Last night (Friday, October 2, 2009) Brighthouse Cable experienced a "disruption of services" in the Central Florida area. Their spokesperson issued the following statement:
"We experienced a disruption of video services that impacted some, but not all, of our channels on the network," spokeswoman Sara Brady said. "This disruption lasted about an hour. At this time, the cause is not known. Services have been restored."
I'd like to offer a translation of that corporate-speak(in bold):
"We experienced a disruption of video services...":
"Yeah, we know your cable went out - so what?"
"...that impacted some, but not all, of our channels on the network..."
"... oh, so you couldn't watch 'Are you smarter than a 5th Grader" reruns? WAAAAAAAAHHH" (FYI, You're NOT!)
"This disruption lasted about an hour."
"You know, the same amount of time you should have been exercising, anyway!
"...At this time, the cause is not known."
"...that's right, 'not known!' But we really couldn't care less about what caused the problem, anyway. Maybe it wasn't a technical problem and maybe we were just playing with all of you. You see, you're what we call a "captive audience" Be thankful we were able to get it back on. Oh, and though our service is getting worse and our prices keep going up, don't forget to pay your bill."
"...Services have been restored."
"Hey couch potatoes - have a nice day!"
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Old Yeller
Wonder what Congressman Joe Wilson yelled out when he heard about Caster Semenya's private parts?
(Note to Joe: Statistically speaking, one in every 2000 people are born hermaphrodites, which means you represent about 350 in your district. Better watch what you say about that 'cause I have a hunch your next election's gonna be real close.)
Or when he heard the Governor of his state was hiking in the who-knows-what Mountains?
And for anyone who agrees with what he yelled at the President (yes, some would say "heckled," in which case Obama should have just sent drinks to his table.) the other night, would you kindly send me a transcript of Mr. Wilson's "shout outs" after he heard the following:
" We found the weapons of mass destruction..."
or
"The British Government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently sought significant quantities of uranium..."
or
"Read my lips - no new taxes."
or
We did not- repeat, did not - trade weapons or anything else for hostages, nor will we."
or
"I'm not a crook!"
Of course, maybe Wilson was just groovin' to his (hidden) IPod as Reba sang "You Lie" - and "spontaneously" decided to go "karaoke" on Obama.
Or maybe not. See, he and his family are recipients of (are you sitting down?) government run health care. Take a look: http://blog.newsweek.com/blogs/thegaggle/archive/2009/09/10/joe-wilson-s-dirty-health-care-secret.aspx. Once again, the hypocrisy's so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Government-run, single payer healthcare is good for him (and his family); bad for us.
Hey, Joe, " I love you, I'll respect you in the morning and the checks in the mail."
Ironically, I have a hunch Joe - who's living a very charmed life - may just believe that's true.
(Note to Joe: Statistically speaking, one in every 2000 people are born hermaphrodites, which means you represent about 350 in your district. Better watch what you say about that 'cause I have a hunch your next election's gonna be real close.)
Or when he heard the Governor of his state was hiking in the who-knows-what Mountains?
And for anyone who agrees with what he yelled at the President (yes, some would say "heckled," in which case Obama should have just sent drinks to his table.) the other night, would you kindly send me a transcript of Mr. Wilson's "shout outs" after he heard the following:
" We found the weapons of mass destruction..."
or
"The British Government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently sought significant quantities of uranium..."
or
"Read my lips - no new taxes."
or
We did not- repeat, did not - trade weapons or anything else for hostages, nor will we."
or
"I'm not a crook!"
Of course, maybe Wilson was just groovin' to his (hidden) IPod as Reba sang "You Lie" - and "spontaneously" decided to go "karaoke" on Obama.
Or maybe not. See, he and his family are recipients of (are you sitting down?) government run health care. Take a look: http://blog.newsweek.com/blogs/thegaggle/archive/2009/09/10/joe-wilson-s-dirty-health-care-secret.aspx. Once again, the hypocrisy's so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Government-run, single payer healthcare is good for him (and his family); bad for us.
Hey, Joe, " I love you, I'll respect you in the morning and the checks in the mail."
Ironically, I have a hunch Joe - who's living a very charmed life - may just believe that's true.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Rubbermaid in Afghanistan?
We've all heard of Al-Qaeda in Iraq but Rubbermaid in Afghanistan? Tell me I didn't see a bajillion clear plastic storage containers being used in the Afghan elections? Were they from "The Container Store" in Kabul? (next to "Turban Outfitters" at the Kabul Galleria).
And how lucky was the container salesperson in that territory? Talk about low expectations. The first convesation between the salesperson and sales manager may have gone something like: "...yes, we know your territory's Afghanistan. Well, no, they haven't discovered clothes hangers or bar soap, yet - just do your best and .....and you sold how many? What election are you talking about...they need our containers for what?" Or, something like that.
Inside sources tell me bid requirement #2a - Ballot Boxes read: "easily stuffable...able to fit under bed." Must be a lotta high beds in Afghanistan. Of course, considering they lead the world in the production of opium, there's evidently a lotta "high" goin' on in Afghanistan. Which may explain the containers and the ceremonial dipping of fingers in ink - indelible, no less. (In a country not known for it's impeccable hygiene!)
Speaking of that time-tested finger dip, did anyone notice if they were using my all-time favorite 'Sheaffer Permanent Blue/Black #22?' Is that "finger dipping" thing just a ploy by the ballpoint pen industry, to use up all available fountain pen ink? Hmmm...before you know it, we'll be seeing IBM typewriters in Afghan offices, everywhere.
Good news is, those clear, plastic containers are sure signs - along with the rampant ballot stuffing - that the Afghans are catching up to us Americans. With any luck at all, they'll soon have Domino's Pasta Bread bowls. Shortly after that arrives, I imagine the recount will come to a crashing halt...as Afghans discover siestas. Just call it another gift from your friends in the USA.
