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This post is only a test. If this had been a real post, you would be laughing. Or smiling. Or at least wondering what the hell is wrong with the author of his blog.
I get a lot of that.
Thanks. Make sure you read the real Saturday post just below this one.
Thanks.
Humor-Blogs.com
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Business Meetings 101
I used to work for a social services agency (I have mentioned my supervisor, the Succubus, recently) and it was the most meeting happy organization in the known world. I have never heard of any place with more, or larger meetings. And by the way, the topics were hysterically funny. I thought I'd share a few of the better ones here. It's good to know, that these charitable organizations, all of which are desperately in need of funds, piss away money like they had a printshop on premises. Bear in mind, just about every meeting took place at a different facility, which meant the agency laid out cash for mileage and lost productive time while employees traveled to these various meetings.
It's so hard to pick a favorite. But one of the best was this one. I was on the committee to publish the company newsletter. Part of our job was to ceremoniously empty the suggestion box and then to carefully discuss and debate the issues raised by our fellow employees. My favorite suggestion was sent in by an anonymous employee (guess who) and suggested that since the company elevator was out of service for the last 2 months or so, it might be a good idea to install a firehouse type sliding pole to allow faster and easier egress from the second floor.
After about 15 minutes of solid debate, including who would train employees to use the pole properly, it was decided that, perhaps, the writer really didn't want a pole but was trying to make the point that the elevator needed to be functioning.
That would qualify as a sensible meeting by agency standards.
On to some of the wacky ones:
We provided services for adults with developmental disabilities. People who could be described basically as having limited intellect and very limited funds. The county had a new program for providing inexpensive or free transportation to county residents who were financially qualified. We wanted the county to make a presentation to our agency. No problem.
Now, part of the ageny's mentality was that we were the biggest agency around, and we wanted everyone to know. So, while this presentation could have been done for maybe the half-dozen of my co-workers who it actually affected, the powers that be decided every hot, sweaty, overworked body that could fit in the room should be present. The county explained the program, and then opened up the floor for questions.
Mistake number 1. Anyone who ever runs a meeting with social service workers, take note: Never ask for questions at a meeting unless it is absolutely necessary. Management and middle level employees at a social service agency have little else to do but to find stupid things to waste time, including thinking up really dumb, nearly unaswerable questions. How else can we justify our jobs? We never did much that was useful. Being one of the biggest agencies, and loaded with plenty of admin types, we came up with all sorts of incredibly stupid questions.
And then, in an effort befitting of the biggest, and therefore the most useless, overpaid, and desperate to justify her position person, an admin asked the dumbest question of all: what about those clients who need a ride to the airport? Could this in-county, free service, provide airport limo service? This stumped the county folks, because, to be honest, it was the single stupidest question they ever heard. I guess they never expected a bunch of poor, developmentally disabled people to be jet-setters. Bear in mind, that, at most, a couple clients in the entire agency had ever flown, but suddenly, this was a pressing issue. It led to a solid 20 minutes of discussion.
And then, of course, was the great milk and cookies debate of 2004. It was suggested (I had nothing to do with this one) that the agency provide a snack at our slave labor camps. OOOPS, I meant work centers. Just a cup of milk and a cookie or two at the 10 in the morning break period.
Take a wild guess how long that debate went on.
An hour? Two hours?
Not even close.
Days. It started at one meeting, and lasted about 2 hours. It then had a meeting of its own that lasted about 4 hours. It then was brought back to the general monthly meeting for another couple hours of debate, and tabled. More research, and finally, after another couple hour debate, it was decided that it was a good idea, but nothing ever came of it.
Because we always had state mandated IHP meetings and behavior team meetings, we occasionally decided to have pre-meetings in the hope that it would shorten the regular meetings. You could imagine how that went.
But, here is the worst meeting I ever attended.
Two of the developmentally disabled young men in a work program had a "love connection" in the men's room. In our entire agency, I was the only one with a penis who was around that day. They had me have an emergency meeting with the two men to discuss the inappropriate behavior at work. This is normally not in my job description. The Succubus was off for the day, so the Incubus gave me the news that I had to do this.
I found the complete transcript of this meeting:
Crotchety Old Man: Hummina, hummina, hummina, hummina. Work is for Work.
2 Retarded guys: OK
Crotchety Old Man: Sign an X here.
As a follow up, I spent a couple hours in various meetings explaining to the staff what went on in my meeting with the guys, and of course, had to file a complete report, in seventuplicate. (Is there a word for 7 copies?)
A follow up meeting did take place to set up a plan for future such behaviors.
I miss all those meetings sometimes.
Disclaimer
No meeting scribes were injured during the making of this post
It's so hard to pick a favorite. But one of the best was this one. I was on the committee to publish the company newsletter. Part of our job was to ceremoniously empty the suggestion box and then to carefully discuss and debate the issues raised by our fellow employees. My favorite suggestion was sent in by an anonymous employee (guess who) and suggested that since the company elevator was out of service for the last 2 months or so, it might be a good idea to install a firehouse type sliding pole to allow faster and easier egress from the second floor.
After about 15 minutes of solid debate, including who would train employees to use the pole properly, it was decided that, perhaps, the writer really didn't want a pole but was trying to make the point that the elevator needed to be functioning.
That would qualify as a sensible meeting by agency standards.
On to some of the wacky ones:
We provided services for adults with developmental disabilities. People who could be described basically as having limited intellect and very limited funds. The county had a new program for providing inexpensive or free transportation to county residents who were financially qualified. We wanted the county to make a presentation to our agency. No problem.
Now, part of the ageny's mentality was that we were the biggest agency around, and we wanted everyone to know. So, while this presentation could have been done for maybe the half-dozen of my co-workers who it actually affected, the powers that be decided every hot, sweaty, overworked body that could fit in the room should be present. The county explained the program, and then opened up the floor for questions.
Mistake number 1. Anyone who ever runs a meeting with social service workers, take note: Never ask for questions at a meeting unless it is absolutely necessary. Management and middle level employees at a social service agency have little else to do but to find stupid things to waste time, including thinking up really dumb, nearly unaswerable questions. How else can we justify our jobs? We never did much that was useful. Being one of the biggest agencies, and loaded with plenty of admin types, we came up with all sorts of incredibly stupid questions.
And then, in an effort befitting of the biggest, and therefore the most useless, overpaid, and desperate to justify her position person, an admin asked the dumbest question of all: what about those clients who need a ride to the airport? Could this in-county, free service, provide airport limo service? This stumped the county folks, because, to be honest, it was the single stupidest question they ever heard. I guess they never expected a bunch of poor, developmentally disabled people to be jet-setters. Bear in mind, that, at most, a couple clients in the entire agency had ever flown, but suddenly, this was a pressing issue. It led to a solid 20 minutes of discussion.
And then, of course, was the great milk and cookies debate of 2004. It was suggested (I had nothing to do with this one) that the agency provide a snack at our slave labor camps. OOOPS, I meant work centers. Just a cup of milk and a cookie or two at the 10 in the morning break period.
Take a wild guess how long that debate went on.
An hour? Two hours?
Not even close.
Days. It started at one meeting, and lasted about 2 hours. It then had a meeting of its own that lasted about 4 hours. It then was brought back to the general monthly meeting for another couple hours of debate, and tabled. More research, and finally, after another couple hour debate, it was decided that it was a good idea, but nothing ever came of it.
