Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Miss Matched, I think not.

My wife and I are alike in many ways. We also have some glaring differences.
What happen the other day is a perfect example.
I mentioned to her that her computer was a work computer that was supplied by her company. It had a lot of restrictions. It was not a good place to store your personal documents. The company likes everything on the computer to be work related.

She doesn't use a computer much when she is not working. She likes to have one handy in case she wants to google for some arcane tidbit of information or do her Quicken budget. So it is handy to have her own personal computer. I suggested that she could do it on my MacBook. That did not go over well. She is a PC person. I am not.
She mumbled something under her breath about Mac's. I was all over her like maggots on a Calcutta carcass. We tossed insult back and forth about each others computer.
Words were bantered about such as infidel, nerdface, geekbreath, blue screen of death,
and several other niceties. Then things started to get a little contentious.
The next thing I know, we are rolling on the floor trying to get to each others throats and other vital organs by any means possible. She was getting the upper hand.

At that point I thought it was wise to make a suggestion.
"How about if I buy you a computer?"
The tightness of her grip relaxed from around my neck.
"Ok!!!!" She smiled and stood up.

Hah! I had won this round.
She will not see that computer until Easter.
I will research it. Which one will fit her needs? I must get the most computer for my money. I will start saving next week for it while I am doing my research. If I put all my change in money jar and throw in a dollar bill here and there and throw in a five at Christmas, I am sure she will have one by Easter. Good Plan.

I got to my feet and dusted myself off.
"Let's go", my wife starts walking towards the front door.
"Where?" I croaked.
"To the computer store."

Here is the deal. I wanted a GPS. This was in early May. I did my homework. I investigated all type GPS's.
I got to know the products. I even got to know "Dave" from Garmin in Kansas.
I saved about $11 dollars a week. I was picking soda cans out of garbage at the beach.
I had a plan. In October I purchased my GPS.

My wife kinda motivated me to get it. She would say things like, "Are you going to buy that GPS before you die?" Hmmm! that was a good question.

So now we are at the computer store. My wife looks at a couple of computers, ask a couple of questions and as quick as that she says, "I'll take the purple one. Purple is my favorite color. Isn't it pretty?"

Huh? What? When did I lose control of this situation. Oh, that's right. I never had control of the situation.

You have to understand something. My wife's profession.
She is a computer systems analyst. She bases her work decisions on logic.
Algorithms, FORTRAN, COBOL, flow charts, and other mysterious stuff. You would think this would be a case of logic prevailing, after all, this is computer stuff.

What was the logic? It was purple, her favorite color.

Well, as it all turns out, she is really very happy with her purple computer. I should have known. After all, she is referred to as "The Purple Princess of Programming" by some of her colleagues.

The bottom line is that we balance each other. We usually meet somewhere in the middle. We compromise. If it wasn't for her nothing would happen. If it wasn't for me, too much would happen.

We now buy a good car and keep it 7 years instead of trading it every year. We would not live in this nice Townhouse if it wasn't for her, now if I can get to stay more than 3 years in the same place it will be wonderful. She does not have to follow that Montreal tradition of moving every July 1st. It's a tradition that became a habit for her. She is an expert on the logistics of moving.
But it all works out.....eventually.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Fashion secrets

I know it's hard to believe but that isn't me in the picture.

I quietly turned the key to let myself into the house. I was sure I could make it to the upstairs bedroom undetected. Wilson met me as I tiptoed into the living room. Thank God he is not a meower. He just opens his mouth and smacks at me. He is hungry. I whispered to him, "In a minute". This did not seem to abate his restlessness. I trod lightly up the staircase, holding my breath, I am almost there. Alas, I make it to the final step and slowly release my breath, and quietly wipe the perspiration from my brow. I have done it!!!!!

"Whatcha got there?"
I was so startled that it felt like my whole body had been put into an electric socket. I nearly soiled myself.
I was caught.... but how?
"How did you know I was home? I was so quiet."

"Yeah...well...I didn't hear a thing, but the minute you opened the door Wilson was down the stairs like you were a fresh can of tuna and when you got to the top of the stairs I could smell you. You stunk like a galley slave."
Wilson outed me for food. The little weasel!!!!

"Sooooo....What's in the bag?"
"My next blog," was my meek reply.
Yeah....I have this thing about Perry Ellis.

