Becoming Timeless

I'm kind of an old dude but with age comes wisdom and I've figured how to become immortal. You should send me at least five bucks or maybe $3.78 at the least, once I share. The information is priceless so you'll be getting a real bargain.

I've realized how, through no significant acts of your own, you can become famous throughout the whole wide world for all eternity. These secrets were made known to me by my friends Jane, Stephanie and Marge (Margaret to those of you who don't know her as intimately as I) and, of course, there was Bill.  One caution, these people probably wouldn't recognize me at a party so don't name drop. Anyhow, if you want a successful relationship and untold fame you have to become one of two things. A: An unemployed man or, B. A lazy-assed woman. Hear me out.

Colonel Brandon, Captain Butler, Officer George Wickham, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Romeo, Jacob, Edward, all men who, while unemployed to the best of my knowledge, still had the uncanny ability to tote women across fields, up mountains, up stairs, over forests, anywhere these women needed to go. I don't know if Romeo actually toted Juliet anywhere but she knew anyone who could shinny up that balcony like that little scamp did could certainly tote her someplace if need arose. Captain Butler took those stairs four at a time toting Scarlet who, by the way, couldn't even go down the things alone adequately. All through those stories, Colonel Brandon hauled Marianne Dashwood across that field in the rain, Jacob hauled Bella's lazy butt up a mountain and Edward could zip her above the rain if she was disinclined to get wet. History is replete with women who couldn't, or wouldn't, walk on their own and unemployed men who toted them.

You get yourself unemployed if male, or lazy if female, and history will not forget. You might find inheriting jillions of dollars won't hurt but trust me you get to be in books, people will make coasters and lunchboxes and crap about you , things will get really cool.

Driving Tip:  You're the driver, you know your skills (I hope) and the handling characteristics of your vehicle. Don't let your buds or any passenger or an operator of another vehicle or anyone else dictate your speed, following distance, brake application or any other aspect of getting your car down the road. If that back seat driver won't shut up, drop them at a bus stop. The bus driver is a trained professional with experience who will, I'm sure, allow that passenger to have a much more rewarding traveling experience than he or she is having with you. They'll thank you in the end.

Stacked Deck

Your wife always has to be the correct one, the smart one, and you just have to sit there and take it?  

Remember that time you had that excruciating pain in your lower right back and no matter what you did you couldn't get relief? You tried laying on your side, walking, sitting straight, laying on your belly, holding your breath, crying a little, nothing helped. Then your wife said, "You need to see a doctor." Well, you figured she's a nurse, she knows what she's talking about so you called the doctor and they had an opening next Thursday at ten o'clock and you said, "I'll be there."

Remember how all day Tuesday, all night, and again all day Wednesday the pain was so severe you didn't think you could bear it but your wife rolled her eyes at you Monday when you told her you were getting in to the doc on Thursday and then she said, "I meant you need to go right away. Didn't you tell them you were in pain?" Remember how you needed to show her what a he-man you are and maybe you're not an idiot so you rolled your eyes at her and said you were handling it? How clever were you to run to the refrigerator, grab that onion and start chopping it up so the tears would seem natural. She asked why you were doing that and you told her, " I'm a man, I feel we need to be prepared. If we decide to make spaghetti some night the onions will be all ready and you'll feel pretty silly about asking such a ridiculous question."

She suggested you had kidney stones and maybe should go to the emergency room. You insisted you were fine and went into the backyard, in the corner, behind the tree and lay in the grass rocking back and forth a little making a deal with God so you wouldn't die and look like a fool in your wife's eyes. If only you weren't suffering so, if only you would have gone to the doc right away. If you had been thinking and not married her 35 years ago you wouldn't be in this spot right now. It was all her fault and now here she was watching TV while you just made a deal to be a, "Better person?" God isn't stupid, he'll remember you said that and how the hell are you going to pull that off? You know your capabilities and... Wait a minute, He's God, he knows I'm, I mean you're, full of crap, or maybe kidney stones, he won't hold it against me, I mean you.