Because we always had state mandated IHP meetings and behavior team meetings, we occasionally decided to have pre-meetings in the hope that it would shorten the regular meetings. You could imagine how that went.
But, here is the worst meeting I ever attended.
Two of the developmentally disabled young men in a work program had a "love connection" in the men's room. In our entire agency, I was the only one with a penis who was around that day. They had me have an emergency meeting with the two men to discuss the inappropriate behavior at work. This is normally not in my job description. The Succubus was off for the day, so the Incubus gave me the news that I had to do this.
I found the complete transcript of this meeting:
Crotchety Old Man: Hummina, hummina, hummina, hummina. Work is for Work.
2 Retarded guys: OK
Crotchety Old Man: Sign an X here.
As a follow up, I spent a couple hours in various meetings explaining to the staff what went on in my meeting with the guys, and of course, had to file a complete report, in seventuplicate. (Is there a word for 7 copies?)
A follow up meeting did take place to set up a plan for future such behaviors.
I miss all those meetings sometimes.
Disclaimer
No meeting scribes were injured during the making of this post
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Close Encounters of the Richard Simmons Kind
In the United States, we have a few quirky rules. Don't wear white after Labor Day for instance. One of the most unusual concerns our health program. No, I'm not talking about health care again. This is much more than that. The rule is that once one stretches to a certain girth, that person must either go on the Oprah Show, or meet Richard Simmons.
If one chooses the Richard route, we do have some addendums to this rule. It's not as simple as saying "Yo, Richard Simmons, what's up?"
It's much more involved than that. Once uber fatness is attained, one must sweat with Richard, and then hug him, and then cry--not necessarily in that order.
I achieved the weight limit, and so, a few years ago, I had to meet Richard Simmons. Quiet down. I don't make up the rules, I just follow them.
So off to some hotel in New Jersey I trudged, knowing I had to face the inevitable. The gallows seemed a more pleasant thought.
I did what was required-- yeah, I sweated to the oldies with Richard. This isn't really that much of an accomplishment because I can work up a good sweat opening a jar of pickles.
As bad as working out with a few hundred fellow corpulent rogues was, I then had to meet Richard, one on one.
I'm not big on hugging guys, but I can assure you, hugging a sweaty Richard Simmons wearing his 1970's style glitter-enhanced NBA short shorts was awkward and uncomfortable to say the very least.
And then I had to tell him my story. Richard began to cry and sweat on me.
Then Richard made what I thought was an extremely nice gesture. Maybe my day would be ok after all. He gave me a card with a phone number on it. He said to call, it was his personal number, and when I was ready to make a change in my life, to just give him a call. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I had lost my father shortly before this, and this kindness was just enough to put me over the emotional edge.
I thought about that day for weeks. Maybe Richard Simmons wasn't such a tool. Perhaps he wasn't a slimy, money grubbing shill.
I hemmed and hawed. Finally, I mustered up the courage to call.
I nervously pushed the buttons on the phone. The phone rang. The anticipation was palpable as I wondered who would answer.
His assistant? Some answering service who would page Richard so I could talk to him?
Richard himself?
No, it was the sales office for
I should have known better.
My home gym
If one chooses the Richard route, we do have some addendums to this rule. It's not as simple as saying "Yo, Richard Simmons, what's up?"
It's much more involved than that. Once uber fatness is attained, one must sweat with Richard, and then hug him, and then cry--not necessarily in that order.
I achieved the weight limit, and so, a few years ago, I had to meet Richard Simmons. Quiet down. I don't make up the rules, I just follow them.
So off to some hotel in New Jersey I trudged, knowing I had to face the inevitable. The gallows seemed a more pleasant thought.
I did what was required-- yeah, I sweated to the oldies with Richard. This isn't really that much of an accomplishment because I can work up a good sweat opening a jar of pickles.
As bad as working out with a few hundred fellow corpulent rogues was, I then had to meet Richard, one on one.
I'm not big on hugging guys, but I can assure you, hugging a sweaty Richard Simmons wearing his 1970's style glitter-enhanced NBA short shorts was awkward and uncomfortable to say the very least.
And then I had to tell him my story. Richard began to cry and sweat on me.
Then Richard made what I thought was an extremely nice gesture. Maybe my day would be ok after all. He gave me a card with a phone number on it. He said to call, it was his personal number, and when I was ready to make a change in my life, to just give him a call. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I had lost my father shortly before this, and this kindness was just enough to put me over the emotional edge.
I thought about that day for weeks. Maybe Richard Simmons wasn't such a tool. Perhaps he wasn't a slimy, money grubbing shill.
I hemmed and hawed. Finally, I mustered up the courage to call.
I nervously pushed the buttons on the phone. The phone rang. The anticipation was palpable as I wondered who would answer.
His assistant? Some answering service who would page Richard so I could talk to him?
Richard himself?
No, it was the sales office for
I should have known better.
My home gym
Bosses from Hell
I was reading about some bad bosses yesterday, and I started thinking about some that I had. I've had quite a few. My train of thought was probably tied in to the Willie Randolph firing. Even Jon Stewart thought it was beyond crazy how they fired him.
On to my bosses from hell.
I worked for a Fortune 100 company, and my boss would bring me in her office for a 2 hour review/dressing down. Then, a half hour later, would review my work accomplished so far, and get angry that I hardly accomplished anything despite having been there for a few hours. Once, she asked to go to the men's room and get another employee who was taking too long. She was in a hurry and wanted to fire him before she took her break. It was in the collection department, and she had all of us making phone calls on delinquent accounts on Christmas Eve. What a sweetheart.
Two, in particular were so awful, I have never heard of anyone as bad as them.
I worked in an auto parts store about 20 years ago. My boss was a nut who constantly complained about how messy my parts books were that I kept under the counter.
I wouldn't clean it up because the books were fine, I knew where everything was.
His solution?
Yup, he set fire to the counter where the books were.
I left, and never went back.
But, believe it or not, he wasn't the worst boss I ever had.
The worst boss I ever had was at a social service agency.
The bitch, not very affectionately known behind her back as the Succubus, was one for the ages. I used to get written up and sent to HR every few weeks. It wasn't bad enough that she made things up; she wasn't even good at it.
I'm disabled, and walk with crutches, or use a wheelchair. She wrote me up one time because I didn't volunteer to carry 6 feet long tables across a grassy lot. Bear in mind, it wasn't part of my job, it was an extra, totally volunteer assignment. I went in to HR, he said what the complaint was, I just looked at my crutches leaning against the wall. He said I could go back to my desk. LOL.
In my last few months at the agency, she wrote me up and requested I be terminated every payday, which was every other week. So, like clockwork, I would go in to the head of HR, and answer the lies she made up. Because the company was so screwed up, it was fine for the Succubus to lie about me every other week. Go figure.
Added to that, she was one of the most racist people alive. She was black, and referred to white people as "Massa" and "Crackers." The Succubus was the worst boss I ever had. I don't know if I have read or heard of any more horrible than her.
Who is the worst boss you ever had?
Disclaimer:
No bosses were harmed in the making of this post, but some should have been.
On to my bosses from hell.
