Not so much a regular column today but rather just a few musings I felt like sharing. I know, I know – and break from the usual coherent stream of logic?
— I think my crusade for making people return their shopping carts to the proper locale is gaining steam. The other day, I was able to eye someone across a parking lot who was clearly considering abandoning it in a perfectly good spot. Sensing my stare-down, she went and ahead and took the cart the extra 20 feet to the corral. Success through stinkeye.
— I read a column by P.J. O’Rourke recently, and one part resonated with me. In regard to the world being fair, O’Rourke wrote: “I’ve got a 10-year-old at home. She’s always saying, ‘That’s not fair.’ When she says this, I say, ‘Honey, you’re cute. That’s not fair. Your family is pretty well off. That’s not fair. You were born in America. That’s not fair. Darling, you had better pray to God that things don’t start getting fair for you.’”
If you are a parent, prepare to paraphrase that 43 billion times a week.
— Yes, it is hot. It’s the summer. We live in the South. And I have bad news for you: My grandmother, who lived through eight decades in the South, once confided in me a secret: You never get used to it. Ever. That’s why God invented air conditioning.
— A neti pot is one of the grossest things I have ever seen. And, I have to admit, one of the most awesome. For those of you not familiar, Google it. As someone who has some of the worst sinuses on the planet, I’m willing to try anything. While it’s not something I suggest breaking out at the dinner table during a first date, if you’ve considered using one, take the plunge. After the date, of course.
— My son added to his bite list. When a carpenter ant got hold of him the other day, he was quite proud. Between bites and stings, he has been tagged by a yellow jacket, a hornet, a wolf spider, four snakes, a lizard, a dog, an alligator and an Allie. (The spider and Allie bites were in self-defense.) I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry: Only the lizard and alligator were voluntary.
— My children are at the age where they hear EVERYTHING Mommy and Daddy say. We certainly try to set a good example but, as I argued to my wife, I maintain that I was perfectly justified the other day in the car when I said, “Yes, ‘stupid’ is not a nice word. But sometimes, grown-ups have no choice but to ask out loud, ‘What are you, stupid?’ This is often said to someone who stops for a green light.” My wife says I am teaching them road rage. I don’t think she meant that as a compliment.
— Wendy’s should be the model of setting up a fast-food line. Building on the brilliance of Disney’s line-standing strategies, Wendy’s has queue lines. I cannot stand when there is just a chaotic blob of people milling around, hoping to dart into the next available spot. And you always have that one person who is acting like Rickey Henderson, looking to spring into the first available spot before anyone notices. Queue lines cure the Ricky Hendersons.
— My daughter was being pestered by her brother the other day and complained to me about it. I told her to go into a different room. She said that he was being the pest, so why did she have to leave? I explained to her that he was a little brother and that’s what little brothers do. They annoy big sisters. The best defense mechanism is to lock yourself in a little brother-proof room. Trust me, I said, I know – I have three older sisters. Allie said, “But Daddy, you didn’t do that to my aunts when you were a kid, did you?” My sisters and I had a good chuckle over that one.
— Quite a few readers have remarked on the frozen T-shirt column from a few weeks back. And the verdict is split on whether I cheated in the competition. Since it was not unanimous, clearly there was a reasonable doubt, and I therefore declare myself not guilty.
Well, I guess that is all for today. And remember to enjoy your life. It’s quite unfair. Fortunately.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Check it out
By my estimate, there were two of us who should have been in line. Everyone else should have been … elsewhere.
It was a Sunday at 1:40 p.m., and I ran to the store to pick up a few items. When I entered, I was amazed to see every open register line 10 deep with people. Apparently, the store was having a super-duper sale on some stuff, and everyone had flooded the place to get a hold of great deals.
I grabbed my two items and found the line that was the least brutal looking. There was a guy in front of me, looking as exasperated as I felt. “I’m not really sure why all of these people had to be here RIGHT at 1:30 p.m.,” I said.
“The sale,” he said, holding up a flyer.
I looked around the store. There were still plenty of sale items left. The 1-cent folders? Enough to crush a buffalo. The erasers? You could make a life raft out of what was left. There was no need to have clogged the arteries of the store.
He turned to me and asked a fair question: “So why are you here then?”
I gave him my answer: Kit Kittredge. He stared at me and probably considered moving to a different line. I explained that I was getting a printer cartridge for something my wife had to print that afternoon. My wife was taking my daughter to see “Kit Kittredge: An American Girl,” and it started at 2:45 p.m. I had to get the cartridge ASAP.
He nodded, giving his approval for my being there. “What about you?” I asked.
