks like a bottle of 18 year old single malt scotch.
Then I'm all Ho-Ho-Ho!
Yet when it comes to gift giving, the consensus is that the recipient must be surprised by the gift -- As if the sudden delight of seeing a matching pen and pencil set somehow makes the mundane thing more magical. Well, I don't like surprise gifts.
To people who don't understand this point of view, it seems like a challenge. They will go out of their way to prove to me that I was not sufficiently surprised in the past, because as everyone knows, "everybody loves surprises".
I really don't like giving gifts or getting them. I am too picky to let other people choose things for me. It just creates stress. Relatives yell at me, "You are so hard to buy for, you are so fussy!" Hey, don't get me a gift; it's OK. If I want something that I can afford, I just go and buy it anyway. I don't need gloves, ties or screwdriver sets made in Korea.
Bah!
Some people think its fun to do Secret Santa. I always receive some useless $10 gift card to some place I never go. What can you buy for $10 anyway? No wonder 40% of all gift cards are never fully used by the recipient. This amounts to a $1.8 billion rebate to retailers.
Needless to say, I hold the idea of a Yankee Swap to be a naked exercise in greed and disapointment. Who decided that it would be fun to steal someone elses gift? One person gets what they want and everyone else gets crap.
OH, and let us not forget the "Gift of Disapointment" the Lottery scratch ticket. 99% of the time You end up with nothing but green wax under your fingernails.
So in my book Christmas gifts and surprises are fine for the kiddies, but once you realize that Christmas is just another excuse for retailers to embrace large portions of your net worth, the wow factor is kinda fading after the first fruitcake you get in the mail from Aunt Matilda.
I hate to pile reindeer poop on your oatmeal, Virginia, but there is very little chance for peace on earth, much less goodwill towards your fellow man. No matter how many cards you send or receive.
Hey, enjoy your holidays in your own way. You may get a big kick from the mystery of a wrapped gift under your holiday tree waiting for the big morning. I don't -- Unless the package looks like a bottle of 18 year old single malt scotch.
Then I'm all Ho-Ho-Ho!
12/14/2010
No Excuses
Now, faithful fans, you all know that I am not one of those whiner bloggers who make excuses for not writing more often. I have no excuses. I prefer to spin my excuses as "priorities". Sometimes it happens that there are so many more interesting things to do than logging on the computer and imparting sage thoughts and observations to a largely anonymous audience, for free.
Well, the other day one of the neighborhood mothers accosts me as I am innocently returning from my daily 5 mile walk. She is standing, gabbing with the other doting moms who are waiting for the 3 O'clock school bus to disgorged their pampered kids who can't be trusted to to walk home without getting into trouble. She practically grabs me by the shirt and demands to know why I don't update the Blog more often.
I wonder if this so called working mom really understands what being "busy" means.
I wonder if this so called working mom really understands what being "busy" means.
Heck, she has probably has nothing to do all day while the kids are in school. How hard is it to do the laundry and clean house when you have HD TV's in every room? And, when the kids come home from school you can get them to do all the work you couldn't finish because you were on the sofa watching The View and Dr Oz.
Whereas, on the other hand, I have a day of challenges. On a typical day, I am rousted out of bed shortly after 9am. I go downstairs, have my breakfast and coffee, read two papers and by then it is 11am. If I have lunch scheduled, I need to get ready - often this involves a search for relatively unwrinkled clothes and possibly a shower. If there is no lunch scheduled then I go through all the take-out menus to see what I feel like and then send out for lunch. After lunch, I generally spend some time working around the yard or calling friends and chatting or shopping for dinner. Perhaps I will have time for an afternoon walk or a nap. I also cook on the days when my wife is working.
On the days when the cleaners come, I have to straighten up everything. This includes:
- Putting old magazines and newspapers away.
- Discarding all the junk mail that has been collecting for the past two weeks on the kitchen counter,
- Picking up scattered socks and other clothing items that have been tossed on the closet floor and putting them in the laundry hamper.
- Taking empty beer bottles out to the garage.
- Putting music CD's back in their cases and in storage.
- etc.
When I get back home, the place looks great, but I am more in the mood for a nap than blogging.
So, you see I have lots of priorities that trump blogging, so get off my case. OK?