I worked for a Fortune 100 company, and my boss would bring me in her office for a 2 hour review/dressing down. Then, a half hour later, would review my work accomplished so far, and get angry that I hardly accomplished anything despite having been there for a few hours. Once, she asked to go to the men's room and get another employee who was taking too long. She was in a hurry and wanted to fire him before she took her break. It was in the collection department, and she had all of us making phone calls on delinquent accounts on Christmas Eve. What a sweetheart.
Two, in particular were so awful, I have never heard of anyone as bad as them.
I worked in an auto parts store about 20 years ago. My boss was a nut who constantly complained about how messy my parts books were that I kept under the counter.
I wouldn't clean it up because the books were fine, I knew where everything was.
His solution?
Yup, he set fire to the counter where the books were.
I left, and never went back.
But, believe it or not, he wasn't the worst boss I ever had.
The worst boss I ever had was at a social service agency.
The bitch, not very affectionately known behind her back as the Succubus, was one for the ages. I used to get written up and sent to HR every few weeks. It wasn't bad enough that she made things up; she wasn't even good at it.
I'm disabled, and walk with crutches, or use a wheelchair. She wrote me up one time because I didn't volunteer to carry 6 feet long tables across a grassy lot. Bear in mind, it wasn't part of my job, it was an extra, totally volunteer assignment. I went in to HR, he said what the complaint was, I just looked at my crutches leaning against the wall. He said I could go back to my desk. LOL.
In my last few months at the agency, she wrote me up and requested I be terminated every payday, which was every other week. So, like clockwork, I would go in to the head of HR, and answer the lies she made up. Because the company was so screwed up, it was fine for the Succubus to lie about me every other week. Go figure.
Added to that, she was one of the most racist people alive. She was black, and referred to white people as "Massa" and "Crackers." The Succubus was the worst boss I ever had. I don't know if I have read or heard of any more horrible than her.
Who is the worst boss you ever had?
Disclaimer:
No bosses were harmed in the making of this post, but some should have been.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
My Weird Dream
Did you ever wake up from a dream and wonder what the hell was that all about? Last night I had a doozy. That's a word I don't use lightly. That's a word I don't believe I've ever written before, now that I think about it. Now this is absolutely true. I'm not creative enough to make this up. If I were a creative person, I would have taken the one great idea I had, and turned it into a book/movie. Because I'll never do it, I'll even give you my great idea. I live near a home that is built on the remnants of an old Quaker burial ground from around 1700. The house should be haunted by really nice ghosts who look like the Quaker Oats guy.
That explains why I'm not a screenwriter.
Back to my dream from last night. I was out shopping with the Crotchety Old Lady, and we ran into Hillary Clinton. I don't know what we were shopping for, but it was probably Metamucil or generic Vick's Vapo-Rub. We buy the generic, because we go through an inordinate amount of it. I'm not sure what the national average is, but I'm sure we exceed it. Most people buy one jar, and that's a lifetime supply. We go through a jar a month.
Anyway, I was talking to Mrs. Clinton. We had a nice, polite conversation. I told her how disappointed I was about the primary, yadda, yadda, yadda, and then the dream got weird, as if me dreaming about Mrs. Clinton and shopping wasn't strange enough. She excused herself to go and be with her husband, Bill, who was over on the side playing ski ball.
And, to add just a touch more oddity to my already bizarre dream, he had a large supply of extra balls available.
Maybe it was ensure that he would win some tchotchke?
I have no idea.
So, before anyone starts tryng to decipher the inner workings of my mind, here's what has been happening. I read a lot of blogs, and a week or so ago, one blogger wrote about ski ball.
Before I went to sleep, I saw a commercial for Home Depot. Home Depot is connected to the store (Two Guys) that had an arcade section with mini bowling, which is kind of like Ski ball.
I have been really coveting Chinese finger cuffs, and the only place I know to get them is a ski ball arcade.
Now, I would like to have someone interpret this dream. Thank you in advance.
That explains why I'm not a screenwriter.
Back to my dream from last night. I was out shopping with the Crotchety Old Lady, and we ran into Hillary Clinton. I don't know what we were shopping for, but it was probably Metamucil or generic Vick's Vapo-Rub. We buy the generic, because we go through an inordinate amount of it. I'm not sure what the national average is, but I'm sure we exceed it. Most people buy one jar, and that's a lifetime supply. We go through a jar a month.
Anyway, I was talking to Mrs. Clinton. We had a nice, polite conversation. I told her how disappointed I was about the primary, yadda, yadda, yadda, and then the dream got weird, as if me dreaming about Mrs. Clinton and shopping wasn't strange enough. She excused herself to go and be with her husband, Bill, who was over on the side playing ski ball.
And, to add just a touch more oddity to my already bizarre dream, he had a large supply of extra balls available.
Maybe it was ensure that he would win some tchotchke?
I have no idea.
So, before anyone starts tryng to decipher the inner workings of my mind, here's what has been happening. I read a lot of blogs, and a week or so ago, one blogger wrote about ski ball.
Before I went to sleep, I saw a commercial for Home Depot. Home Depot is connected to the store (Two Guys) that had an arcade section with mini bowling, which is kind of like Ski ball.
I have been really coveting Chinese finger cuffs, and the only place I know to get them is a ski ball arcade.
Now, I would like to have someone interpret this dream. Thank you in advance.
Monday, June 16, 2008
But I Want To Be Elitist
I want to be considered better than everyone else. One relative who researched our family geneology said that we were descended from royalty back in the old country, and I'm going with that. Personally, I've never heard of King Crotchety I, but they didn't keep the best records back then. And he also mentioned that we were run out of the country and went into hiding. While I patiently await my ascendecy back to the throne of whatever city state I am destined to rule, I'll continue to blog about whatever happens to amuse/annoy me that particular day.
That is the background of what has me in such a dither this morning. And believe me, I am so highly dithered. I was watching TV, and noted the BMW commercial for used BMWs was very annoying. Doesn't matter which used BMW commercial, they are all annoying. I guess it's an attempt at humor, but I must be missing the joke. In the meanwhile, I see Kia and Hyundai commercials, and I crack up. I so totally get them.
So, now, I'm in a quandry. BMWs, even used ones are damned expensive. I scanned some ebay listings, and even a used 5 year-old BMW will cost as much or more than a new Hyundai.
So what does all this mean?
They target ads to their audience. A used BMW ad is geared to someone who will likely buy a used BMW. The buyer of a used car, generally, is someone who would buy it new, if they had the cash. Donald Trump doesn't search the want ads for a used Maybach with low mileage. For those "regular people" who are reading this, a Maybach is an uber Mercedes. They cost around a half million bucks. They don't advertise them during Spongebob or the Simpsons. Heck, they don't advertise them on TV at all. People who can afford them, don't spend a lot of time watching TV.
So how does this all tie in? Simple. Because I don't "get" BMW ads, that means they are targeting them to others. I love Hyundai ads. Hyundais are relatively inexpensive, so they are marketed to the masses.
I don't want to be one of the masses. I want to be an elitist, dammit.
None of the plebian masses were hurt during the making of this post. However, in a jealous rage, I may have "keyed" a Bentley.
That is the background of what has me in such a dither this morning. And believe me, I am so highly dithered. I was watching TV, and noted the BMW commercial for used BMWs was very annoying. Doesn't matter which used BMW commercial, they are all annoying. I guess it's an attempt at humor, but I must be missing the joke. In the meanwhile, I see Kia and Hyundai commercials, and I crack up. I so totally get them.