“I’m not from here. I’ve been waiting since 10:30 a.m.” Ah, a blue law casualty. (Granted, he could have killed the time by going to a grocery store, grabbing a six-pack, a lottery ticket and a carton of smokes. That should have kept him busy until he was able to buy … a stapler.)
Anywho, as we surveyed the crowd, we both came to the conclusion that we were probably some of the few shoppers who had a justifiable reason to be there at that time. I was working on a deadline, and he had just been paroled from blue law prison. Everyone else? Just snapping up a Trapper Keeper.
That’s when we decided stores should have the Expedited Shopping Lanes. First, you go to a store mediator and present your case as to whether or not you should get to go to a speed line. It’s sort of the carpool line of checkouts. For example:
MEDIATOR: State your case.
SHOPPER 1: My daughter’s hair bow just broke, and her dance recital is in 15 minutes.
MEDIATOR: Approved. Next.
SHOPPER 2: I figured I’d stock up on these 10 for $10 jars of relish, since I was out and about.
MEDIATOR: DENIED! To the long line.
Now, to any of you who were in that line the other day, I am doing this for your own health. There is no need to stampede a store right when it opens just to get a good deal on school supplies. (A) They aren’t going to run out. (B) If they do, and you have to pay about a dollar more, ask yourself what your time is worth. Personally, I’ll gladly pay a little extra to avoid having to stand in a long line or lock horns with a mom over the last Spider-Man backpack. On a similar note, I remember years ago when my wife took me out people-watching on the day after Thanksgiving. We were in a mall in Florida, and we walked passed a toy store having sales of up to 25 percent off. A line snaked around the store and out into the mall. There, at the back of the line, probably an hour away from checking out, was a woman holding a Monopoly game. I don’t know about you, but I’m not standing in line for an hour to save $4, especially to buy a game that is federally required to be in every game cabinet in America.
While the day may never come when my brilliant idea is embraced by the masses, I will keep a glimmer of hope alive. Until that day comes, however, I know one thing is certain: I’ll just avoid Sunday matinees.
It was a Sunday at 1:40 p.m., and I ran to the store to pick up a few items. When I entered, I was amazed to see every open register line 10 deep with people. Apparently, the store was having a super-duper sale on some stuff, and everyone had flooded the place to get a hold of great deals.
I grabbed my two items and found the line that was the least brutal looking. There was a guy in front of me, looking as exasperated as I felt. “I’m not really sure why all of these people had to be here RIGHT at 1:30 p.m.,” I said.
“The sale,” he said, holding up a flyer.
I looked around the store. There were still plenty of sale items left. The 1-cent folders? Enough to crush a buffalo. The erasers? You could make a life raft out of what was left. There was no need to have clogged the arteries of the store.
He turned to me and asked a fair question: “So why are you here then?”
I gave him my answer: Kit Kittredge. He stared at me and probably considered moving to a different line. I explained that I was getting a printer cartridge for something my wife had to print that afternoon. My wife was taking my daughter to see “Kit Kittredge: An American Girl,” and it started at 2:45 p.m. I had to get the cartridge ASAP.
He nodded, giving his approval for my being there. “What about you?” I asked.
“I’m not from here. I’ve been waiting since 10:30 a.m.” Ah, a blue law casualty. (Granted, he could have killed the time by going to a grocery store, grabbing a six-pack, a lottery ticket and a carton of smokes. That should have kept him busy until he was able to buy … a stapler.)
Anywho, as we surveyed the crowd, we both came to the conclusion that we were probably some of the few shoppers who had a justifiable reason to be there at that time. I was working on a deadline, and he had just been paroled from blue law prison. Everyone else? Just snapping up a Trapper Keeper.
That’s when we decided stores should have the Expedited Shopping Lanes. First, you go to a store mediator and present your case as to whether or not you should get to go to a speed line. It’s sort of the carpool line of checkouts. For example:
MEDIATOR: State your case.
SHOPPER 1: My daughter’s hair bow just broke, and her dance recital is in 15 minutes.
MEDIATOR: Approved. Next.
SHOPPER 2: I figured I’d stock up on these 10 for $10 jars of relish, since I was out and about.
MEDIATOR: DENIED! To the long line.