12/06/2010
"Turn Out the Lights, The Party's Over''
Any football fan who is over 55 can probably idenitify the source of the quote "Turn Out the Lights, The Party's Over.'' It probably wasn't from the Willie Nelson tune. You most likely heard it from "Dandy" Don Meredith on Monday Night Football back in the good ol days.
Meredith ventured into that dark night last Sunday at the age of 72.
Meredith ventured into that dark night last Sunday at the age of 72.
12/05/2010
Good Santa
I asked him to bring me a case of single malt scotch for Christmas.
He said, "No problem."
Should I believe him?
12/03/2010
My new software
Well I thought I would report on the status of the Dragon speech to text software.
Yesterday, I purchased a 1 GB upgrade memory stick for $45 at Staples, and installed it
Finally, I was able to install Dragon software and I'm using it to dictate this blog entry.
It's pretty freaking good if you asked me. It's amazing that even after a few minutes of training I can speak into the microphone and have the text printed out on the screen as if I was a very fast typist.
Okay, I did need to do a little editing. But not as much as I would've thought.
I don't think I will ever type again.
===============================
Yesterday, I purchased a 1 GB upgrade memory stick for $45 at Staples, and installed it
Finally, I was able to install Dragon software and I'm using it to dictate this blog entry.
It's pretty freaking good if you asked me. It's amazing that even after a few minutes of training I can speak into the microphone and have the text printed out on the screen as if I was a very fast typist.
Okay, I did need to do a little editing. But not as much as I would've thought.
I don't think I will ever type again.
===============================
12/01/2010
Fixed Income and Unfixed costs
For the past several years I have dutifully scanned the various job listings Internet for a good part time job. I think I have wasted enough of your time griping about the seemingly nonexistent demand for skilled professionals who are only willing to work 20-24 hours per week.
So it is that I remain on a fixed income (SS) plus the few occasional shekels I receive from oddball projects and selling my original works of sheer genius, humor and pathos as fillers for mass media. The additional income barely covers my Starbucks and bar bills, so I am relegated to funding the bulk of living expenses against the SS pension. I call myself a FFIY (Frugal Fixed Income Yankee).
"What about your nest egg?" you are probably asking. You assume that I have stashed away a couple of mil against the future. Or maybe you think I have a hidden trust fund like Paris Hilton. Well, dear reader, we are Irish, so instead of inheriting a trust fund, we had to chip in to bury my widowed mother a decade ago.
As for the nest egg, well some [expletive deleted] is probably living in Rio de Janeiro sitting on a beach surrounded by semi-naked young women, with an ice chest full of Sierra Nevada, puffing on a Cuban Presidente on the money we had invested in AIG before the big crash. I am not jealous.
I am confident that the Almighty has a plan for me too. That's why I dutifully buy Powerball tickets, every week.
=========
Unfixed Prices.
Americans are not accustomed to haggling over prices. Somehow we have been instilled with the idea that it is insulting to the seller for us to offer a drastically low price for a product or service. We tend to think all prices are fixed. Well, honey, they aren't!
At the Mall a few weeks ago, I happened upon a kiosk that was selling Dragon Software. For those who aren't familiar, this software lets you talk into a mike, and the computer types out the text into a document that you can store and save. Pretty cool stuff for a writer, eh? Especially one who types with two fingers, who has twenty years' worth of handwritten journals to transcribe...
Well, I decided I needed this software. The list price for the basic home edition is normally $99, but they were selling it on a holiday special for $75 (plus 6% state sales tax). I resisted the urge to buy it n the spot, mainly because I am a frugal fixed-income Yankee who needs to check out all the details before I buy something. There were questions: will it play on my operating system? how much training is needed, yadda yadda. Can I run it on more than one computer? What if I want to write in french?
I checked out a few of the usual internet sales outfits, and found various prices for the same item.
Last week I ordered a copy of the software online at Amazon for $39 free shipping, no tax. It was delivered three days later. (I haven't loaded the disk yet. Stay tuned for my product review.)
The point is that the price of things is so relative as to be shockingly disparate. I checked today, and Amazon has raised their price to $49 plus $4.99 for shipping.
I wonder what the price will be tomorrow.
*******
UPDATE:
I attempted to load the software, but the disk could not be read. My DVD plays music disks so I think it still works for data. I called the help desk, and did not have to wait. The Tech Support guy (Rod) gave me a link to download the installation files via internet. This failed, the error message says I do not have enough RAM to run the software. Fine tiime to tell me.
Humph! Now I will have to spend hundreds to use my new $40 software package. Time for a new Laptop?