So, now, I'm in a quandry. BMWs, even used ones are damned expensive. I scanned some ebay listings, and even a used 5 year-old BMW will cost as much or more than a new Hyundai.
So what does all this mean?
They target ads to their audience. A used BMW ad is geared to someone who will likely buy a used BMW. The buyer of a used car, generally, is someone who would buy it new, if they had the cash. Donald Trump doesn't search the want ads for a used Maybach with low mileage. For those "regular people" who are reading this, a Maybach is an uber Mercedes. They cost around a half million bucks. They don't advertise them during Spongebob or the Simpsons. Heck, they don't advertise them on TV at all. People who can afford them, don't spend a lot of time watching TV.
So how does this all tie in? Simple. Because I don't "get" BMW ads, that means they are targeting them to others. I love Hyundai ads. Hyundais are relatively inexpensive, so they are marketed to the masses.
I don't want to be one of the masses. I want to be an elitist, dammit.
None of the plebian masses were hurt during the making of this post. However, in a jealous rage, I may have "keyed" a Bentley.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Happy Father's Day
to me.
I'm taking the day off. Full day of watching sports, hanging with my spawn and just generally reveling in one of the few things I ever did almost right.
My adult kid is happy and healthy, and to the best of my knowledge not dancing around a pole for a living, so "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED."
But because I'm committed, or at least should be (even when I take a day off, I deliver the clever and witty wordplay that has made me a legend in my own mind) I'll leave you with a few recommendations.
Again, since I am still clueless about links, you'll have to click over on the side, but at least I'm not lazy. I'll give you direction.
Shadow Crystal is always a good read. I steal stuff from her like my music list. She also has a cool mini cyber piano on her site that I wanted to steal, but, I'd wind up spending too much time messing around with it to get anything else done. I consider her my unofficial guru of the cool new stuff.
Jane Q Citizen is a thought provoking blog. Often it is political, but always a good read.
Savvy Witness is written by a RW friend of mine. Never know what you'll find there. He blogs about baseball (WARNING: He's a Red Sox fan, so he doesn't know a lot about baseball, but he likes to write anyway) and is heavily into politics, movies and comic books.
Enjoy these blogs. They are well-written and fun reads, even if the subjects may be heavy at times.
I'll leave you with this musical interlude before you go on to read those other great blogs.
No Fathers were harmed in the making of this post.
I'm taking the day off. Full day of watching sports, hanging with my spawn and just generally reveling in one of the few things I ever did almost right.
My adult kid is happy and healthy, and to the best of my knowledge not dancing around a pole for a living, so "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED."
But because I'm committed, or at least should be (even when I take a day off, I deliver the clever and witty wordplay that has made me a legend in my own mind) I'll leave you with a few recommendations.
Again, since I am still clueless about links, you'll have to click over on the side, but at least I'm not lazy. I'll give you direction.
Shadow Crystal is always a good read. I steal stuff from her like my music list. She also has a cool mini cyber piano on her site that I wanted to steal, but, I'd wind up spending too much time messing around with it to get anything else done. I consider her my unofficial guru of the cool new stuff.
Jane Q Citizen is a thought provoking blog. Often it is political, but always a good read.
Savvy Witness is written by a RW friend of mine. Never know what you'll find there. He blogs about baseball (WARNING: He's a Red Sox fan, so he doesn't know a lot about baseball, but he likes to write anyway) and is heavily into politics, movies and comic books.
Enjoy these blogs. They are well-written and fun reads, even if the subjects may be heavy at times.
I'll leave you with this musical interlude before you go on to read those other great blogs.
No Fathers were harmed in the making of this post.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Looking for Love
Did you ever do something goofy for no apparent good reason?
Before I start, let me enlighten everyone about my day. I get up about 6 a.m. Sometime between then and 9 a.m. I go to the bathroom to wash up and do normal morning stuff. I go to bed around 1 a.m.
That's pretty much my day. So, I have a lot of time to fill. I have some ambulatory problems, so, for all intents and purposes, I sit on my couch 23 hours a day.
I try to do productive things like write a few blogs, and I read a lot of blogs. This is pretty helpful, for two reasons, first, I learn valuable things that I usually forget 2 minutes after I read them, and second. Heck, I forgot the other thing. I'm sure I'll remember around midnight.
Back to the topic at hand.
To fill my time, I like to occasionally click on ads on blogs if I see something I may be interested in. Those clicks that you never expected, they were from me. You're welcome. Consider the 11 cents a gift from me to you.
Last week, I saw one for a dating site. Now, remember, I am in a wonderful relationship with the Crotchety Old Lady. She takes good care of me,
and puts up with all my daily nonsense. So, I'm not looking, but I am curious as to how these things work. I know eharmony and those places must be legit, because they have been around forever, advertise on TV, and all that. But I question "Meet singles in your area" ones.
So I decided to almost sign up. I was going to go as far as possible without giving any personal info or money. That way I knew nothing was going to actually happen.
I put in the following information:
Me: 90, ugly, in poor health, very low income, not willing to travel more than 10 miles
Seeking: Beautiful, 18-35, college educated, $100,000 per year, never married, not interested in kids, red hair, Asian, or Caucasian (I had to be flexible.)
How many woman do you think the site claims it has that meets my criteria?
5? 3? None?
Nope. Not even close. They claim to have 737 women in their data base that meet my ridiculously crazy "standards."
What I described
But why do I think I'd wind up with
Disclaimer: No women were harmed in the making of this blog post.
Before I start, let me enlighten everyone about my day. I get up about 6 a.m. Sometime between then and 9 a.m. I go to the bathroom to wash up and do normal morning stuff. I go to bed around 1 a.m.
That's pretty much my day. So, I have a lot of time to fill. I have some ambulatory problems, so, for all intents and purposes, I sit on my couch 23 hours a day.
I try to do productive things like write a few blogs, and I read a lot of blogs. This is pretty helpful, for two reasons, first, I learn valuable things that I usually forget 2 minutes after I read them, and second. Heck, I forgot the other thing. I'm sure I'll remember around midnight.
Back to the topic at hand.
To fill my time, I like to occasionally click on ads on blogs if I see something I may be interested in. Those clicks that you never expected, they were from me. You're welcome. Consider the 11 cents a gift from me to you.
Last week, I saw one for a dating site. Now, remember, I am in a wonderful relationship with the Crotchety Old Lady. She takes good care of me,
and puts up with all my daily nonsense. So, I'm not looking, but I am curious as to how these things work. I know eharmony and those places must be legit, because they have been around forever, advertise on TV, and all that. But I question "Meet singles in your area" ones.
So I decided to almost sign up. I was going to go as far as possible without giving any personal info or money. That way I knew nothing was going to actually happen.
I put in the following information:
Me: 90, ugly, in poor health, very low income, not willing to travel more than 10 miles
Seeking: Beautiful, 18-35, college educated, $100,000 per year, never married, not interested in kids, red hair, Asian, or Caucasian (I had to be flexible.)
How many woman do you think the site claims it has that meets my criteria?
5? 3? None?
Nope. Not even close. They claim to have 737 women in their data base that meet my ridiculously crazy "standards."