Thursday morning you're suffering receded. You felt pretty good and by the time you got in the examination room you had a hard time pointing out where the pain actually was. The doctor, summing all his years of education and experience, decreed the most necessary thing you could do at that point was pee in a bottle. You shook your head, you could have peed in a bottle at home, you hadn't done that since junior high, or was it high school? Anyway you were pretty sure you could get it done. He gave you a glass that didn't resemble a bottle at all but you're pretty sharp, you figured it out and only got a little on the side and just a drop or two on the floor. You washed everything up and worried that the nurse would suspect the bottle was wet from something other than water. She's a nurse, stop it!

The doctor came back with a professional, "Your wife was right, you had kidney stones but there really isn't a lot I can do for you now that you're...better." I bet she put him up to that, you thought as you went home.

A couple of months ago I had a slight pain in the same area of my back. More of a discomfort than pain but then I got real nauseous and, after throwing up, explaining to Carol that I might have kidney stones again, and watching her as she marched me to the car, I decided to go get looked at. I told her I obviously could handle kidney stones but could she hurry just a bit. She said this didn't seem like stones to her and hurried, just a bit. I rolled my eyes knowing everything there is to know about me and kidney stones but let her worry if that made her happy.

When we got to the ER (That's medical talk for encroach rectum. I think they use the definition: to advance gradually beyond the usual or desirable limits, when applying this term in a medical capacity.) When we got to the ER they took out my appendix. The point of all this is that no matter what, even hospitals will go to any length to prove your wife correct. She just might be the correct one, the smart one, maybe you should just sit there and take it. Just be glad you married her and aren't in her shoes, stuck with you.


Driving tip:  The best way to warm up your car is to fire it up, throw it in gear and go. That's true. Letting it run, especially on a cold day at fast idle is actually harder on your vehicle than driving it. The trick is, when your car is cold and even on a hot summer day your engine, transmission, differential, wheel bearings... all mechanical things that need lubricant, are cold. You need to start slow. Only for a few blocks but till then drive the thing like your grandmother wished you would. After a few blocks you're good to go.

Anal Leakage

Did you ever noti e how some writers will do anything to get you to look at their offering? When I de ided to tell a story about a  anal leaking I fired up my  omputer but had to pause when I noti ed a headline stating, "Dog Eats Man." Wait a minute! The   letter isn't working on my  omputer. A little soap and water, a quick blow dry, a fast trip to my lo al  omp USA store and...ccccc. O.K.

Boy, this sure beats talking about some dumb canal leaking. The Dog Eats Man writer probably had a problem with his keyboard too. Maybe it should have read, "Dog Beats Man" or "Dog Treats Man" or, maybe it was a story about a golf shoe wearing dog that stepped on the guy's foot. "Dog Cleats Man." I actually read the story and found no mystery whatsoever. Some dog ate some guy. Big deal. I was all set to sleuth out and solve a great teaser but no such luck. A dog eats a guy? What a letdown.

Today there was a headline that read, "Arkansas Man in Shootout with Toy Gun." Don't get all excited. The guy wasn't in some altercation against a possessed toy gun running around all willy-nilly causing havoc, no Steven King type story here. The fella actually had a shootout with police. They didn't know his gun was a toy and shot seven real bullets at him. Luckily all seven rounds missed and the guy might now get some help with his mental problems. Luckily there weren't a lot of people wandering around in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Can you imagine that headline? "Wal-Mart Shoppers Gunned Down by Bullets Intended for Toy Gun Bearer." They would have had to put such a line in real small font to get it to fit causing them to lose all the effectiveness of three inch type. People might quit buying newspapers and the whole industry could find itself on a downward spiral. And what if their M key wasn't working. We, the public, would be left to chatter around the water cooler about some poor wall art shoppers mowed down in their prime. My wife loves wall art. Can you imagine how sad Saturday would be if Carol wanted new wall art and I refused to go, muttering something about how many lives have been lost simply due to wall art lust? She rarely reads the paper. She wouldn't get it at all. She would buy golf shoes for our dog just to teach me a lesson. (The little scamp loves to step on my feet.)