It all started about a year ago at Stein Mart. I decided I wasn't going to follow her all over the store. I ventured over to the men's department. There was a whole rack of Perry Ellis fashionable undergarments on sale.
Ok! Let's call a spade a spade. They were boxer briefs. Since I have been very indecisive about whether I should wear boxers or jockey shorts, I decided to compromise.

This has been my best fashion decision since I threw away my sombrero and my thong.
I really like these shorts. I like Perry Ellis stuff. I like them so much that I have purchased 11 pairs. Incidentally, Why do they call 1 "a pair"?
Well anyway....I had the urge to buy more. I am becoming a Perry Ellis hoarder.
I also buy the Perry Ellis Reserve aftershave. I can't seem to help myself.

Lately I've had the urge to walk on the street in my Perry Ellis underwear. My wife seems to think this is a bad idea.
I just want to make my fashion statement.

"What is your logic? Why do you think it is a bad idea? There are people walking on the beach right this minute who look like they are wearing their undergarments. It's not like I am wearing a thong. I threw that away after the police picked me up...remember?"

I think I outfoxed her. I can see the exasperation on her face. Then she brightened and said, "Spandex!!!!, that's the difference. You have to have a certain percent of spandex before it could be considered beachwear. If it has too much cotton it is considered an undergarment and you can be arrested!!!"

"Hah, so those gay guys wearing their tiny spandex speedos are legal on the beach but if I wear my Perry Ellis cotton boxer briefs with Spongebob Happy Pants emblems, I could do serious prison time?"

"Now you are starting to grasp the situation, Bucko!!!" was my wife's reply.

I think I will go upstairs and count my Perry Ellis stuff.
I think I will write to Perry and see if he has spandex boxer briefs.
I think I will fondle....I mean examine the smooth texture of my Perry Ellis goodies.
I will toss all my Haines stuff.

Life has weird rules.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Senior Citizen classes for old people. (first timers)

Welcome To all potential senior citizens.

I'm guessing you have muddled through the process without too much assistance or the use of power of attorney.
I don't know how old you are now, but at some point, between the ages of 50 and 60 you start thinking of yourself as "middle aged". This is a little trick you play on yourself. This will convince you that you are going to live to somewhere between 1oo and 120 years old. When I was growing up "middle aged was 27.

The reality of the situation is: Your gray hair is falling out, your nose is getting redder and bigger, your nose hairs are starting to sag, your vision needs trifocals, people don't seem to be talking as loud as they used to, you go to the dentist to get your tooth cleaned or you just drop your dentures off for repair on the way to Walmart.
The sad part is: We are just talking about your head. We haven't even started with the other parts of your body.
So...let me prepare you.

When you get older you must have an old name. You can't be 62 years old and people still call you "Skippy" or "Biff" ....guys!!! It's Percival, Luther, Ebenezer, Horace, Elmer to name a few. Change it.

Ladies....after 55 no more "Heather or Buffy." It will be Blanche, Ethel, Agatha, and other old names. Change it.
It is sad that parents don't give their children life long names. Frank Zappa had the foresight to name his kids with names that will hold up for a lifetime. The names "Moon Unit" and "Dweezle" will stand the test of time. I guess people should think about this when naming someone.

Yes, There are some down sides to Senior Citizenshipness. There also many upsides.
There is the senior citizen discount if you don't mind eating with a bunch of old coots.
honestly they give me the "willies". They are old, their walkers keep getting in my way, they shuffle instead of walk, they have bingo card all over the table in the restaurant, old people smell funny, When they have hair it is combed funny (men) and women usually have hair that is some shade of purple and they smell like vanilla extract.
I am one of them. What can I do?
I guess the saying is: " I have met the enemy and he is me!!!!..???"

Since young people think you are waste of skin and space, you can play the "I am old and confused." card. You can actually increase your creativity and intellect by pretending to be confused. I have taken my blood pressure on those machines at the pharmacies. I started hollering, "This machine won't let me go. I have hydrantphobia, make it stop." The Pharmacist saved me. He asked me if I was on any medication.
He was a nice man.
I also got myself trapped in a shed at Home Depot, went to sleep on a bed at the furniture store, directed traffic on Ocean Boulevard, asked for strange sandwiches at a diner (remember Jack Nicholson in "Five Easy Pieces". ) My favorite ploy, which I use on a regular basis is to pretend I am the Clint Eastwood.
Occasionally I just like to wonder around and pretend I am lost or confused. This works really well if you have your shirt on inside out or the buttons are not in the right button hole. Having your fly unzipped is always a good touch.
I have a senior citizen maneuver called "the triad". That would be: unzipped fly, pants pulled as high as possible with misaligned shirt buttons tucked into your pants with the shirt tail sticking out the fly opening. A real eye catcher.