And how lucky was the container salesperson in that territory? Talk about low expectations. The first convesation between the salesperson and sales manager may have gone something like: "...yes, we know your territory's Afghanistan. Well, no, they haven't discovered clothes hangers or bar soap, yet - just do your best and .....and you sold how many? What election are you talking about...they need our containers for what?" Or, something like that.
Inside sources tell me bid requirement #2a - Ballot Boxes read: "easily stuffable...able to fit under bed." Must be a lotta high beds in Afghanistan. Of course, considering they lead the world in the production of opium, there's evidently a lotta "high" goin' on in Afghanistan. Which may explain the containers and the ceremonial dipping of fingers in ink - indelible, no less. (In a country not known for it's impeccable hygiene!)
Speaking of that time-tested finger dip, did anyone notice if they were using my all-time favorite 'Sheaffer Permanent Blue/Black #22?' Is that "finger dipping" thing just a ploy by the ballpoint pen industry, to use up all available fountain pen ink? Hmmm...before you know it, we'll be seeing IBM typewriters in Afghan offices, everywhere.
Good news is, those clear, plastic containers are sure signs - along with the rampant ballot stuffing - that the Afghans are catching up to us Americans. With any luck at all, they'll soon have Domino's Pasta Bread bowls. Shortly after that arrives, I imagine the recount will come to a crashing halt...as Afghans discover siestas. Just call it another gift from your friends in the USA.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Silly is as silly does...
Who doesn't dislike being called "stupid?" Calling someone "stupid" can be, at best, an arbitrary description and, more likely, a condescending one. Ask Forrest Gump. He was always ready with the "Stupid is as stupid does..." rejoinder.
Of course, if you're at an "End the War" MeetUp - or your local Whole Foods store - calling Dick Cheney stupid is instant standing ovation. Ask Bill Maher and Jon Stewart.
But these days I can't stop thinking "stupid" wherever I go - whether I'm out or on the internet. But instead of a trigger word like "stupid" (which, by definition, means "weak-minded, lacking good sense...stupid or foolish." I know, can't seem to shake that word), I prefer to call these non-sequiter events "silly." "Silly" is kinder and gentler, to borrow a phrase (which, btw, came from the Father of President Stupid, aka #43.)
But my concern has to do with the fact that there seems to be an over-abundance of things I would call, not just silly but "severely" silly. In fact, I believe we've entered the "Age of Severely Silly." Allow me to explain.
Exhibit #1: In this "Age of Severely Silly," one thing that comes to mind is the ubiquitous unsolicited email we all receive. It advertises a medicinal cure, for lack of a better phrase, that will help you if, shall we say, you're a member of a certain demographic (defined by the way you answer the following): "Have you become an elephant with a trunk (always) pointing down?" I beg your pardon? Hmmm...have I turned into an elephant for reasons other than my slightly expanded waistline? Ouch!
Fact is that probably 50% - if not more - of these emails may go to females. While some may consider that "silly," a good case could be made for it being an clever move. Oh, and definitely NOT silly. Why? Because men would never admit to being elephants, if you know what I mean.
Well, then there's is always that one guy. And while it doesn't upset me to delete these stupid (ooops, sorry) emails every day, it's that "severely silly" moron (not me, honest) who boldly went where no man has gone and, yes, bought this crap - just because. Trust me, this moronic purchase did nothing more than invite every internet schlock merchant to load his (or maybe hers?) computer with mega viruses and mondo spam. Oh, and you can thank this smarty pants for igniting yet another launch - some may call it assault - of these silly "elephant trunk" emails.
Kinda like what happened when we all used to frequent those all-you-can-eat "chinese buffets," back in the day (yeah, of course - everyone else but you.) . The reason they multiplied faster than you-know-whats is because we ALL WENT TO THEM! It's the same with emails, folks. Delete, delete, delete! And by all means, don't even think of buying.
Exhibit #2. Here's another "silly." Yankee Stadium, that bastion of multimillionaire players, $20 hotdogs, $10 beers and, now, so many empty box seats down each baseline (their cost prohibits everyone who's name is not Trump or that schnorrer Giuliani from ever sitting in one of those seats) now has concession stands selling - get this - FRUIT! The Babe is now officially rolling over in his grave.
I can almost hear a typical fan now: "This game is friggin' unbelievable...bottom of the 'ate' inning, Yanks down by one, two outs and A-Rod's up with 'da bases loaded'. He's friggin' due, already. Know what I could go for now? A nice, juicy NECTARINE!" Right! I rest my case.
Exhibit #3. Gas station Men's Rooms. The first thing you need to know is most gas-station men's rooms don't even need signs on their doors. Anyone with normal olfactory receptors will surmise which one is the men's room. That, and the black fingerprint marks around the door handles which are also a dead giveaway.
Recently, on business trip, I made a quick stop - by necessity - to visit the men's room of a gas station on I-95 in Florida. Upon entering this "litle piece of heaven on earth," I saw the standard homophobic graffiti on the wall, right next to the "for a good time" note which was scratched - and almost erased, but still all too legible.
But neither of those made me pause like the "urinal sign." You see, the lone urinal in the place had been removed (dare I say ripped) from the wall. My assumption was because it didn't work or was being replaced - or both. The hole created by its temporary removal was covered in duct tape and brown paper. So far, so good.
What I saw next may be the "silliest" thing sign I've ever read. It was actually a handwritten note, taped onto the duct tape and brown paper, over the opening, which read in big block letters: "DO NOT USE." Really? Was this sign necessary? Hope not. Of course, as long as they were "signing," a better one might have read: "Please use feet to flush toilet - there's no soap, in the universe, strong enough to remove dirt you'll collect with a hand flush."