******
So it is that I remain on a fixed income (SS) plus the few occasional shekels I receive from oddball projects and selling my original works of sheer genius, humor and pathos as fillers for mass media. The additional income barely covers my Starbucks and bar bills, so I am relegated to funding the bulk of living expenses against the SS pension. I call myself a FFIY (Frugal Fixed Income Yankee).
"What about your nest egg?" you are probably asking. You assume that I have stashed away a couple of mil against the future. Or maybe you think I have a hidden trust fund like Paris Hilton. Well, dear reader, we are Irish, so instead of inheriting a trust fund, we had to chip in to bury my widowed mother a decade ago.
As for the nest egg, well some [expletive deleted] is probably living in Rio de Janeiro sitting on a beach surrounded by semi-naked young women, with an ice chest full of Sierra Nevada, puffing on a Cuban Presidente on the money we had invested in AIG before the big crash. I am not jealous.
I am confident that the Almighty has a plan for me too. That's why I dutifully buy Powerball tickets, every week.
=========
Unfixed Prices.
Americans are not accustomed to haggling over prices. Somehow we have been instilled with the idea that it is insulting to the seller for us to offer a drastically low price for a product or service. We tend to think all prices are fixed. Well, honey, they aren't!
At the Mall a few weeks ago, I happened upon a kiosk that was selling Dragon Software. For those who aren't familiar, this software lets you talk into a mike, and the computer types out the text into a document that you can store and save. Pretty cool stuff for a writer, eh? Especially one who types with two fingers, who has twenty years' worth of handwritten journals to transcribe...
Well, I decided I needed this software. The list price for the basic home edition is normally $99, but they were selling it on a holiday special for $75 (plus 6% state sales tax). I resisted the urge to buy it n the spot, mainly because I am a frugal fixed-income Yankee who needs to check out all the details before I buy something. There were questions: will it play on my operating system? how much training is needed, yadda yadda. Can I run it on more than one computer? What if I want to write in french?
I checked out a few of the usual internet sales outfits, and found various prices for the same item.
Last week I ordered a copy of the software online at Amazon for $39 free shipping, no tax. It was delivered three days later. (I haven't loaded the disk yet. Stay tuned for my product review.)
The point is that the price of things is so relative as to be shockingly disparate. I checked today, and Amazon has raised their price to $49 plus $4.99 for shipping.
I wonder what the price will be tomorrow.
*******
UPDATE:
I attempted to load the software, but the disk could not be read. My DVD plays music disks so I think it still works for data. I called the help desk, and did not have to wait. The Tech Support guy (Rod) gave me a link to download the installation files via internet. This failed, the error message says I do not have enough RAM to run the software. Fine tiime to tell me.
Humph! Now I will have to spend hundreds to use my new $40 software package. Time for a new Laptop?
******
11/30/2010
The Big Head Problem
You probably don't have a big head. This is not to suggest that you aren't full of yourself to an unwarranted degree (because you probably are).
I mean big head in the physical size sense. You know: girth. Circumference. Hat size.
I just mention it because it seems that most people have diminutive heads that actually do fit into the "One Size Fits All" hats. Clearly these caps are designed by and tested on tiny-headed workers. My theory is that these are the same people who design commercial jet plane and stadium seats.
People with big heads look goofy wearing an ordinary baseball cap. They are not designed to fit comfortably on Mensa-sized skulls like mine. So, I have to buy my size 7 3/4 hats at an online site called Big Head Hats. They cater to the "cranially endowed" market. The hats and caps are made in China and tested on offensive Football linemen. Then, shipped from Tennessee, USA.
I read somewhere that there is a correlation between head size and brain size - ergo higher intelligence. I personally do not claim this intellectual power, because I cannot understand why a fat guy with a small head can easily buy a 4X size Hawaiian shirt, but I with my big face, cannot find a pair of sunglasses that won’t slide off my nose into my chili.
Everything seems to be designed for you - the average sized humanoid. I can assume that you are average because – according to statistics - it is most likely that you are ensconced in the bulge of your cohort’s bell curve. Oh, you probably want to be a nonconformist (just like everyone else), but chances are, you are one of the one-size-fits-all masses.
At least that seems to be what the political machinery of this country thinks. That is why the major political parties do not even pretend to nominate the best and/or the brightest. They identify the characteristics and values that they think will appeal to the most voters and then shape their candidates to fit that profile. I think that if you check the hat size of most ideologues you will find that they are on the low end of average cranial girth.