What I described
But why do I think I'd wind up with
Disclaimer: No women were harmed in the making of this blog post.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Cocktails for two
Here's a blurb directly from a website:
The Shore Grille & Deli at the Terrace Cafe offers a variety of breakfast, lunch and dinner selections. The Shore Grille & Deli is open Monday through Friday, 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.; Saturday and Sunday, 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m.
It sure sounds good, doesn't it? The Shore Grill. Sounds like a nice place to take a date on a Friday evening for some fine dining, overlooking some peaceful waterway, while dining al fresco on a terrace with a warm zephyr blowing wisps of your significant other's hair gently across his or her face. The perfect start to a romantic evening.
Or, perhaps the family deserves a night out, away from the typical fare of hot dogs and beans, while tickling their palate beyond a place that asks, "Do you want fries with that?"
Before you load the younguns into the monster truck with visions of lobster or king crab, you should know a few things.
The establishment described is about 10 miles from the shore, not exactly a shore town.
That, and it's in a hospital.
I've spent considerable time in that hospital, and I wouldn't say one couldn't pay me enough to go there for dinner,
because everyone knows I can be bought, or at the very least rented; however, it would cost a lot. They don't serve cocktails, but if I could get a couple shot of morphine with my dinner, that may help persuade me.
I have had near legendary battles with hospital food people, especially the dieticians. Once, I caused the head dietician so much distress, that she wouldn't allow any of the associate dieticians to go in my room. One brave young associate dietician did poke his head in the room, and asked me what the hell I had done. He said in all his years at the hospital, he never saw a note posted with a patient's name and room number with a note saying that no one except the head of dietary was allowed to go near him.
I had become an untouchable, the bane of the head dietician.
What I did was really pretty funny. I refused to place my order for food. The head dietician kept sending someone in to get my food order, and I kept sending them back. Eventually, the head dietician came in and tried to reason with me. You can imagine how that went. Finally, in desperation, she left the food thing with me to fill out. When she came back to pick it up, she asked if I had filled it out. I told her I did. She left with it.
She came back later when she saw what I wrote. I put, "Bring whatever the F you want. You're going to do that anyway"
She went ballistic.
By the next time I was in the hospital, she was gone. I'd like to think I helped.
The next dietician was a cute young thing, just so full of enthusiasm I wanted to barf. But I couldn't be mean to her. So, I acted like I never heard of anything she had described.
"Diet? What is this diet you speak of?"
I've never seen anyone so happy. Or so dumb.
My last time, I decided on a new tactic. I went all Ghandi on the staff. I refused to eat because the food was so bad. Truthfully, it is. Everything is covered with either brown, red, or yellow sauce.
Nothing is funnier than nurses arguing with dietary because the fat guy in the room won't eat, and keeps slipping into near diabetic comas. I'm serious, my sugar dropped to 37. You can look it up, that's flirting with disaster. But it was so funny when the nurses with their squeaky shoes ran up and down the hall trying to find crap to make me eat. I admit I have a strange sense of humor.
I have to go. I need to reserve a table for two at the Shore Grill. Maybe I can get a table with a view of the ER.
While the idea for this blog germinated from a post by www.offendedblogger.com, don't blame her. I take full responsibility for all the idiocy.
The Shore Grille & Deli at the Terrace Cafe offers a variety of breakfast, lunch and dinner selections. The Shore Grille & Deli is open Monday through Friday, 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.; Saturday and Sunday, 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m.
It sure sounds good, doesn't it? The Shore Grill. Sounds like a nice place to take a date on a Friday evening for some fine dining, overlooking some peaceful waterway, while dining al fresco on a terrace with a warm zephyr blowing wisps of your significant other's hair gently across his or her face. The perfect start to a romantic evening.
Or, perhaps the family deserves a night out, away from the typical fare of hot dogs and beans, while tickling their palate beyond a place that asks, "Do you want fries with that?"
Before you load the younguns into the monster truck with visions of lobster or king crab, you should know a few things.
The establishment described is about 10 miles from the shore, not exactly a shore town.
That, and it's in a hospital.
I've spent considerable time in that hospital, and I wouldn't say one couldn't pay me enough to go there for dinner,
because everyone knows I can be bought, or at the very least rented; however, it would cost a lot. They don't serve cocktails, but if I could get a couple shot of morphine with my dinner, that may help persuade me.
I have had near legendary battles with hospital food people, especially the dieticians. Once, I caused the head dietician so much distress, that she wouldn't allow any of the associate dieticians to go in my room. One brave young associate dietician did poke his head in the room, and asked me what the hell I had done. He said in all his years at the hospital, he never saw a note posted with a patient's name and room number with a note saying that no one except the head of dietary was allowed to go near him.
I had become an untouchable, the bane of the head dietician.
What I did was really pretty funny. I refused to place my order for food. The head dietician kept sending someone in to get my food order, and I kept sending them back. Eventually, the head dietician came in and tried to reason with me. You can imagine how that went. Finally, in desperation, she left the food thing with me to fill out. When she came back to pick it up, she asked if I had filled it out. I told her I did. She left with it.
She came back later when she saw what I wrote. I put, "Bring whatever the F you want. You're going to do that anyway"
She went ballistic.
By the next time I was in the hospital, she was gone. I'd like to think I helped.
The next dietician was a cute young thing, just so full of enthusiasm I wanted to barf. But I couldn't be mean to her. So, I acted like I never heard of anything she had described.
"Diet? What is this diet you speak of?"
I've never seen anyone so happy. Or so dumb.
My last time, I decided on a new tactic. I went all Ghandi on the staff. I refused to eat because the food was so bad. Truthfully, it is. Everything is covered with either brown, red, or yellow sauce.
Nothing is funnier than nurses arguing with dietary because the fat guy in the room won't eat, and keeps slipping into near diabetic comas. I'm serious, my sugar dropped to 37. You can look it up, that's flirting with disaster. But it was so funny when the nurses with their squeaky shoes ran up and down the hall trying to find crap to make me eat. I admit I have a strange sense of humor.
I have to go. I need to reserve a table for two at the Shore Grill. Maybe I can get a table with a view of the ER.
While the idea for this blog germinated from a post by www.offendedblogger.com, don't blame her. I take full responsibility for all the idiocy.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Stinky Feet
I worked for a number of years with developmentally disabled adults. Everyone knows this can be an intersting job. At times it can be quite taxing, yet it is highly rewarding on a personal basis. I had the chance to meet and interact with plenty of interesting characters, people who were kind of "off the wall" and not exactly like the average person you would run into on the street. And then, I got to work with some of the clients.
This is about one of the clients, Stinky Feet. That was not his Christian name.
I'm using past tense, but I'm sure Stinky Feet is still around and doing well, so not to worry about some evil surprise ending.
Stinky Feet's nickname came about because he absolutely went crazy over the phrase "Stinky Feet." It was his universal word. It was exactly like some folks use the eff bomb.
If he was angry at someone, they had stinky feet. If he was really happy, he would run around the room, and singing stinky feet while giggling hysterically. Occasionally he would get in a "debate" about who in the program had stinky feet. He liked to laugh a lot, and his laughter was infectious.