Never do anything as pretentious as wearing your underwear on the outside or sox over shoes.
If you want people to give you some personal space, carry a box of depends and a can of lysol spray. Every 4 steps you take say something like...."oops!...Oh..oh.." and turn around and look at the floor.

This should get you started on the road to a fun Senior Citizenry.

Some upcoming classes:
How to convince your spouse that you are a useless human being. (For the gentleman who think his wife doesn't already know the truth.)

Dressing for distress: (not your distress, someone Else's.) What kind of suspenders to wear. What to do with unmatched sox. How to blow your nose improperly in public.
How to launch a snot rocket. (finger push on side of nostril, blow...launch!!!) How to use and misuse a toothpick. Many other subjects will be covered.

How to babble: This is a handy little ploy that will make your babble almost comprehensible. How to feign deafness. These two techniques are guaranteed to
put your listener at a big disadvantage.

How to keep your focus: I am sure that some of my if anybody is interested in....whatever!!!

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

I just bought a "killer" GPS, really!!!

Geocaching can be hell!!!

I am always looking for bargains. I buy many used books through Amazon and I keep an eye on Ebay for a good deal. In recent days I have been looking for a trail GPS.

On the first of October I was on Ebay looking at Electronic stuff when I happen to come across a GPS of my dreams. I could not believe my good fortune.
The ad read something like this:

Killer GPS for sale. It's the Garmon Styx 666. The hottest deal on the internet. This unit will take you places you have never been before.

It even had a review from a lady named "Helen Karnate". She even gave me her cell phone number 999-7734.
She said she purchased it from the estate of a man named "Bob", who walked over a cliff on his way to church. Well, the price was right so I purchased the Damn thing. I had uneasy feeling that I was missing something.

The unit arrived after a three day wait. oddly, it did not have a return address. The instructions were written in English, but when my wife looked at them she said they were written in French, the condo associations lawn care person, Pedro, said it was Spanish.
I read the instructions and then turned the unit on.
It immediately said, "Hello, Robert!...Where would you like to go?...Oh, too bad. We will not have time to go there today." I replied angrily, "Go to hell!!" The GPS responded, "I thought you would never ask, Robert."

The unit and I argued most of the afternoon. He told me that the world was coming to an end on 10-10-10 at 10:10 AM. He referred to it as Binary Doomsday.
I started to believe in him.
I was going to sell our furniture on Craig's list, but who would buy it with less than a month to live and how would I spend the money. So I decided to enjoy my remaining days by doing some geocaching. I thought this would be enjoyable and healthy.
Sadly my GPS would tell me to walk two miles into the Atlantic Ocean or try to get my to find geocaches in really bad places like in the middle of the interstate.
"Your geocaches is right there, Robert. Get it." Traffic would be rushing by and vehicles honking at me.
I soon became weary of Geocaching and my wife got tired of going down to the police station or the psychiatric unit of the hospital to retrieve me.

Finally, The day arrived. Binary Doomsday! 10-10-10
01110100011010000110010100100000011001010110111001100100 (the end?)

At 9:45, I enclosed my self in bubble wrap, put in the earplugs, ate my last peanut butter sandwich, closed my eyes and waited for the end. I started humming so I would not hear it.
I felt something touch me. It must be the hand of God.
ME:"Is that you, God?"
GOD:"Uh,uh!" (That sounded like my wife!!!!)
ME: "Are we in heaven together?"
WIFE/GOD??: "Yup, We moved to Myrtle Beach two and half years ago. Now wake up and open your eyes, you crazy coot. Your snoring is starting to annoy me."
ME: "How long have I been snoring?"
WIFE" Since 1993!!!!!"

Well, I guess it must be 11-11-11. I must have a talk with my GPS.
"Well, What do you have to say to yourself, GPS?"
GPS: "You're still here, Robert?"
That's it. That was all I could take. I remembered a Star Trek episode "The Changling" that might apply in this particular case. I used that strategy.
ME:"My name is not Robert."
GPS: Excuse me?"
ME: "You have me confused with someone else."
GPS: "LOL, WTF, OMG, LMAO, OHOH!( GPS starts to smoke and spark).
My Styx 666 had a fiery demise.