I guess it all boils down to being careful about first impressions. Remember Edwin Rolfe's famous quote, "Never judge a book by its  over."


Driving tip:  If you intend to take a road trip take some water, some snacks and, if your snack choice includes Max potato chips by Frito Lay, bring some tissue.

Turn her head

When I was younger it was hard to impress the chicks. In high school I could leap a tall building with a single bound thinking to get some admiration from the fairer sex but sure enough some football player would grab the thing, crush it with his bare hands, and calmly step across. All the girls would sigh as if he just did something amazing and I'd be left to nurse my sore ankles from that rough landing in solitude. The next morning the headlines would tell of countless old people and little kids maimed when their building suddenly got crushed but I guess women didn't read the paper in those days. Not the ones I was interested in anyway. The school paper would, of course, feature a story about this lame idiot that sprained his ankles while prancing around like some moron. Girls would giggle as the football players would slap me on the back exclaiming, "Made the paper again ehh?" What kind of idiot finishes a sentence with eh and spells it with two h's...Jocks.

As I got older I found that my wife would get pretty worked up if I was able to walk all the way to the bedroom without falling down. These days she is marveled that I make it through an afternoon without breaking a hip.

In my youth I would jump in the old Pontiac, pop the clutch, and power slide around a hairpin curve 25 miles an hour faster than the suggested curve-speed. Some cowboy would climb up in his overgrown Ford, shove it in four low, and just plow ahead in a straight line. The next day the paper would feature an article about poor old Mrs. Jenkins' fence getting mangled and burnt rubber all over her prize roses. The school paper would talk about how I sprained an ankle popping my clutch and had to walk with a crutch. The girls would giggle when the football players would slap me on the back and exclaim, "Made the paper ehh tripod?" (The double h again, I told you they were idiots.)

When maturity began to evolve my driving skills my wife would get pretty hot if I remembered to turn off my signal light. These days she is astonished if I can still find our house.

In junior high I could slam a line drive past the shortstop, round first, and slide into second beating the tag by a hair. The football player would pop a blooper out toward the pitcher who would grab it and be waiting halfway to first. The guy would slam that pitcher so hard the ball would land in the outfield and of course when he, the pitcher, landed in the outfield he'd drop that ball enabling an infield home run. A little mention in the local paper about some poor pitcher sustaining inoperable brain damage and a front page story in the school gazette about my breaking my ankle sliding into second. The old slap on the back followed by, "You're in the news again eh?" Maybe those guys were wising up...no wayy

Twenty years later my wife gets all giddy when I remember to record the game. Now if  I can just say the word baseball without spitting peas on her she kind of smiles, waggles her head and winks at me.

Bottom line is, don't worry about impressing the babes when you're young. They'll come around.


Driving tip: Throw a hand towel in your glove box or console. If your windows suddenly fog while driving you'll be glad that towel is handy. If the sun raises the sill temperature on your door to 6000 degrees the towel will provide a fine barrier so you can still rest your arm on it and look cool. If the water spills, if the grandkid cries, if the AC quits and you get sweat in your eyes (bonus poem). You get it. Lots of possibilities. If you sneeze and get snot all over your windshield leave it alone. Wait till you get cleaner and two towels.

Magic

Had a great post all figured out today and went to sign in and couldn't. Seems they want you to know a password for such things. I typed, "Open sesame!"...Nothing. I thought maybe the exclamation mark might be too intense so tried it without...Nada. I tried, "Zim zala bim."...Nope. Maybe, I thought, add an exclamation mark?..Zip.
Abracadabra? Abrakadabra, Abarakadabara, Alakazoo, Alakerchoo, Ollie my shoe. I was frustrated and seemed to be spending a preposterous amount of time on A-words...Hocus pocus, Presto.

I felt a little foolish having used Open sesame because the instructions suggested I don't use passwords already employed and that one is for my bank account. I'm no dummy but once in a while...