But the only difficult time I ever would have with him was when we went out in the van. He was fine under most circumstances, but heaven forbid if he ever saw a woman. He would invariably hang out of the car, and yell out something innappropriate. Nothing too terrible, but it was always something like "Hey Baby, or Whoa Momma"
but the worst was when he would say, "Hey Crotchety, check her out," as if I were in some way complicit in this. At this point, I should point out when he said things, it was loud, loud enough that everyone in the immediate area and then some heard him. It wasn't too bad if the lady who was the object of his misplaced affections was driving because that meant she would just flip me off and drive on.
But if they were walking, and we were stuck in traffic--oy vey. You can only imagine the embarassment.
The absolute worst of the worst was that he did not possess the ability to understand that as bad (but, in retrospect, funny) as it was to yell at women, it was beyond inappropriate to yell stuff like that at girls. I was always shocked when I was able to make it back to the center without getting arrested, or at the very least attacked by roaming bands of angry women with torches and pitchforks.
This is about one of the clients, Stinky Feet. That was not his Christian name.
I'm using past tense, but I'm sure Stinky Feet is still around and doing well, so not to worry about some evil surprise ending.
Stinky Feet's nickname came about because he absolutely went crazy over the phrase "Stinky Feet." It was his universal word. It was exactly like some folks use the eff bomb.
If he was angry at someone, they had stinky feet. If he was really happy, he would run around the room, and singing stinky feet while giggling hysterically. Occasionally he would get in a "debate" about who in the program had stinky feet. He liked to laugh a lot, and his laughter was infectious.
But the only difficult time I ever would have with him was when we went out in the van. He was fine under most circumstances, but heaven forbid if he ever saw a woman. He would invariably hang out of the car, and yell out something innappropriate. Nothing too terrible, but it was always something like "Hey Baby, or Whoa Momma"
but the worst was when he would say, "Hey Crotchety, check her out," as if I were in some way complicit in this. At this point, I should point out when he said things, it was loud, loud enough that everyone in the immediate area and then some heard him. It wasn't too bad if the lady who was the object of his misplaced affections was driving because that meant she would just flip me off and drive on.
But if they were walking, and we were stuck in traffic--oy vey. You can only imagine the embarassment.
The absolute worst of the worst was that he did not possess the ability to understand that as bad (but, in retrospect, funny) as it was to yell at women, it was beyond inappropriate to yell stuff like that at girls. I was always shocked when I was able to make it back to the center without getting arrested, or at the very least attacked by roaming bands of angry women with torches and pitchforks.
Do I really yell at cars?
Yes, yes, I do.
My favorite car yelling story:
A few years ago, I lived in a development near a new car dealer. My street was pretty curvy, had a "S" curve right in the middle, in fact. Well, the moron salesmen used to cut through my street, and drive really fast to get the full effect of the road curves.
I can only guess it made them feel like they were running a European race course. This would be fine except for the kids, pets, and old people they terrorized by this behavior.
I had a lot of free time, so I often spent it outside yelling at the morons to slow down. Believe me, on a Saturday, it was as busy as most main streets with these idiots racing down through my development. My neighbors suggested I should do something besides yell at the cars.
The next Saturday, a car went zipping by, and I yelled. He flipped me the bird.
This did not sit well with me at all.
I then got in my truck, and drove across the highway to pay a visit to the showroom.
As I walked in I spotted the a-hole. He was sitting with his equally stupid co-workers and laughing. I asked for a manager. They continued laughing. When the manager came over, I explained the situation. I told him I wasn't sure which jerk it was, but if I saw another one of his new Hondas on my street driving fast, I would mark the car for him with a large rock so we would be able to know which salesjerk it was. He apologized, and said it wasn't going to happen again.
A few weeks later, a neighbor came by and said to me, "Not sure what you did, but I haven't seen a Honda around here for a few weeks."
My favorite car yelling story:
A few years ago, I lived in a development near a new car dealer. My street was pretty curvy, had a "S" curve right in the middle, in fact. Well, the moron salesmen used to cut through my street, and drive really fast to get the full effect of the road curves.
I can only guess it made them feel like they were running a European race course. This would be fine except for the kids, pets, and old people they terrorized by this behavior.
I had a lot of free time, so I often spent it outside yelling at the morons to slow down. Believe me, on a Saturday, it was as busy as most main streets with these idiots racing down through my development. My neighbors suggested I should do something besides yell at the cars.
The next Saturday, a car went zipping by, and I yelled. He flipped me the bird.
This did not sit well with me at all.
I then got in my truck, and drove across the highway to pay a visit to the showroom.
As I walked in I spotted the a-hole. He was sitting with his equally stupid co-workers and laughing. I asked for a manager. They continued laughing. When the manager came over, I explained the situation. I told him I wasn't sure which jerk it was, but if I saw another one of his new Hondas on my street driving fast, I would mark the car for him with a large rock so we would be able to know which salesjerk it was. He apologized, and said it wasn't going to happen again.
A few weeks later, a neighbor came by and said to me, "Not sure what you did, but I haven't seen a Honda around here for a few weeks."
Monday, June 09, 2008
Women are clueless about...
thermostats. I have no idea why, but I have yet to meet the woman who understands the intricacies of the home thermostat. Whether it is used to regulate heat in winter, or control the air conditioner in summer, they remain totally unable to comprehend it.
I do not mean the inner workings of one. No, many people don't understand bimetals (no, not a sexual preference for metals) used on older models, nor the electronics of the newer models. I'm talking about the simple idea that the temperature is regulated absolutely independently of the outside weather conditions.
Today, during part 489 of our ongoing discussion called "please stop adjusting the friggin' thermostat," I asked the Crotchety Old Lady to please turn down the thermostat on the air conditioner as it is too cold at night. Her womanly response? "It's going to be 100 today."
AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
This makes every bit as much sense as when she turns off the furnace in spring because it will be 70 during the day. Naturally, we wake up to the home being a crisp 57 F. For my metric reading friends, that's quite a bit on the chilly side.
OK, here's my lesson for any ladies reading this:
Set the temperature where you would like the room to be heated or cooled to. Turning it higher or lower does not warm or cool the room faster or slower. You want it 70? Set it at 70. It matters not whether the temperature outside is 12 or 112. The thermostat doesn't care. It just does its job.
I wonder where this gender bewilderment about such a simple thing as a thermostat comes from?
Perhaps it is coded in their DNA, passed down from generations of women.
A thermostat is a simple thing to control. Think of it as a man. Simple, with only a few buttons that shouldn't be pushed.
I do not mean the inner workings of one. No, many people don't understand bimetals (no, not a sexual preference for metals) used on older models, nor the electronics of the newer models. I'm talking about the simple idea that the temperature is regulated absolutely independently of the outside weather conditions.
Today, during part 489 of our ongoing discussion called "please stop adjusting the friggin' thermostat," I asked the Crotchety Old Lady to please turn down the thermostat on the air conditioner as it is too cold at night. Her womanly response? "It's going to be 100 today."
AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
This makes every bit as much sense as when she turns off the furnace in spring because it will be 70 during the day. Naturally, we wake up to the home being a crisp 57 F. For my metric reading friends, that's quite a bit on the chilly side.
OK, here's my lesson for any ladies reading this:
Set the temperature where you would like the room to be heated or cooled to. Turning it higher or lower does not warm or cool the room faster or slower. You want it 70? Set it at 70. It matters not whether the temperature outside is 12 or 112. The thermostat doesn't care. It just does its job.