Exhibit #4. Finally, "silly" has become so prevalent, a trio of twenty-something guys (who else?) recently started a website called "People of Wal Mart" (www.peopleofwalmart.com). They post candid photos of Walmart shoppers just, well, being themselves. But, based on the photos I saw, being themselves usually involved mullets, various stages of undress, tattoos, butt cracks, ill-fitting clothes, 6-foot fingernails, etc. After perusing this website, you'll no longer wonder how George W. Bush was re-elected. Really. Or, if you're of a different political persuasion, how Barack Obama was elected. (Happy, now?)
Talk about silly, these guys hit the motherlode. In fact it's so "silly," the founders don't want any more "mullet" photos - they have too many. Too many. Did you digest that line? And we thought all these people were at so-called "Town Hall" meetings? Well, I guess not all the time. And "tea bagging," I hear, works up quite an appetite for food and cheap crap from China. And for these people, WalMart is the retailer of choice for both of these - and so much more.
Either way, it only reinforced my notion - as I'm sure it will yours - we're in the age of "severely silly." And so many seem to be participating. Stay tuned for more........
Of course, if you're at an "End the War" MeetUp - or your local Whole Foods store - calling Dick Cheney stupid is instant standing ovation. Ask Bill Maher and Jon Stewart.
But these days I can't stop thinking "stupid" wherever I go - whether I'm out or on the internet. But instead of a trigger word like "stupid" (which, by definition, means "weak-minded, lacking good sense...stupid or foolish." I know, can't seem to shake that word), I prefer to call these non-sequiter events "silly." "Silly" is kinder and gentler, to borrow a phrase (which, btw, came from the Father of President Stupid, aka #43.)
But my concern has to do with the fact that there seems to be an over-abundance of things I would call, not just silly but "severely" silly. In fact, I believe we've entered the "Age of Severely Silly." Allow me to explain.
Exhibit #1: In this "Age of Severely Silly," one thing that comes to mind is the ubiquitous unsolicited email we all receive. It advertises a medicinal cure, for lack of a better phrase, that will help you if, shall we say, you're a member of a certain demographic (defined by the way you answer the following): "Have you become an elephant with a trunk (always) pointing down?" I beg your pardon? Hmmm...have I turned into an elephant for reasons other than my slightly expanded waistline? Ouch!
Fact is that probably 50% - if not more - of these emails may go to females. While some may consider that "silly," a good case could be made for it being an clever move. Oh, and definitely NOT silly. Why? Because men would never admit to being elephants, if you know what I mean.
Well, then there's is always that one guy. And while it doesn't upset me to delete these stupid (ooops, sorry) emails every day, it's that "severely silly" moron (not me, honest) who boldly went where no man has gone and, yes, bought this crap - just because. Trust me, this moronic purchase did nothing more than invite every internet schlock merchant to load his (or maybe hers?) computer with mega viruses and mondo spam. Oh, and you can thank this smarty pants for igniting yet another launch - some may call it assault - of these silly "elephant trunk" emails.
Kinda like what happened when we all used to frequent those all-you-can-eat "chinese buffets," back in the day (yeah, of course - everyone else but you.) . The reason they multiplied faster than you-know-whats is because we ALL WENT TO THEM! It's the same with emails, folks. Delete, delete, delete! And by all means, don't even think of buying.
Exhibit #2. Here's another "silly." Yankee Stadium, that bastion of multimillionaire players, $20 hotdogs, $10 beers and, now, so many empty box seats down each baseline (their cost prohibits everyone who's name is not Trump or that schnorrer Giuliani from ever sitting in one of those seats) now has concession stands selling - get this - FRUIT! The Babe is now officially rolling over in his grave.
I can almost hear a typical fan now: "This game is friggin' unbelievable...bottom of the 'ate' inning, Yanks down by one, two outs and A-Rod's up with 'da bases loaded'. He's friggin' due, already. Know what I could go for now? A nice, juicy NECTARINE!" Right! I rest my case.
Exhibit #3. Gas station Men's Rooms. The first thing you need to know is most gas-station men's rooms don't even need signs on their doors. Anyone with normal olfactory receptors will surmise which one is the men's room. That, and the black fingerprint marks around the door handles which are also a dead giveaway.
Recently, on business trip, I made a quick stop - by necessity - to visit the men's room of a gas station on I-95 in Florida. Upon entering this "litle piece of heaven on earth," I saw the standard homophobic graffiti on the wall, right next to the "for a good time" note which was scratched - and almost erased, but still all too legible.
But neither of those made me pause like the "urinal sign." You see, the lone urinal in the place had been removed (dare I say ripped) from the wall. My assumption was because it didn't work or was being replaced - or both. The hole created by its temporary removal was covered in duct tape and brown paper. So far, so good.
What I saw next may be the "silliest" thing sign I've ever read. It was actually a handwritten note, taped onto the duct tape and brown paper, over the opening, which read in big block letters: "DO NOT USE." Really? Was this sign necessary? Hope not. Of course, as long as they were "signing," a better one might have read: "Please use feet to flush toilet - there's no soap, in the universe, strong enough to remove dirt you'll collect with a hand flush."
Exhibit #4. Finally, "silly" has become so prevalent, a trio of twenty-something guys (who else?) recently started a website called "People of Wal Mart" (www.peopleofwalmart.com). They post candid photos of Walmart shoppers just, well, being themselves. But, based on the photos I saw, being themselves usually involved mullets, various stages of undress, tattoos, butt cracks, ill-fitting clothes, 6-foot fingernails, etc. After perusing this website, you'll no longer wonder how George W. Bush was re-elected. Really. Or, if you're of a different political persuasion, how Barack Obama was elected. (Happy, now?)
Talk about silly, these guys hit the motherlode. In fact it's so "silly," the founders don't want any more "mullet" photos - they have too many. Too many. Did you digest that line? And we thought all these people were at so-called "Town Hall" meetings? Well, I guess not all the time. And "tea bagging," I hear, works up quite an appetite for food and cheap crap from China. And for these people, WalMart is the retailer of choice for both of these - and so much more.