You might get a chuckle out of the label's Washing Instructions: "Buy another Hat."
I mean big head in the physical size sense. You know: girth. Circumference. Hat size.
I just mention it because it seems that most people have diminutive heads that actually do fit into the "One Size Fits All" hats. Clearly these caps are designed by and tested on tiny-headed workers. My theory is that these are the same people who design commercial jet plane and stadium seats.
People with big heads look goofy wearing an ordinary baseball cap. They are not designed to fit comfortably on Mensa-sized skulls like mine. So, I have to buy my size 7 3/4 hats at an online site called Big Head Hats. They cater to the "cranially endowed" market. The hats and caps are made in China and tested on offensive Football linemen. Then, shipped from Tennessee, USA.
I read somewhere that there is a correlation between head size and brain size - ergo higher intelligence. I personally do not claim this intellectual power, because I cannot understand why a fat guy with a small head can easily buy a 4X size Hawaiian shirt, but I with my big face, cannot find a pair of sunglasses that won’t slide off my nose into my chili.
Everything seems to be designed for you - the average sized humanoid. I can assume that you are average because – according to statistics - it is most likely that you are ensconced in the bulge of your cohort’s bell curve. Oh, you probably want to be a nonconformist (just like everyone else), but chances are, you are one of the one-size-fits-all masses.
At least that seems to be what the political machinery of this country thinks. That is why the major political parties do not even pretend to nominate the best and/or the brightest. They identify the characteristics and values that they think will appeal to the most voters and then shape their candidates to fit that profile. I think that if you check the hat size of most ideologues you will find that they are on the low end of average cranial girth.
You might get a chuckle out of the label's Washing Instructions: "Buy another Hat."
11/23/2010
Thanksgiving thoughts
Hope no one minds if I reprise one of my favorite works of holiday-themed flash fiction from a few years ago.
I suppose I need to repeat that it is a work of fiction.
Over The River & Across the Tracks
It was chilly outside as we headed to Granny Gert's house for the annual Thanksgiving Feast. Uncle Gelbert was driving the old pink and white Nash Rambler wagon. Pap sat in the shotgun seat with the window open. Pap was pretty hung-over and every few miles he would yell for Gelbert to pull over so he could puke out the window. We - Maw, Throckmorton, and me sat in back, bundled-up. We were used to Pap's hangovers, and the lingering smell of his vomit on everything.
We were, of course, late. We were late for everything, except the time back in Montana when me and Throck were born. That was the one time we were early for anything. Still, Ma always said that we could've made it to the hospital except Pap was at the roadhouse when the first contractions came and she had to wait two hours for him to come home to take her to the docs.
When we arrived at Granny Gert's trailer, we piled-out of the car. Granny's dogs greeted us in the usual fashion - barking raucously, jumping on us, glad to have visitors.
"Git back you lot!" Granny shouted coming down the steps waving a cattle prod.
Me and Throck looked at each other wondering if she meant us or the dogs. The dogs thought it was them and they instantly fell into a heap near the trailer steps. Then she went over to where Pap and uncle Gelbert were standing.
"Georgie! Gelbert! You two boys!" They eyed her suspiciously.
"Give us a hug." She bellowed. They complied meekly.
"I see you haven't changed your naughty ways, Georgie." she said to Pap, nodding to the flecks of puke dripping from the side and rear panel of the Rambler. He shrugged.
We all went inside to warm-up.
Ma had brought a package of frozen peas and another of frozen squash. Pap produced a 5th of Gallo Creme Sherry from a brown bag and waved it over his head like it was the US open winners trophy. We all applauded approvingly, except Gramps who hadn't even noticed us arrive. He sat in a ratty old chair facing the small black and white TV screen watching a football game.
Granny, who was returning from the cupboard with a tray of half-filled jelly glasses, nodded towards Gramps with her head, "Somebody go and shake him. His hearing aid batteries went dead last month and he hasn't been much for conversation."
Pap went over and stood in front of the TV, blocking the view.
"Hi dad," he grinned toothlessly.
The old man looked at him, not recognizing him for a moment. Then a big smile. "Georgie, hey, sit down. Watch the game. Did you bring anything to drink?"