I wonder where this gender bewilderment about such a simple thing as a thermostat comes from?
Perhaps it is coded in their DNA, passed down from generations of women.
A thermostat is a simple thing to control. Think of it as a man. Simple, with only a few buttons that shouldn't be pushed.
I just want some pizza, dammit.
Last night, I tried to order a pizza to be delivered. The internet has really screwed up our pizza procurement technology.
Here’s how our pizza ordering process has changed over the last few years.
Timeline
1950:
Walk to Luigi’s Pizza. Tell Luigi “I’d like a pizza with thin crust.”
Luigi says, “Ok, Mr. Crotchety.” He makes me a pizza with thin crust, 15 minutes later, I take it home. All is well.
1980:
Luigi is dead. Luigi Jr. is running the place. The pizza tastes like crap. So I call this new place, Domino’s. I ask what kind of pizza they have. Some guy named Leon takes 10 minutes to give me the “specials,” since they have about 2,096 variations including pineapple. I order the pepperoni with thin crust. The pizza tasted like crap, but I got it in 30 minutes.
2008
I saw commercials for Papa John’s new hand-tossed whole wheat pizza. Mrs. Crotchety has decided I need more fiber. She believes this will help with my crotchetiness. So, I decide she’s possibly right, since she is almost always possibly right.
Before calling Papa John’s, I decided to check out the menu online. To do this, I had to enter my name, date of birth, first pet’s name, and my blood type.
I can’t deal with this as I can feel my blood sugar dropping as I type. So, I call and get someone named Apu on the phone.
“I’d like a whole wheat pizza with thin crust.”
Apu lets me know I can have a whole wheat pizza, or a thin crust pizza. Can’t have both.
“But they are hand-tossed.”
Apu assured me they are, but I still can’t get thin crust and whole wheat.
I’ve slung pizza in my day, so I know Apu is full of shit.
So, what to do?
Of course, I tell him never mind, but I’m pretty damned annoyed.
I just want a thin crust whole wheat pizza delivered in under an hour. Why is this so difficult to achieve? If we can put a man on the moon (or in Arizona, depending on your level of skepticism,) where's my pizza?
I hear lots of bitching about jobs being outsourced. I also hear it’s all about the money. I’m about to call bullshit. If I can’t get a damned thin crust whole wheat pizza delivered in under an hour, why would I ever trust these same dopey workers to make my car, answer the telephone, or make anything else for that matter?
Is it crappy management, or crappy workers?
What do you think?
Here’s how our pizza ordering process has changed over the last few years.
Timeline
1950:
Walk to Luigi’s Pizza. Tell Luigi “I’d like a pizza with thin crust.”
Luigi says, “Ok, Mr. Crotchety.” He makes me a pizza with thin crust, 15 minutes later, I take it home. All is well.
1980:
Luigi is dead. Luigi Jr. is running the place. The pizza tastes like crap. So I call this new place, Domino’s. I ask what kind of pizza they have. Some guy named Leon takes 10 minutes to give me the “specials,” since they have about 2,096 variations including pineapple. I order the pepperoni with thin crust. The pizza tasted like crap, but I got it in 30 minutes.
2008
I saw commercials for Papa John’s new hand-tossed whole wheat pizza. Mrs. Crotchety has decided I need more fiber. She believes this will help with my crotchetiness. So, I decide she’s possibly right, since she is almost always possibly right.
Before calling Papa John’s, I decided to check out the menu online. To do this, I had to enter my name, date of birth, first pet’s name, and my blood type.
I can’t deal with this as I can feel my blood sugar dropping as I type. So, I call and get someone named Apu on the phone.
“I’d like a whole wheat pizza with thin crust.”
Apu lets me know I can have a whole wheat pizza, or a thin crust pizza. Can’t have both.
“But they are hand-tossed.”
Apu assured me they are, but I still can’t get thin crust and whole wheat.
I’ve slung pizza in my day, so I know Apu is full of shit.
So, what to do?
Of course, I tell him never mind, but I’m pretty damned annoyed.
I just want a thin crust whole wheat pizza delivered in under an hour. Why is this so difficult to achieve? If we can put a man on the moon (or in Arizona, depending on your level of skepticism,) where's my pizza?
I hear lots of bitching about jobs being outsourced. I also hear it’s all about the money. I’m about to call bullshit. If I can’t get a damned thin crust whole wheat pizza delivered in under an hour, why would I ever trust these same dopey workers to make my car, answer the telephone, or make anything else for that matter?
Is it crappy management, or crappy workers?
What do you think?
Sunday, June 08, 2008
She's Moist
It's 100 degrees here and although the air conditioners are running full tilt, I'm still warm. New Jersey is supposed to have temperate Springs. It looks like Spring is over.
And the Crotchety Old Lady is moist. Believe me, that's not as pleasant as it sounds.
The weather outside really doesn't affect me too much. I spend the majority of my time sitting on my couch visiting chatboards, and then either blogging or reading blogs.
Just for a change of pace, and with it being a slow Sunday, I thought I'd chat about some of the blogs I read.
The ones I have listed on my favorites are just a tiny portion of the ones I read.
Most of them are blogs of RW friends and family, while a few are some I just enjoy. If you want to see something different, take the time to check out some of them.
I'd like to highlight a couple, in no particular order.
Keep in mind, I suck at computer stuff, so I still can't do clickable links. But the links are on the side of my blog.
Life as I know It is written by a RL friend. She's been blogging for a few years, and writes mostly about celebrities, and the goofy things they do.
It is very witty, with the perfect amount of snarkiness.
Celeb Obsessed is written by a family member who is, well, obsessed with celebrities. It's pretty straight forward, and keeps everyone up to date on celeb hijinks.
Last for today is Of Cabbages and Kings. This is one of the best humor blogs on the 'net. It is well-crafted by a lady who is originally from NJ, so right off, you know it's going to be good. One of her influences was Jean Shepherd, and her style invokes the great man.
I grew up a huge Shep fan, listening to him at night on WOR radio, and of course, reading his 2 great books, In God We Trust, and Wanda Hickey's Night of Golden Memories. I met him when I was in high school, and had him autograph my book. Sadly, it has been lost through a series of moves.
And the Crotchety Old Lady is moist. Believe me, that's not as pleasant as it sounds.
The weather outside really doesn't affect me too much. I spend the majority of my time sitting on my couch visiting chatboards, and then either blogging or reading blogs.
Just for a change of pace, and with it being a slow Sunday, I thought I'd chat about some of the blogs I read.
The ones I have listed on my favorites are just a tiny portion of the ones I read.
Most of them are blogs of RW friends and family, while a few are some I just enjoy. If you want to see something different, take the time to check out some of them.
I'd like to highlight a couple, in no particular order.
Keep in mind, I suck at computer stuff, so I still can't do clickable links. But the links are on the side of my blog.
Life as I know It is written by a RL friend. She's been blogging for a few years, and writes mostly about celebrities, and the goofy things they do.
It is very witty, with the perfect amount of snarkiness.
Celeb Obsessed is written by a family member who is, well, obsessed with celebrities. It's pretty straight forward, and keeps everyone up to date on celeb hijinks.