Later that day I was looking for a new GPS. I came across a Garmin etrex. I purchased it. I noticed it was spelled differently than the one I originally ordered. Mine was a Garmon. This one is a Garmin. HMMM?

Perhaps I will formulate a missive to Captain James T. Kirk. I think he saved my life.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Is it just me?

Am I correct?

The other day while my wife and I went on our long walk, we stopped at a gazebo for a trail mix break. We stopped and talk to a couple of nice people. I commented later on that one of them was "mentally retarded." My wife corrected me on this. She was right.I could have used a better term to describe someone who has "Down's Syndrome."I googled it. I wanted to check on its usage. It is still used by the mental health profession, although others find it offensive. An example of that would be Rosa's law.

This brings me to my point(s). I could have said it in a more universally accepted way and be more politically correct. My second point is about "politically correct". I think it is getting extreme.
I like ethnic jokes. The problem is: It keeps perpetuating the myth and if something is repeated enough it becomes truth to some people. People start believing it.
Having said that, I will commence to offending people.I will tell you a little about myself. I am not a bad dancer....I am overly Caucasian.I do not get lost....I investigate alternative destinations.My wife is not a nag....she is verbally repetitive.
Ok! Now that you have the idea lets tell the tale of "Little Red Riding Hood" as written by an ultra liberal.
Politically Correct Little Red Riding Hood
There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered owls and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them.

Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as "mother", although she didn't mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist.Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed.

One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house.

"But mother, won't this be stealing work from the unionized people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?"
Red Riding Hood's mother assured her that she had called the union boss and gotten a special compassionate mission exemption form.

"But mother, aren't you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?"Red Riding Hood's mother pointed out that it was impossible for womyn to oppress each other, since all womyn were equally oppressed until all womyn were free.

"But mother, then shouldn't you have my brother carry the basket, since he's an oppressor, and should learn what it's like to be oppressed?"And Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally for animal rights, and besides, this wasn't stereotypical womyn's work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community.

"But won't I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she's sick and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?"
But Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her grandmother wasn't actually sick or incapacitated or mentally handicapped in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior to what some people called "health".
Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could get behind the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off.

Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors.Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to "come out" of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models.

On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood passed a woodchopper, and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers.She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket.
Red Riding Hood's teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding sexuality, and chose to dialogue with the Wolf.
She replied, "I am taking my Grandmother some healthful snacks in a gesture of solidarity.
"The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way."

Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother's house.But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house.

He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action affirmative of his nature as a predator.Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions, he put on Grandma's nightclothes, crawled under the bedclothes, and awaited developments.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said,"Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch.
"The Wolf said softly "Come closer, child, so that I might see you."Red Riding Hood said, "Goodness! Grandma, what big eyes you have!

"You forget that I am optically challenged."And Grandma, what an enormous, what a fine nose you have."
"Naturally, I could have had it fixed to help my acting career, but I didn't give in to such societal pressures, my child. "And Grandma, what very big, sharp teeth you have!"
The Wolf could not take any more of these specist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Red Riding Hood bravely shouted. "You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!"
The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her.At the same time, the woodchopper burst into the cottage, brandishing an ax.

"Hands off!" cried the woodchopper."And what do you think you're doing?" cried Little Red Riding Hood. "If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on college entrance exams.
"Last chance, sister! Get your hands off that endangered species! This is an FBI sting!" screamed the woodchopper, and when Little Red Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he sliced off her head.
"Thank goodness you got here in time," said the Wolf. "The brat and her grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner.""No, I think I'm the real victim, here," said the woodchopper. "I've been dealing with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier.
And now I'm going to have such a trauma. Do you have any aspirin?
"Sure," said the Wolf."Thanks.
"I feel your pain," said the Wolf, and he patted the woodchopper on his firm, well padded back, gave a little belch, and said "Do you have any Maalox?"
The End.

Well, actually you could do the same thing with the ultra conservatives.
The fact is: If you get a conservative and a liberal to write a report of Custer's last stand, you would get two unrecognizable version.
The liberals would do it from Sitting Bulls point of view and the conservatives would have done it from Custers point of view and John Stoessel would have said the whole thing was unnecessary.
As the ever optimistic George Custer said before he went into battle, "Don't take any prisoners, men." He didn't.