Now, to any of you who were in that line the other day, I am doing this for your own health. There is no need to stampede a store right when it opens just to get a good deal on school supplies. (A) They aren’t going to run out. (B) If they do, and you have to pay about a dollar more, ask yourself what your time is worth. Personally, I’ll gladly pay a little extra to avoid having to stand in a long line or lock horns with a mom over the last Spider-Man backpack. On a similar note, I remember years ago when my wife took me out people-watching on the day after Thanksgiving. We were in a mall in Florida, and we walked passed a toy store having sales of up to 25 percent off. A line snaked around the store and out into the mall. There, at the back of the line, probably an hour away from checking out, was a woman holding a Monopoly game. I don’t know about you, but I’m not standing in line for an hour to save $4, especially to buy a game that is federally required to be in every game cabinet in America.
While the day may never come when my brilliant idea is embraced by the masses, I will keep a glimmer of hope alive. Until that day comes, however, I know one thing is certain: I’ll just avoid Sunday matinees.
Monday, July 14, 2008
I sawed that
It’s the same predicament you’ve all been in – standing on the top of the roof, chain saw-on-a-stick in hand, when you pull the extension cord and knock over the gas can right where the kids are drawing with their chalk.
Really? Just me? Hmm.
It happened the other day when I decided to break my sworn vow to stay away from ladders and chain saws. But I had noticed that a few limbs had grown to the point where they reached the roof-line and, in some instances, were leaning against Parker’s window, meaning when the wind would blow it sounded like badgers were trying to get in.
So I decided to cut them down. I retrieved my chain saw-on-a-stick, affectionately known around the neighborhood as the “bad idea on a stick.” Some of you may recall that I swore off chain saws and ladders last year after nearly killing myself by cutting the tree that my ladder was leaning against. I am skilled that way.
But, a year later, I guess I assumed I was somehow immune to that kind of foolishness. Also my wife was inside and couldn’t see what I was doing and therefore could not stop me.
So I put the ladder up on the tree and headed on up. I was about 12 feet up, and the pole extended out about six feet. At this height, if I jumped I might be able to trim a little of the branch before I crashed to the ground. Even I knew that was a bad idea.
I surveyed my options. The easiest way to get to the limbs would be to get on the rooftop. While I am not scared of heights, I am very much afraid of falling off my second-story roof, which has a pitch at about 80 degrees by my estimate. The next best option would be the roof over the front porch. I would be able to climb up there and extend the saw to my side, trimming the limbs. No sweat.
I perched the ladder up against the house and began my ascent. My wife’s special “My Husband’s an Idiot” sense kicked in and she came outside. I got to the top of the roof and was standing there, straddling the peak. I extended the chain saw and fired it up. It breezed through the first branch, which crashed into the bushes below. Awesome. Perfection. For a second.
The next branch was a little farther away, and I figured I needed a little more extension cord. I gave the cord a quick tug. Little did I know the cord was behind the gas can, which I had failed to put up after gassing up the mower. The cord hit the can, tipping it over, spilling some gas on the driveway. My wife said, “MICHAEL!!!!” And she has mastered numerous inflections to my name, where all she has to say is “MICHAEL!!!” and I will immediately say, “Gas? Where?” (Other “MICHAEL!!!!” calls result in such diverse responses as “I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at … something behind her” and “But he needs to learn how to use an ax at some point!”)
I looked down and saw the can on its side. It then occurred to me – I am standing on a roof with a chain saw-on-a-stick. I am not really in first responder mode. “Uh, I don’t really think I’m in a position to help right now.”
My wife agreed that she would have two big messes to clean up if I tried to hustle down to our little chemical spill, and instead opted to stand the can upright and move the kids to a different slab of concrete. There wasn’t much spilled, so she and a neighbor were able to serve as warning tape until it evaporated.
Eventually, I was able to finish my trimming without causing any more hazardous situations, on the ground or the roof. I even managed to get off the roof without a hitch. In fact, aside from the gasoline spill, I’d say it was one of the more successful chain saw-on-a-stick plus ladder days I’ve ever had. I should do them more often.
I have a hunch my wife’s special sense just kicked on.
Really? Just me? Hmm.
It happened the other day when I decided to break my sworn vow to stay away from ladders and chain saws. But I had noticed that a few limbs had grown to the point where they reached the roof-line and, in some instances, were leaning against Parker’s window, meaning when the wind would blow it sounded like badgers were trying to get in.
So I decided to cut them down. I retrieved my chain saw-on-a-stick, affectionately known around the neighborhood as the “bad idea on a stick.” Some of you may recall that I swore off chain saws and ladders last year after nearly killing myself by cutting the tree that my ladder was leaning against. I am skilled that way.
But, a year later, I guess I assumed I was somehow immune to that kind of foolishness. Also my wife was inside and couldn’t see what I was doing and therefore could not stop me.
So I put the ladder up on the tree and headed on up. I was about 12 feet up, and the pole extended out about six feet. At this height, if I jumped I might be able to trim a little of the branch before I crashed to the ground. Even I knew that was a bad idea.
