Holidays etc.

I do apologize. The holidays and some recent family illness have cut into my time and creativity. I hope to return to the keyboard in the new year. Thanks for your continued support of my insanity.

—-This message brought you by Pfizer - “Better living through chemistry.”

It’s been a bad day

Grandma had a heart attack. Mild but how mild can it be at 92? Sure she’s my wife’s grandmother, but I love her like my own.

For all the political undertones of the video, still the price is steap, we all fall down; it’s been a bad day please don’t take a picture.

100,000

I have 100,000 TV, cable, radio, and internet stations broadcasting into my brain. Every second of every minute of every hour of every freakin’ day they say…

I only beg for that one, clear, small voice that will tell me how her day was. I just want a conversation; a clear true conversation. Inane, microscopic dissection of how the weather was bad, the dog made a mess, and how we can relax now that the sun went down.

Stories and conversations aren’t too much to ask for, are they? We can make eye contact and be our real selves for just a minute. Take a few seconds out of every day to make contact and make a difference

Anyone seen my lung?

This cold/flu/bug what ever it is that’s going around at work finally caught up with me. I did manage to tap out some holiday shopping tips between coughing fits. I recommend that every citizen serve 2 years in the military, Peace Corps, or working in a retail department store. I promise it will make you a better person.

Now where are the good drugs?

Pomp and Circumstance

For years, I never put much stock in ceremony. The marriage ceremony, for example, is nothing more than a tradition. It’s not legal until you get that certificate from the courthouse. So what’s the big deal with the ceremony?

It’s the pragmatist in me. Trim the fat; cut to the chase; conserve energy. Dragging it out just seemed useless. As I’ve aged, my views have changed. I’ve started to understand the importance of tradition, connection, and ceremony to a human being.

We are social animals and long to be connected, joined to a person, a family, a tribe. To a large degree, connections define who we are. There is a wonderful move entitled the Twilight Samurai where a low-ranking samurai is taking care of his two daughters and his mother-in-law after his wife died. Dear mom has lost most of her faculties, but whenever she meets someone (for the 4th time in some cases) she always asks, “And who are your people?”

Digging for that connection to the past is what ceremonies are about. My most recent collision with tradition came yesterday, when the familiar tune Pomp and Circumstance echoed through Spragins Hall on the campus of the University of Alabama in Huntsville. Several hundred black, square, tasseled mortar boards streamed into the room, among them a little 5 foot 2 inch women whom I have known all her life.

Speeches were made and the magic words blessed the crowed, “By the power vested in me by the board of trustees, I confer upon you the degree as recommended by the faculty.” I glanced down at the program booklet. There was her name, the first name under the heading Summa Cum Laude with an honor’s program indicator beside it.

I’ll admit, the lump in my throat got bigger and a tear misted over my eye. I thought back to her high school graduation where she gave a keynote address. I thought back to my own college graduation and the pride I felt. I drifted back to my own high school graduation ceremony held in the National Cathedral, now that’s ceremony!

I went further back to my mother’s disappointment at missing the perfect-attendance award because she missed one day of high school. Further back, my mind saw my father walking across the back forty to get to that old one-room school house. The image of a hand-held slate that taught my grand-father to read and write came to mind.

Now I understand the importance of ceremony, connections from the past to the future that strand the human existence together. Not heavy chains that bind us, but garlands that adorn us.

Our Turn

I guess every family gets a turn and now it’s time for us. I didn’t get all the details and medical mumbo-jumbo, but I found out today that my only sibling has stage 2 breast cancer. The surgeon says they got the complete mass, but want her back the day after Christmas for some more surgery. Then she’ll start radiation treatments.

I guess every family goes through something like this. I know all the stages of grief. I know all the power of prayer. I know how this is going to change my family. In the spirit of “hands to work; heart to God,” I got busy today.

I picked my daughter up and we picked up her Christmas gift from my mom. A very nice dining room table and chairs. Some assembly was required which was nothing compared to hauling it up the stairs. It is really pretty.

Now it’s off to the boss’ house for a Christmas party. Somehow I’m not really in the mood, but will make an appearance. Tomorrow, will bring my daughter’s college graduation. Life is full of hills and valleys. I just didn’t expect to have so many in one weekend.

The 15th Commandment

“And as to traffic and the idiocy of thine fellow road occupants, thou shalt not rant; for this is the 15th commandment. I am good. Thus sayeth the Lord.” Isaya 9:12-14.

Because of this, I shall not rant on the drivers that I saw today. I will simply say that when they go, I pray that they don’t take me with them.

It was foggy this morning. Fog is not something we get often around these parts. I wouldn’t blame a motorist or two for not turning on their headlights. Only thing is, it was every fourth car! There were the two that had the presence of mind to turn on their parking lights. That brilliant yellow beam that scared the hell out of me at the last second is much appreciated.

I’m sorry that your daddy didn’t raise you right. He wasn’t around to show you the importance of not dying because you have no common sense. I learned the rules of the road, including the fog-low-beam-headlight rule before I even knew what a driver’s license was. I guess your daddy didn’t love you enough. Now I have to run off in the shoulder and be honked at because of it.