Either way, it only reinforced my notion - as I'm sure it will yours - we're in the age of "severely silly." And so many seem to be participating. Stay tuned for more........
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Our Encounter with Senator Teddy
Fifteen months ago, Joanne (my wife) and I combined a short business trip with a mini-vacation to our new favorite vacation spot - Cape Cod. "Home base" for the week was Hyannis.
On Saturday, we woke up to a typical New England-y spring morning, feeling a little spent after spending a longggggg day before on Martha's Vineyard. The weather was not cold but the skies were gray; everything glistened from the slow, steady drizzle.
It was the type of day many people, like me, won't admit they enjoy - because
it presents a very good excuse to do nothing. Which, the last time I looked, should be a part of EVERY vacation. It's also what I do best. That...and not asking for directions.
Sipping coffee in bed and catching up with the "outside world" on CNN, we decided this would be "the" day to explore Hyannis, Mass. Had our sights already set on a casual, waterfront seafood restaurant but before rewarding ourselves with fried belly clams and cold beer, Joanne wanted to see the where the Kennedy clan spent their summers.
I put my "stalker/paparazzi cap" on and - with a little help from google - deduced it couldn't be more than 15 minutes away from our hotel. So we dressed, had a leisurely brunch and jumped in the Hertz to begin our search for what many Dems would consider the political equivalent of the Taj Mahal, Shangri-la and, of course, Camelot, all in one: The Kennedy Compound!
But where to begin? "Google Earth" gave us more than a clue where it was. And we knew it faced the water, so off we were. At our first stop, we did exactly the opposite of what every good stalker and subversive knows, instinctively, NOT to do. After locating the Hyannis Country Club (a landmark we knew was nearby) we pulled up to two uniformed and armed police officers.
In my best soothing, midwestern 'twang' of a voice (with sunglasses-off so they could look me straight in the eye, lest there be any doubt we were just tourists) I feigned a look at my GPS and then asked possibly the most stupid question of my adult life (other than, are you sure those are really contractions?): "Would you mind telling us how to get to the Kennedy Compound?"
In a millisecond, the officers, surmising we weren't the Obama's, Kerry's or Clinton's said: "uh, were not really sure...where it is." Aha. Something tells me they're lying. But you've gotta get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on us...even though it was about one o'clock in the afternoon. We were on to them!
Jeez, I second-guessed; overdid the Midwestern accent thing. Dammit! Now two police officers were gonna 'tail' us around Hyannis all day! I pretended not to notice if either of them was talking into a wrist or shoulder. They weren't. Then, I muttered something like "thanks, anyway" with one of those stupid half-smiles and drove off at 4 mph. With my flashers on.
To my surprise and dismay, they didn't follow us. Then I got a little miffed. What, we don't look dangerous enough? For all they knew, we could've been a 'front' group scoping the Kennedy compound for security breaches. The yellow Hawaiian shirt, Yankee cap and white socks w/sandals probably did the trick and totally threw them off.
Problem was, I became obsessed with helicopters hovering overhead. There weren't any but it was almost like I could hear them in my head. OK, so maybe I watched "Goodfellas" one too many times. Who hasn't?
At that moment, Joanne took over as navigator and seemed possessed - but in a good way. She started barking directions like Tom Brady on a Sunday afternoon in Foxboro. Or Sully beginning his final approach into the Hudson. Turn left, bear right, slow down, turn right....
I slowed down to make what we thought might be our final left turn. Just then our eyes turned left and, not more than 500 feet away, we saw...could it be...a golf cart? Coming down the short, somewhat hilly street on which we were about to turn. Was it...? No, what were the odds? We were indulging ourselves in a boatload of wishful thinking.
But wait...before we could make the turn, this "golf cart" made a quick, rolling stop and a right onto 'our' street. As it passed us on the driver's side of our car, we realized that the slightly overweight driver with a bright red windbreaker, full face and average stocking cap was none other than....you guessed it: SENATOR TED KENNEDY. In the flesh.
The "holy sh*ts" and "oh my gods" broke our brief silence. Joanne reached for her digital camera. But before you could say "pahhk the cahh." the golf cart with Ted and his two passengers - a fairly young boy and an obedient-looking black dog were...poof...gone. Holy shnikes we just saw Ted and have no proof of it. If a tree falls in the forest and....oh, who cares, he's driving away!
Like any good ad hoc stalker, we decided to "cut him off at the pass." We knew he was going one way, so we went the opposite direction. Yes, I know that sounds counter intuitive. Be patient. I made the a right turn and started to channel my "inner Columbo" - looking to our right as we approached each side street. Sure enough, there he was. Again! Camera-ready, I seemlessly turned the rental car down that street and slowed to an inconspicuous 1.3 mph crawl.
As Ted and his 'gang' approached - again - I lowered my driver's side window, ever so slowly. No herky-jerky moves to alarm the good Senator. Then, my left arm slowly reached out into the cool, misty air like I was a about to signal a right turn. I wasn't!
Now what? Well, as Ted approached, I considered a simple "We love you." But, frankly, my inner self told me that was a tad too "beatle-esque." Plus, since he had just announced the presence of a brain tumor, it wasn't enough to yell out some shrill, groupie thing.
My finely-tuned wit took over as his golf cart broke the plane of our front bumper. I shouted out the window - not too loudly but loud enough: "Hi Senator. Hope you're feeling better and best of luck with... " I caught myself and stopped short of saying "...your tumor."
He didn't hear the word "with," did he? Jeez, was that the best I could do? I had had at least three blocks to work out this repartee, how could I have blown it? The last thing he needed on a ride with his grandson(?) (nephew?, stepson? does it matter?) was some gawker reminding him he had recently received possibly the worst news of his life. Ugh. The damage was done.