Dinner was predictable. Granny heated the turkey loaf in the microwave and poured a can of beef gravy over it. She had mixed up a batch of instant whipped potatoes, and had fried the green peas in a pan. Each little pea had a burn mark, which she instantly renamed 'black-eyed green peas". She proudly announced that she had bought new plastic utensils for the occasion and Chinette plates and cups.
Even though we were 20 years old, me and Throckmorton had to take our plates to a card
table in the living room while "the adults" - Granny, Gramps, Gelbert, Pap and Maw crowded around the breakfast nook. There was a hair in my gravy. But I wasn't hungry anyway.
Halfway through the meal Granny remembered the Squash, which was still thawing on the counter.
"Save your plates everybody, we can have this for desert. And don't nobody throw away them new plastic cutlery!"
After all the remnants of the meal had been cleared and piled in the sink, we sat watching the end of the football game, cleaning our teeth with individually wrapped mint-flavored toothpicks, like the ones you get at the Chinese restaurant. It had gotten dark, so Granny turned on a few more lamps.
We heard a truck pull up outside. Young Billy came through the door, red-faced from the cold, but beaming.
"Hi everybody, sorry I'm late. There was a wreck on the highway. Look what I got!"
He held up a bloody wallet that looked thick with a wad of bills, and a severed finger with a large diamond ring still on it.
Gramps stared at the swag and then asked hopefully, "Didn't you bring anything to drink?"
####
I suppose I need to repeat that it is a work of fiction.
Over The River & Across the Tracks
It was chilly outside as we headed to Granny Gert's house for the annual Thanksgiving Feast. Uncle Gelbert was driving the old pink and white Nash Rambler wagon. Pap sat in the shotgun seat with the window open. Pap was pretty hung-over and every few miles he would yell for Gelbert to pull over so he could puke out the window. We - Maw, Throckmorton, and me sat in back, bundled-up. We were used to Pap's hangovers, and the lingering smell of his vomit on everything.
We were, of course, late. We were late for everything, except the time back in Montana when me and Throck were born. That was the one time we were early for anything. Still, Ma always said that we could've made it to the hospital except Pap was at the roadhouse when the first contractions came and she had to wait two hours for him to come home to take her to the docs.
When we arrived at Granny Gert's trailer, we piled-out of the car. Granny's dogs greeted us in the usual fashion - barking raucously, jumping on us, glad to have visitors.
"Git back you lot!" Granny shouted coming down the steps waving a cattle prod.
Me and Throck looked at each other wondering if she meant us or the dogs. The dogs thought it was them and they instantly fell into a heap near the trailer steps. Then she went over to where Pap and uncle Gelbert were standing.
"Georgie! Gelbert! You two boys!" They eyed her suspiciously.
"Give us a hug." She bellowed. They complied meekly.
"I see you haven't changed your naughty ways, Georgie." she said to Pap, nodding to the flecks of puke dripping from the side and rear panel of the Rambler. He shrugged.
We all went inside to warm-up.
Ma had brought a package of frozen peas and another of frozen squash. Pap produced a 5th of Gallo Creme Sherry from a brown bag and waved it over his head like it was the US open winners trophy. We all applauded approvingly, except Gramps who hadn't even noticed us arrive. He sat in a ratty old chair facing the small black and white TV screen watching a football game.
Granny, who was returning from the cupboard with a tray of half-filled jelly glasses, nodded towards Gramps with her head, "Somebody go and shake him. His hearing aid batteries went dead last month and he hasn't been much for conversation."
Pap went over and stood in front of the TV, blocking the view.
"Hi dad," he grinned toothlessly.
The old man looked at him, not recognizing him for a moment. Then a big smile. "Georgie, hey, sit down. Watch the game. Did you bring anything to drink?"
Dinner was predictable. Granny heated the turkey loaf in the microwave and poured a can of beef gravy over it. She had mixed up a batch of instant whipped potatoes, and had fried the green peas in a pan. Each little pea had a burn mark, which she instantly renamed 'black-eyed green peas". She proudly announced that she had bought new plastic utensils for the occasion and Chinette plates and cups.
Even though we were 20 years old, me and Throckmorton had to take our plates to a card
table in the living room while "the adults" - Granny, Gramps, Gelbert, Pap and Maw crowded around the breakfast nook. There was a hair in my gravy. But I wasn't hungry anyway.
Halfway through the meal Granny remembered the Squash, which was still thawing on the counter.
"Save your plates everybody, we can have this for desert. And don't nobody throw away them new plastic cutlery!"