Last for today is Of Cabbages and Kings. This is one of the best humor blogs on the 'net. It is well-crafted by a lady who is originally from NJ, so right off, you know it's going to be good. One of her influences was Jean Shepherd, and her style invokes the great man.
I grew up a huge Shep fan, listening to him at night on WOR radio, and of course, reading his 2 great books, In God We Trust, and Wanda Hickey's Night of Golden Memories. I met him when I was in high school, and had him autograph my book. Sadly, it has been lost through a series of moves.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Gawd, I love the internet
To:
Fellow bloggers and my two semi-devoted readers
Did you ever really get into a post, and then suddenly read what you have written, and say WTF?
I just did. I deleted one of the longest, dumbest rants I ever wrote, and you are better people for it.
No need to thank me. Your continued patronage is thanks enough.
To make it up to you, I was going to post a really nice picture I took.
But I suck as a photographer.
So I took a cue from the old Ed Sullivan Show. Anyone who is old enough to remember Ed, knows when the show slowed down, it was time for either plate spinners, or Chinese acrobats.
Going one better than Ed, here are some Chinese plate spinning acrobats.
Why isn't the comments button showing up?
I should add a line.
Fellow bloggers and my two semi-devoted readers
Did you ever really get into a post, and then suddenly read what you have written, and say WTF?
I just did. I deleted one of the longest, dumbest rants I ever wrote, and you are better people for it.
No need to thank me. Your continued patronage is thanks enough.
To make it up to you, I was going to post a really nice picture I took.
But I suck as a photographer.
So I took a cue from the old Ed Sullivan Show. Anyone who is old enough to remember Ed, knows when the show slowed down, it was time for either plate spinners, or Chinese acrobats.
Going one better than Ed, here are some Chinese plate spinning acrobats.
Why isn't the comments button showing up?
I should add a line.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Just catching up on political stuff
When watching TV, it seems former NJ governor McGreevey is nearly always listed as former gay Governor of NJ. That's kind of silly. It's like my state had 2 governors. The fact that he was gay had nothing to do with his actions as governor, nor did it have anything to do with his resignation. It had nothing to do with his public life, and was entirely a personal matter. I wonder if Spitzer, former NY governor, will henceforth always be referred to as Whore Monger former Governor Spitzer.
And WTH is up with Hillary Clinton? On Monday, she stated a big announcement will be forthcoming tomorrow. Then she changed it to Friday. Now, it's Saturday. And all this is following her secret meeting with Barack Obama. Oh, the intrigue. I truly had gained a lot of resopect for her during the primary. More than once I stated she was getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop. But now, I am puzzled by her actions. They make no sense, and just seems like she is acting wacky. We'll all find out tomorrow. Maybe.
Here in NJ, Senator Lautenberg will be running again. The guy is 84 years old, and running for a 6 year term. Isn't it time for someone that age to move on to other things? Do some fishing, spend time helping others, playing canasta? I don't know. But being in the Senate is either way too easy a job, or he's the most vigorous octagenarian alive.
I'm still waiting for my tax stimulus money. I should have had it made out directly to Trump's Taj Mahal. That's where it's going to be deposited. Scheduled my big July getaway. Fireworks at the Jersey shore. Sweeeeet.
And WTH is up with Hillary Clinton? On Monday, she stated a big announcement will be forthcoming tomorrow. Then she changed it to Friday. Now, it's Saturday. And all this is following her secret meeting with Barack Obama. Oh, the intrigue. I truly had gained a lot of resopect for her during the primary. More than once I stated she was getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop. But now, I am puzzled by her actions. They make no sense, and just seems like she is acting wacky. We'll all find out tomorrow. Maybe.
Here in NJ, Senator Lautenberg will be running again. The guy is 84 years old, and running for a 6 year term. Isn't it time for someone that age to move on to other things? Do some fishing, spend time helping others, playing canasta? I don't know. But being in the Senate is either way too easy a job, or he's the most vigorous octagenarian alive.
I'm still waiting for my tax stimulus money. I should have had it made out directly to Trump's Taj Mahal. That's where it's going to be deposited. Scheduled my big July getaway. Fireworks at the Jersey shore. Sweeeeet.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Health Care System is Out of Control
I just read an article in AARP magazine.
Yeah, I'm old.
Stop snickering.
Anyway, some interesting facts were presented. According to the Congressional Budget Office, health care spending has increased 2% faster than the rest of the economy over the last 30 years. We have 47 million Americans with no health care.
Yet, the same rhetoric "best care in the world" is repeated over and over.
But is it?
Our life expectancy is lower than Canada, Japan, and most of Western Europe. We rank 43rd in infant mortality, behind Cuba and the Czech Republic.
What are some of the causes for such great expense while receiving less than the best?
One third of our healthcare dollars goes to administrative costs-- paper pushers. This is double what Canada spends. It is estimated that using the same system (single-payer) we could save $360 billion per year.
And the study concluded that perhaps the single biggest cost is unnecessary treatment. We, as a people, demand medication for everything. Just watch TV for a couple hours, and you will see advertisements for many, many prescriptions. Why? Does anyone believe these ads are targeted towards doctors?
Of course they are not. They are to have consumers pester the doctor for medications. It is better to take a pill than to change a behavior, according to the commercials. Take a pill and live better.
Doctors now practice what is called "defensive medicine." Lots of tests, most unnecessary, because they are terrified that if they miss something, they will get sued.
Just in the last year, I have been taken off 2 medicines that had been given for "defensive purposes." No evidence had been shown to indicate that the medication would really do anything, but it was given "just in case."
Oy. Can you imagine how much others have been given? What procedures are done with no real logical reason?
Yeah, I'm old.
Stop snickering.
Anyway, some interesting facts were presented. According to the Congressional Budget Office, health care spending has increased 2% faster than the rest of the economy over the last 30 years. We have 47 million Americans with no health care.
Yet, the same rhetoric "best care in the world" is repeated over and over.
But is it?
Our life expectancy is lower than Canada, Japan, and most of Western Europe. We rank 43rd in infant mortality, behind Cuba and the Czech Republic.
What are some of the causes for such great expense while receiving less than the best?
One third of our healthcare dollars goes to administrative costs-- paper pushers. This is double what Canada spends. It is estimated that using the same system (single-payer) we could save $360 billion per year.
And the study concluded that perhaps the single biggest cost is unnecessary treatment. We, as a people, demand medication for everything. Just watch TV for a couple hours, and you will see advertisements for many, many prescriptions. Why? Does anyone believe these ads are targeted towards doctors?
Of course they are not. They are to have consumers pester the doctor for medications. It is better to take a pill than to change a behavior, according to the commercials. Take a pill and live better.
Doctors now practice what is called "defensive medicine." Lots of tests, most unnecessary, because they are terrified that if they miss something, they will get sued.
Just in the last year, I have been taken off 2 medicines that had been given for "defensive purposes." No evidence had been shown to indicate that the medication would really do anything, but it was given "just in case."
Oy. Can you imagine how much others have been given? What procedures are done with no real logical reason?
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
A Heart Warming Story
In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University.
On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully.
He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant's foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.
Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.
Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter couldn't help wondering if this was the same elephant. Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed his stupid ass against the railing, killing him instantly.
Probably wasn't the same elephant.
This is for all of my friends who send me those heart-warming stories.
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