But then, just as he was about to pass our car, I noticed the cart slowing and could now see a slight smile on his face. His right arm went up to the 12 o'clock position - his open, waving palm slightly above his head and facing toward us - as he bellowed back in his finest New England brogue: "Thenkkkk youuuuuuuu...." Teddy had spoken. To us! We couldn't have been more excited if it had been a "Close Encounter of whatever...." With Richard Dreyfuss there!
Yes, we had, much to our surprise on this dreary, drab Cape Cod Spring day, made contact. With a superior life-form, no less. No picture but we had just talked to Senator Edward Kennedy! Well, practically.
That day - unlike today - was a very very good day. We proceeded to celebrate our "get" with a tour of everything "Kennedy" in Hyannis (including pics of the compound), followed by seafood and drinks on the water. Today, we're so very sad, yet proud to say, "Teddy, we hardly knew ye but miss you like a best friend." Our thoughts are with you. Rest in peace, dear man.
On Saturday, we woke up to a typical New England-y spring morning, feeling a little spent after spending a longggggg day before on Martha's Vineyard. The weather was not cold but the skies were gray; everything glistened from the slow, steady drizzle.
It was the type of day many people, like me, won't admit they enjoy - because
it presents a very good excuse to do nothing. Which, the last time I looked, should be a part of EVERY vacation. It's also what I do best. That...and not asking for directions.
Sipping coffee in bed and catching up with the "outside world" on CNN, we decided this would be "the" day to explore Hyannis, Mass. Had our sights already set on a casual, waterfront seafood restaurant but before rewarding ourselves with fried belly clams and cold beer, Joanne wanted to see the where the Kennedy clan spent their summers.
I put my "stalker/paparazzi cap" on and - with a little help from google - deduced it couldn't be more than 15 minutes away from our hotel. So we dressed, had a leisurely brunch and jumped in the Hertz to begin our search for what many Dems would consider the political equivalent of the Taj Mahal, Shangri-la and, of course, Camelot, all in one: The Kennedy Compound!
But where to begin? "Google Earth" gave us more than a clue where it was. And we knew it faced the water, so off we were. At our first stop, we did exactly the opposite of what every good stalker and subversive knows, instinctively, NOT to do. After locating the Hyannis Country Club (a landmark we knew was nearby) we pulled up to two uniformed and armed police officers.
In my best soothing, midwestern 'twang' of a voice (with sunglasses-off so they could look me straight in the eye, lest there be any doubt we were just tourists) I feigned a look at my GPS and then asked possibly the most stupid question of my adult life (other than, are you sure those are really contractions?): "Would you mind telling us how to get to the Kennedy Compound?"
In a millisecond, the officers, surmising we weren't the Obama's, Kerry's or Clinton's said: "uh, were not really sure...where it is." Aha. Something tells me they're lying. But you've gotta get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on us...even though it was about one o'clock in the afternoon. We were on to them!
Jeez, I second-guessed; overdid the Midwestern accent thing. Dammit! Now two police officers were gonna 'tail' us around Hyannis all day! I pretended not to notice if either of them was talking into a wrist or shoulder. They weren't. Then, I muttered something like "thanks, anyway" with one of those stupid half-smiles and drove off at 4 mph. With my flashers on.
To my surprise and dismay, they didn't follow us. Then I got a little miffed. What, we don't look dangerous enough? For all they knew, we could've been a 'front' group scoping the Kennedy compound for security breaches. The yellow Hawaiian shirt, Yankee cap and white socks w/sandals probably did the trick and totally threw them off.
Problem was, I became obsessed with helicopters hovering overhead. There weren't any but it was almost like I could hear them in my head. OK, so maybe I watched "Goodfellas" one too many times. Who hasn't?
At that moment, Joanne took over as navigator and seemed possessed - but in a good way. She started barking directions like Tom Brady on a Sunday afternoon in Foxboro. Or Sully beginning his final approach into the Hudson. Turn left, bear right, slow down, turn right....
I slowed down to make what we thought might be our final left turn. Just then our eyes turned left and, not more than 500 feet away, we saw...could it be...a golf cart? Coming down the short, somewhat hilly street on which we were about to turn. Was it...? No, what were the odds? We were indulging ourselves in a boatload of wishful thinking.
But wait...before we could make the turn, this "golf cart" made a quick, rolling stop and a right onto 'our' street. As it passed us on the driver's side of our car, we realized that the slightly overweight driver with a bright red windbreaker, full face and average stocking cap was none other than....you guessed it: SENATOR TED KENNEDY. In the flesh.
The "holy sh*ts" and "oh my gods" broke our brief silence. Joanne reached for her digital camera. But before you could say "pahhk the cahh." the golf cart with Ted and his two passengers - a fairly young boy and an obedient-looking black dog were...poof...gone. Holy shnikes we just saw Ted and have no proof of it. If a tree falls in the forest and....oh, who cares, he's driving away!
Like any good ad hoc stalker, we decided to "cut him off at the pass." We knew he was going one way, so we went the opposite direction. Yes, I know that sounds counter intuitive. Be patient. I made the a right turn and started to channel my "inner Columbo" - looking to our right as we approached each side street. Sure enough, there he was. Again! Camera-ready, I seemlessly turned the rental car down that street and slowed to an inconspicuous 1.3 mph crawl.
As Ted and his 'gang' approached - again - I lowered my driver's side window, ever so slowly. No herky-jerky moves to alarm the good Senator. Then, my left arm slowly reached out into the cool, misty air like I was a about to signal a right turn. I wasn't!
Now what? Well, as Ted approached, I considered a simple "We love you." But, frankly, my inner self told me that was a tad too "beatle-esque." Plus, since he had just announced the presence of a brain tumor, it wasn't enough to yell out some shrill, groupie thing.