After all the remnants of the meal had been cleared and piled in the sink, we sat watching the end of the football game, cleaning our teeth with individually wrapped mint-flavored toothpicks, like the ones you get at the Chinese restaurant. It had gotten dark, so Granny turned on a few more lamps.
We heard a truck pull up outside. Young Billy came through the door, red-faced from the cold, but beaming.
"Hi everybody, sorry I'm late. There was a wreck on the highway. Look what I got!"
He held up a bloody wallet that looked thick with a wad of bills, and a severed finger with a large diamond ring still on it.
Gramps stared at the swag and then asked hopefully, "Didn't you bring anything to drink?"
####
11/18/2010
I lost my Glasses
Hmmn, I've looked everywhere but they're gone. Not on the car, not in the closet, not in the pockets of my coat, not hidden under the jumble of newspaper. Gone.
I know what you are thinking: All old people "lose" their reading glasses at least once a day.
You think I have just misplaced them, and that they will turn up shortly, when I remember where I left them.
But no, this time they are really lost.
I had them yesterday morning when I went out. I discovered them missing at Home Depot whern I was trying to read the small print on the package I was looking at. I checked every pocket. Gone.
The worst thing about it, they were the expensive bifocals that I never take with me if I leave the house.
The only reason I took them with me is I have lost all of my traveling glasses too.
Where do they end-up, all those glasses??
I know what you are thinking: All old people "lose" their reading glasses at least once a day.
You think I have just misplaced them, and that they will turn up shortly, when I remember where I left them.
But no, this time they are really lost.
I had them yesterday morning when I went out. I discovered them missing at Home Depot whern I was trying to read the small print on the package I was looking at. I checked every pocket. Gone.
The worst thing about it, they were the expensive bifocals that I never take with me if I leave the house.
The only reason I took them with me is I have lost all of my traveling glasses too.
Where do they end-up, all those glasses??
11/14/2010
11/12/2010
Selections from The E-Mailbag
Dear Former Co-worker,
I just received your email, asking if I knew anyone who could help you in your annual (or is it semi-annual) job search. How nice of you to think of me, even if I am just one of dozens of addresses on your email blast, I realize that personal notes are just too time-consuming for the anticipated payback. Woefully inefficiant.
If I was working myself, I might have contacts, but alas I too am unemployed. I guess the big difference is that I chose to be unemployed, whereas you became unemployed because of someone else's choice.
Hard to figure why any organization would let you get way, given the invaluable qualities that you demonstrate - that highly-developed sense of entitlement, relentess assertiveness, and that mono-maniacal energy that narcissists possess to accomplish their self-promoting goals. These characteristics should be much valued by the hamster-brained sociopaths that populate the management ranks at most companies.
Well, it was great to hear from you again. You can be sure that I will be spending literally minutes thinking of ways to help you, so you needn't follow-up with calls or more mass e-mails. I have always felt honored to be among the first hundred or so people that you contact each time you are looking for a new job.
I do have a tip. I just heard the UPS needs more package handlers at holiday time and they are staffing up to beat the band. I think you could do well there. Don't bother to thank me. Best of luck in your new job... and Happy Holidays.
Your Networking Contact
I just received your email, asking if I knew anyone who could help you in your annual (or is it semi-annual) job search. How nice of you to think of me, even if I am just one of dozens of addresses on your email blast, I realize that personal notes are just too time-consuming for the anticipated payback. Woefully inefficiant.
If I was working myself, I might have contacts, but alas I too am unemployed. I guess the big difference is that I chose to be unemployed, whereas you became unemployed because of someone else's choice.
Hard to figure why any organization would let you get way, given the invaluable qualities that you demonstrate - that highly-developed sense of entitlement, relentess assertiveness, and that mono-maniacal energy that narcissists possess to accomplish their self-promoting goals. These characteristics should be much valued by the hamster-brained sociopaths that populate the management ranks at most companies.
Well, it was great to hear from you again. You can be sure that I will be spending literally minutes thinking of ways to help you, so you needn't follow-up with calls or more mass e-mails. I have always felt honored to be among the first hundred or so people that you contact each time you are looking for a new job.
I do have a tip. I just heard the UPS needs more package handlers at holiday time and they are staffing up to beat the band. I think you could do well there. Don't bother to thank me. Best of luck in your new job... and Happy Holidays.
Your Networking Contact
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