The sight suggested I request a text to my phone with a "code" to effectuate admittance to my account. This action required my phone number and after about five minutes I was able to get the thing apart and relate to them that mine was a Samsung-3. After all the promising and my compliance with their request I still haven't received a reply. I'm really not sure if I will ever be able to blog again but I promise to keep trying.

(That story about the phone number didn't really happen to me. It was, however, such a great story I felt compelled to share. Truth is, that answer was an actual response to my sister from my cousin when asked for her number. I didn't want to embarrass her by using her name so if you see Sandi and she looks odd when you tell her this story you'll understand.)

Driving tip:  While riding with a friend the other day we found ourselves being tailgated. We were in the number 3 lane and running about 72, The speed limit was 60 but everyone on the freeway seemed to be running around our speed. My bud got upset at the tailgater and I suggested we were in the passing land and weren't passing anyone. Maybe we should move over and let the other car go. The reply was, "I'm running 70, the limit is 60 what does that jerk expect?"
Apparently 70 in a 60 is reasonable and prudent but if some maniac wants to go 73 or 4 you should just hack him to death with a butcher knife (borrowed from an SNL skit about Hichcock's Psycho)

We were signaling. Signaling, by not moving over, that this guy could go pound sand for all we cared. Well, road rage ensued and he killed us.

Remember to be considerate. If that guy (or gal) wants to go on down the road you should let them. Maybe they're taking someone to the hospital or maybe they're a jerk. Either way you should let them go.
 

Full Circle

There aren't a whole lot of people who know what I'm about to share and it's a little personal so I'd appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. When I was younger, about 12 or 13 months I guess. Not 12 or 13 months younger, but when I was actually 12 or 13 months. I couldn't walk yet, it wasn't that I had some handicap or anything, I just hadn't seen any need. You see I had a friend that would take me anywhere I needed to be. He was made of wood, had enormous rockers, a fairly comfortable seat and a huge head shaped like a duck with ears that were conveniently about an inch round and stuck straight  out of the sides of his head about six inches. Being young and fairly inconsiderate I used those ears as handholds. I would climb on that baby, start the back and forth rocking exercise, get up some momentum, and away I'd go. We had wooden floors which offered no hindrance to forward motion and if you leaned while rocking you could turn any direction.

Some of the kids my mom called my 'friends' would hang out by the kitchen and gurgle things like, "Check out the rockers on that." They were just jealous. I was, after all, being transported at my whim. They were stuck in their miserable little space where the only change encountered would be if they filled their diapers. I was free, footloose, a man about the house and it felt good. The only downside was my duck wasn't fast enough. I couldn't wait to say goodbye to that thing, grow, learn to walk, ride a bike and ultimately, drive a car.

Life has moved on a little since then, I grew up and pretty much forgot all about those days. I now posses a vehicle with hundreds of horsepower and can run with the wind. The exhilaration of the world flying by is incredible. Modern machinery has surpassed my most ambitious expectations and it feels good.

The other day, while sitting in another traffic jam, I looked over and this little kid was motivating down the sidewalk on this rocking duck. I watched him till he got to the top of the hill and was sure he laughed just as he rocked out of sight. I turned to my bud and said, "Did you check out the rockers on that? We'd been sitting there an hour and the only thing that changed was, I really thought my friend could use a new diaper and maybe some wipees.

Driving tip:  There is a huge reader board type sign on the side of the highway that usually reads, "Don't text and drive!" ...Usually. The other day it said, "For information on Texas traffic deaths text: (817)..." Sometimes you shouldn't do everything the government tells you. You would never take your eyes off the screen and one hand off your controller to text while playing Mario. A giant ape might get you. Why would you think it OK to text while driving? Giant semi trucks are really hard on your paint, and maybe your body if you don't pay close attention while driving. An ape can make you repeat your level. In traffic it might be GAME OVER! Using your head while driving does not mean using it to stop a semi.
Be careful out there. Don't text and drive.