My finely-tuned wit took over as his golf cart broke the plane of our front bumper. I shouted out the window - not too loudly but loud enough: "Hi Senator. Hope you're feeling better and best of luck with... " I caught myself and stopped short of saying "...your tumor."
He didn't hear the word "with," did he? Jeez, was that the best I could do? I had had at least three blocks to work out this repartee, how could I have blown it? The last thing he needed on a ride with his grandson(?) (nephew?, stepson? does it matter?) was some gawker reminding him he had recently received possibly the worst news of his life. Ugh. The damage was done.
But then, just as he was about to pass our car, I noticed the cart slowing and could now see a slight smile on his face. His right arm went up to the 12 o'clock position - his open, waving palm slightly above his head and facing toward us - as he bellowed back in his finest New England brogue: "Thenkkkk youuuuuuuu...." Teddy had spoken. To us! We couldn't have been more excited if it had been a "Close Encounter of whatever...." With Richard Dreyfuss there!
Yes, we had, much to our surprise on this dreary, drab Cape Cod Spring day, made contact. With a superior life-form, no less. No picture but we had just talked to Senator Edward Kennedy! Well, practically.
That day - unlike today - was a very very good day. We proceeded to celebrate our "get" with a tour of everything "Kennedy" in Hyannis (including pics of the compound), followed by seafood and drinks on the water. Today, we're so very sad, yet proud to say, "Teddy, we hardly knew ye but miss you like a best friend." Our thoughts are with you. Rest in peace, dear man.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Is it safe?
Yes, I said those infamous three words. In fact, it happened this morning, prior to my annual teeth cleaning and right after the Dental Hygienist told me I needed x-rays of my "wing teeth."
When did I grow those? Are they part of the middle age trifecta that includes nose hair and ear hair? Fifty-eight years old and never knew that I had wing teeth. What's next, talon toenails?
My guess? Probably a bird-loving children's dentist ("Open wide, Susie. Dr. Harold's going to check the little....er..."wing teeth"...yeah, "wing teeth" there in the back of your mouth..."). And the term stuck!
But, to my original point...without so much as a tiny hesitation, those three infamous words bolted my brain, zoomed past my new wing teeth (that, for the record, were completely stationary) and, before you could say "bicuspid," leapt out of my mouth: "Is it...safe?"
Olivier and Hoffman would have been proud! Check it out, here's the YouTube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dG5Qk-jB0D4
But, frankly, that's where the "Marathon Man" reference ended. Without hesitation, her answer was: "Absolutely safe!"
And then she placed a 65-pound flak jacket over my torso. And ran out of the room.
Of course, as anyone who's visited a dentist in the last 5 years knows, the more important question would have been: "How much is this safe procedure going to cost me?" Talk about scared - the answer to that one usually does make me shiver. But I digress.
The zapping ended quickly (the room became 'absolutely safe,' again) and the main event - the cleaning of the teeth - began. Two thoughts immediately came to mind as the teeth cleaning actually began:
First, why do dental hygienists still use the same archaic, medievel tools that my great grandfather's dentist had? You know, those silver, mini ice picks they use to scrape plaque that's simultaneously stuck to your teeth and gums. For the record, they were designed by the SS in pre-war Germany. Who else would invent such a device?
Second, why hasn't someone given any thought to inventing a plaque remover - a softener of sorts - that would make those gum-hating tools OBSOLETE? Wasn't that part of the stimulus package?
We have other softener 'thingies' out the wazoo: there's skin softeners, hair softeners, root softeners, callous softeners, nail softeners (and hardeners - talk about being conflicted!), mucus softeners, fabric softeners (threw that in to see if you're still paying attention), wart softeners and my all-time, absolute favorite: stool softeners!
Didn't any of those inventors consider plaque softener? "Stool softeners" were higher on that list? Callous softeners, too? Plaque softener sounds like a no-brainer, multi-level pyramid (or, at least a late-night infomercial; Billy Mays, when he was alive, would have been all over that one) waiting to happen. Nothing but money; and a "Nobel Prize" winner for sure.
And don't even get me started on hardeners. Of course, Viagra is the obvious first choice in that category but...oh, never mind, who could top that one (no pun intended).
Anyway, with the gums appropriately picked, scraped, throbbing and sore, the teeth polishing festivities began. For anyone who hasn't had this procedure in awhile, allow me to refresh your memory: MINT BAKING SODA! Again, I ask, does this dental sand-blasting technique represent the best and the brightest of the dental industry?
By the time the polishing hit my lower quadrant I had swallowed more baking soda than you'd find in a seven-layer wedding cake. But, the good news is - and all ' home remedy' people will appreciate this - I won't have to worry about an upset stomach for the rest of my life! To that I say: Yo quiero taco bell! (But, is it safe?)
Monday, August 24, 2009
What are you saying?
For the "zero" of you following my blog and wondering what the hell this is all about, here's a clue: it's August and I'm in the food business. 'Nough said!
As you'll see, if you read any of it, it's a work in progress. So, read it if you like, delete it if you must but if you know anyone else who might enjoy a humorous - maybe even educational - take on random, everyday crap, please pass it on. (Btw, I won't be offended if you consider passing this on to certain people - you know the type - who religiously send the emails that end with: "send this email to ten people in the next five minutes and...." ) I'm not too arrogant to think my blog may, in time, become the PERFECT antidote to get back at this type of, shall we say, "troublesome" emailer. If it's the perfect antidote, so be it. (just make sure you click on a few things before passing it on. And don't send the link to me - that really wouldn't be funny, ok?)
Plus, those troublesome types who like to send broadcast emails of faith, tend to have the type of ocd/add I covet in my future followers. If so, a few shekels can be made and, hey, whatever works is OK with me - I'm a shameless blog promoter now. Not that making money was my motivation for starting a blog but, if you would kindly click on the "Progressive" ad about 5,000 times, I'd really appreciate it. I'm way behind my quota.