Well at least the drive home was quite. The congestion was expected. The radio played some forgotten song at a comfortable level. Mine works fine, jackass. I don’t need to hear yours! All is clear; all is well, until the road widened.

Ever drive the scary three-lane road? The middle lane is used for “left turn only,” but we all use it to get a jump out of the side street and merge. I’ve got no problem with that. I do it too. Only I drive slowly, turn on my signal and merge when safe.

They lady in the big white van hadn’t read the third-lane rule. She paced me, MPH for MPH (KPH for any Canadians reading this) until we reached the speed limit. Ignoring the 8-car-length gap behind me, she proceeded to pass me, after she drove 3/4 mile in the “left-turn-only lane” and wedge herself in between me and the braking car in front. Thanks for the signal as you hit your brakes.

The best part of the day? The fog was quite lovely when I took the dog out and the evening quite pleasant after I got the mail. Everything in between blew chunks.

As Promised. A Guide to What Women Want in a Man.

Relationships: What Women Want I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to figure out what women want. After 25 years of wedded bliss, I’ve finally discovered what women want. It’s pretty simple, but not pretty. read the rest. it’s the best »

Upcoming AC Topic — A preview

A man’s guide to making himself attractive to the fairer sex. Stuffed full of things that my years of happy, wedded bliss have taught me. Guys, you’ll leave with an arsenal of suggestions that will get you the woman of your dreams or possibly just your face slapped in a bar.

Coming soon!

Creepy Telemarketer & Creepy Me

#1. Never call me on Friday night. Sci-Fi television’s best night is currently Friday. If you call during Dr. Who or Battlestar Gallatica, you are likely to get a less than cordial welcome.

#2. Cold-call telemarketers suck. There is no polite way to say this. I’m not going to entertain the “They’re just doing their job” argument. That didn’t fly at Nuremberg and it won’t hold water in my court.

#3. Telemarketers that call me on Friday night are likely to experience something strange.

#4. I have a few nicknames bestowed by my workmates. “Jet pack” because I don’t just cross the line, I fly beyond it. “Leader of the Tourettes Choir” because I will say just about anything, anywhere, to anyone.

Ever hear of an auto dialer? Today, computers are used to dial your phone number. If the computer recognizes what it thinks is a live, human voice it alerts the human telemarketer who comes on the line a few moments later. That long silence is your first clue that you are about to be solicited.

(OK. I’m going to use the world “telemarketer” quite often, so let me just shorten it to “Jerk” for the rest of this article.)

The theory behind the auto dialer is to increase productivity for the Jerk. It optimizes the use of their time while still managing to completely waste mine. These jerks are so considerate when it comes to my time and how I want to spend it. Why relax after a day’s work when I can have someone try to sell me yet another credit card, dog shampooer, or insurance.

Friday night, thankfully during a commercial, some Jerk calls. I know it’s a Jerk because of the long silence after I say, “Hello?” Now I have a decision to make: Hang up and run the risk of this Jerk calling back during the show or stay and play, guaranteeing no more calls tonight. Can you hear the baton tapping the podium? Yes the choir is about to sing.

I repeat, “Hello?” Only this time in a soft, creepy, Mr. Mooney (think Gale Gordon from The Lucy Show circa. 1962) voice. Long, drawn out, softly, “Hel-looooooo? Hel-looooooo?” Hel-looooooo?”

Finally the female Jerk’s voice responds, “Yes. Violet?” Not “May I speak with Violet?” or “Hi my name is Jerk. Is Violet available?” (For the purpose of this story, my wife’s name is Violet.) Just “Yes. Violet?” in a tone that would have one believe that this Jerk knows my wife personally. This is the newest trick the jerks use to try to get you to respond.

My response is a prolonged, Mr. Moonyesque, “Nooooooo,” with a waver and upward inflection on the end.

“OK. Sorry. Thank you.” replies the Jerk in a tone that implies, “Goodbye.” But the phone doesn’t disconnect. She didn’t hang up.

“Hel-looooooo?” No response. “Hel-looooooo?” Dead air. “Hel-looooooo?” Nothing. “Arrrrre youuuu naaaaakeeeeed?”

“What?” is the surprised response.

“Arrrrre youuuu naaaaakeeeeed?”

“Sir I don’t have to listen to this!”

Really? Then she should have hung up when she had the chance. She implied that she was hanging up. Why didn’t she? I guess we’ll never know. Possibly she thought I was running frantically through the house, knocking over furniture, kicking dogs, trying to find my wife.

I hung up in hysterical laughter. Not because I pulled some great prank, but because this Jerk was dense enough to wait around for the abuse. More so, because she had the audacity to act incredulous that I would say such a thing. Maybe she was just shocked that she was dumb enough to not know she had called a lunatic at the first, “Hel-loooooo?”

Please don’t call me about this, especially on a Friday night.