Besides, it's not like I'm selling penis enlargers (except for the used one I have posted on Craigslist - let me know if you need that link). And I'm not trying to send you money from Nigeria. I don't even know how to get to Nigeria. Do you? Maybe I'll write about that, tomorrow! Stay tuned!
As you'll see, if you read any of it, it's a work in progress. So, read it if you like, delete it if you must but if you know anyone else who might enjoy a humorous - maybe even educational - take on random, everyday crap, please pass it on. (Btw, I won't be offended if you consider passing this on to certain people - you know the type - who religiously send the emails that end with: "send this email to ten people in the next five minutes and...." ) I'm not too arrogant to think my blog may, in time, become the PERFECT antidote to get back at this type of, shall we say, "troublesome" emailer. If it's the perfect antidote, so be it. (just make sure you click on a few things before passing it on. And don't send the link to me - that really wouldn't be funny, ok?)
Plus, those troublesome types who like to send broadcast emails of faith, tend to have the type of ocd/add I covet in my future followers. If so, a few shekels can be made and, hey, whatever works is OK with me - I'm a shameless blog promoter now. Not that making money was my motivation for starting a blog but, if you would kindly click on the "Progressive" ad about 5,000 times, I'd really appreciate it. I'm way behind my quota.
Besides, it's not like I'm selling penis enlargers (except for the used one I have posted on Craigslist - let me know if you need that link). And I'm not trying to send you money from Nigeria. I don't even know how to get to Nigeria. Do you? Maybe I'll write about that, tomorrow! Stay tuned!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Fact Check Healthcare Reform?
The Sunday morning talk shows just inspired me to pursue a new venture. If you're like me and can't get enough of those verbal slugfests, this is guaranteed to improve the quantity - if not the quality - of future political debates.
We've all heard of the omnipresent "factcheck.org," right? Personally, I've had enough of factcheck.org. This fact-finding/fact-proving website is nothing more than an argument-killer. Ask Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity...or anyone at Fox News.
If you're like me (and Fox News), the last thing you want, when you're arguing anything - especially politics - are the facts. Facts are the modern-day buzz killers of the political food fights we all love to watch - or listen to - every day. So, on behalf of political junkies everywhere, I'm officially announcing the creation of my new website: www.facts-schmacts-check.org.
How does it work? I'll explain by example. Unless you live under the proverbial "rock," you know that health care reform is being debated on television and radio (am,fm and my personal favorite, SiriusXM), constantly. Every one of them features talk shows which fan the fires of debate on this timely issue.
While both parties agree we need reform, one believes we need a "public option" while the other side says, "...wait a minute... we don't agree with what those guys said! What was it they said?"
"Ok", they say (reluctantly) "maybe we need health care reform but we all need green beer on St. Patrick's day and not all of us have access to that either, right?" And the reason we're arguing is because our opponents say 47 million people in this country lack health insurance." "We don't agree!" (Sound familiar?)
That's exactly what's happened in past televised debates. Plus, after hearing "we don't agree..." someone would bring up - you guessed it - factcheck.org.!" Those scalawags! Aha, but that's all about to change...
In fact, just this morning Sen. Orrin Hatch (btw, have you ever met anyone named "Orrin?" Who names their son"Orrin?") said (allow me to paraphrase) that while 47 million people "may be" uninsured, 12 million are "illegal aliens" and 11 million are young adults who think they don't need it (just unlimited text messaging); 10 million decide they don't want it (just because...they want their country back first) and 9 million don't know how to sign up for it.
Finally, 4,999,998 are going to move to France, anyway. So, according to his astute calculations and knowledge of the facts, this whole debate and reform is really about two (2) uninsured individuals in Jackson, Wyoming! (Hey, Cheney...did you let your policy lapse?)
I say, "Well done, Senator!" And where did the good Senator get his information? Where else? At "our" favorite new website on the Internets: www.facts-schmacts-check.org!
We've all heard of the omnipresent "factcheck.org," right? Personally, I've had enough of factcheck.org. This fact-finding/fact-proving website is nothing more than an argument-killer. Ask Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity...or anyone at Fox News.
If you're like me (and Fox News), the last thing you want, when you're arguing anything - especially politics - are the facts. Facts are the modern-day buzz killers of the political food fights we all love to watch - or listen to - every day. So, on behalf of political junkies everywhere, I'm officially announcing the creation of my new website: www.facts-schmacts-check.org.
How does it work? I'll explain by example. Unless you live under the proverbial "rock," you know that health care reform is being debated on television and radio (am,fm and my personal favorite, SiriusXM), constantly. Every one of them features talk shows which fan the fires of debate on this timely issue.
While both parties agree we need reform, one believes we need a "public option" while the other side says, "...wait a minute... we don't agree with what those guys said! What was it they said?"
"Ok", they say (reluctantly) "maybe we need health care reform but we all need green beer on St. Patrick's day and not all of us have access to that either, right?" And the reason we're arguing is because our opponents say 47 million people in this country lack health insurance." "We don't agree!" (Sound familiar?)
That's exactly what's happened in past televised debates. Plus, after hearing "we don't agree..." someone would bring up - you guessed it - factcheck.org.!" Those scalawags! Aha, but that's all about to change...
In fact, just this morning Sen. Orrin Hatch (btw, have you ever met anyone named "Orrin?" Who names their son"Orrin?") said (allow me to paraphrase) that while 47 million people "may be" uninsured, 12 million are "illegal aliens" and 11 million are young adults who think they don't need it (just unlimited text messaging); 10 million decide they don't want it (just because...they want their country back first) and 9 million don't know how to sign up for it.
Finally, 4,999,998 are going to move to France, anyway. So, according to his astute calculations and knowledge of the facts, this whole debate and reform is really about two (2) uninsured individuals in Jackson, Wyoming! (Hey, Cheney...did you let your policy lapse?)
I say, "Well done, Senator!" And where did the good Senator get his information? Where else? At "our" favorite new website on the Internets: www.facts-schmacts-check.org!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Get ready to laugh
Is that the worst 'blog title' ever? You'd think someone starting a blog titled "Funny Stuff" would be a little more creative. I know. I'm Mr."Funny Stuff" and, if nothing else, I think it probably sounds a bit presumptuous. Believe me, I understand. And no comedian I've ever seen has started his/her act by saying "Get ready to laugh." They might as well say: "I'm not funny and I don't have a clue about how to make you laugh..."
But , as I'm about to prove once and for all, I'm no comedian and before you do think I'm one of THOSE, let me explain the genesis of all this. This blog isn't an homage to stand-up comedy. It's (hopefully) a tribute to someone I recently discovered was VERY funny: Julia Child! That's right, we went to see her movie thinking "...oh, boy, some real food porn..." and ended up laughing (out loud - when was the last time you did that at a movie?)for 2+ hours. Julia Child was a FUNNY person who loved life, loved people, loved to laugh and also happened to be a great cook! There are also little nods to Andy Rooney, Gail Collins and even the great Dave Barry (sorry, Dave).
Being in the food business, I thought about writing some form of food blog. But does cyberspace really need the 567,148th person writing something else about who-knows-what food and how it's "good for you" or "bad for you" and "...this sauce or that sauce, blah, blah, blah, blah"? I don't think so.
On the other hand, laughter's a very precious commodity these days. Just ask (or watch) the people who've attended those town halls we've been watching on TV. Or catch an episode of "Maury." Not many 'low blood pressure' people - or laughs - in those crowds. Paternity suits and screaming about Hitler? Yes! Laughing? No, not really.
I'd like to, in some small way, change that. In fact, scientists have concluded that laughter existed over 10 million years ago. Long before food as we know it - or the Carnegie Deli - even existed. Just ask Carl Reiner or Mel Brooks (they were there, no?). So, laughter trumps food - age before beauty, so to speak.
Finally, since laughter is a favorite activity of mine it won't matter if anyone ever reads this blog
(Anyone think that's possible? Please write and I'll stop now!). No, not really, because if nothing else, I'll enjoy a laugh every day.
Well, that's the plan. So, if you'll indulge me, rather than try and duplicate Julia Child's five hundred and forty-something recipes like what's-her-name did, I'm going to simply try to point out a funny "tidbit or two" every day for a year. A quick, humorous, daily look at the human condition. Nothing mean and certainly nothing stupid like: "A Priest, a Rabbi and a Minister walk into a bar..." Oh, you've heard that one? See, we don't need any more of those (but, if it helps, pass this on to the guy who sits in the next cubicle in your office - maybe he'll get that message too!).
But I digress....finally, if I write something you think is funny, please let me know. And feel free to add something you think is funny, too. Remember the old Coke commercial (I'd like to teach the world to sing....")? If you do, you'll have a sense of where I'm headed with this. I'd like to teach the world to laugh (more) every day. Think of this as the ultimate existential vitamin, if you will. How bad could that be? Don't ask....
But , as I'm about to prove once and for all, I'm no comedian and before you do think I'm one of THOSE, let me explain the genesis of all this. This blog isn't an homage to stand-up comedy. It's (hopefully) a tribute to someone I recently discovered was VERY funny: Julia Child! That's right, we went to see her movie thinking "...oh, boy, some real food porn..." and ended up laughing (out loud - when was the last time you did that at a movie?)for 2+ hours. Julia Child was a FUNNY person who loved life, loved people, loved to laugh and also happened to be a great cook! There are also little nods to Andy Rooney, Gail Collins and even the great Dave Barry (sorry, Dave).
Being in the food business, I thought about writing some form of food blog. But does cyberspace really need the 567,148th person writing something else about who-knows-what food and how it's "good for you" or "bad for you" and "...this sauce or that sauce, blah, blah, blah, blah"? I don't think so.
On the other hand, laughter's a very precious commodity these days. Just ask (or watch) the people who've attended those town halls we've been watching on TV. Or catch an episode of "Maury." Not many 'low blood pressure' people - or laughs - in those crowds. Paternity suits and screaming about Hitler? Yes! Laughing? No, not really.
I'd like to, in some small way, change that. In fact, scientists have concluded that laughter existed over 10 million years ago. Long before food as we know it - or the Carnegie Deli - even existed. Just ask Carl Reiner or Mel Brooks (they were there, no?). So, laughter trumps food - age before beauty, so to speak.
Finally, since laughter is a favorite activity of mine it won't matter if anyone ever reads this blog
(Anyone think that's possible? Please write and I'll stop now!). No, not really, because if nothing else, I'll enjoy a laugh every day.
Well, that's the plan. So, if you'll indulge me, rather than try and duplicate Julia Child's five hundred and forty-something recipes like what's-her-name did, I'm going to simply try to point out a funny "tidbit or two" every day for a year. A quick, humorous, daily look at the human condition. Nothing mean and certainly nothing stupid like: "A Priest, a Rabbi and a Minister walk into a bar..." Oh, you've heard that one? See, we don't need any more of those (but, if it helps, pass this on to the guy who sits in the next cubicle in your office - maybe he'll get that message too!).
But I digress....finally, if I write something you think is funny, please let me know. And feel free to add something you think is funny, too. Remember the old Coke commercial (I'd like to teach the world to sing....")? If you do, you'll have a sense of where I'm headed with this. I'd like to teach the world to laugh (more) every day. Think of this as the ultimate existential vitamin, if you will. How bad could that be? Don't ask....
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