I surveyed my options. The easiest way to get to the limbs would be to get on the rooftop. While I am not scared of heights, I am very much afraid of falling off my second-story roof, which has a pitch at about 80 degrees by my estimate. The next best option would be the roof over the front porch. I would be able to climb up there and extend the saw to my side, trimming the limbs. No sweat.
I perched the ladder up against the house and began my ascent. My wife’s special “My Husband’s an Idiot” sense kicked in and she came outside. I got to the top of the roof and was standing there, straddling the peak. I extended the chain saw and fired it up. It breezed through the first branch, which crashed into the bushes below. Awesome. Perfection. For a second.
The next branch was a little farther away, and I figured I needed a little more extension cord. I gave the cord a quick tug. Little did I know the cord was behind the gas can, which I had failed to put up after gassing up the mower. The cord hit the can, tipping it over, spilling some gas on the driveway. My wife said, “MICHAEL!!!!” And she has mastered numerous inflections to my name, where all she has to say is “MICHAEL!!!” and I will immediately say, “Gas? Where?” (Other “MICHAEL!!!!” calls result in such diverse responses as “I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at … something behind her” and “But he needs to learn how to use an ax at some point!”)
I looked down and saw the can on its side. It then occurred to me – I am standing on a roof with a chain saw-on-a-stick. I am not really in first responder mode. “Uh, I don’t really think I’m in a position to help right now.”
My wife agreed that she would have two big messes to clean up if I tried to hustle down to our little chemical spill, and instead opted to stand the can upright and move the kids to a different slab of concrete. There wasn’t much spilled, so she and a neighbor were able to serve as warning tape until it evaporated.
Eventually, I was able to finish my trimming without causing any more hazardous situations, on the ground or the roof. I even managed to get off the roof without a hitch. In fact, aside from the gasoline spill, I’d say it was one of the more successful chain saw-on-a-stick plus ladder days I’ve ever had. I should do them more often.
I have a hunch my wife’s special sense just kicked on.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
WALL-E to WALL-E fun
It’s always nice to have something of a reward to hang over the kids in exchange for good behavior. My latest was a trip to see the new Pixar movie, WALL-E. (Rewards such as “dinner” and “getting to sleep inside” no longer have the shine.) So the kids were golden throughout the day, as they were jazzed to see the movie. And I know some of you say that being good should be its own reward, and that children should not be bribed for good behavior. To that I say: HA! Good stuff, there.
Anyway, we bought tickets online, which was a first for me. I lag behind lots of things in terms of online convenience. Back when I was in charge of household finances, I wrote checks for every bill, some of them even on time. My wife saw this as a less than ideal way to manage your budget/keep the electricity on, so she opted to do most of our banking online. Should my wife decide to run off to Tahiti, it will be only a matter of time until creditors descend on me, as I will have no clue when/how/where to pay any bills.
When we got to the theater, I was glad that I had ventured into the online world, as I saw person after person being turned away at the box office. I overheard this conversation:
PATRON: Two tickets to WALL-E.
BOX OFFICE: It’s sold out.
PATRON: Sold out?
BOX OFFICE: Sold out.
PATRON: Completely?
At this point, I mentally awarded the Medal of Restraint to the box office worker who simply nodded, rather than saying, “No, it’s sold out, but not completely sold out. It’s just a ruse to trick those who are not clever enough to ask.”
When we got in the theater, I had to do some serious strategic planning. There were quite a few issues at play:
-- The movie was sold out, meaning we had to scramble to find three seats together
-- Concessions were a must
-- Parker was doing an interesting little dance/hop, which meant somebody needed to get to the bathroom quickly.
Fortunately, both kids are at the age where they are a little more independent and responsible. It’s nice to get to the point where you don’t have to actually stand in the stall when your child is going to the restroom, doing that over-the-top conversation that lets other people know that you are a perfectly normal adult standing in a stall talking about potty time. It also helps to know that you can have your eyes off of your kids for three seconds and know that they will not, say, eat a rock.
Because of these two developmental milestones, I was able to put Allie at our seats while Parker went to the restroom and I stood in line at the concession stand. I am still somewhat paranoid, and did make a point of standing where I could see our seats and the bathroom door. I probably looked like someone with a nervous tic, or perhaps someone watching a tennis match, as I swiveled my head back and forth to keep an eye on things.
When Parker was done, he came to assist me at the concession stand. After explaining to him where his college fund went (“You HAD to add Skittles...”), we settled into our seats. Parker, showing the gentle sensitivity of a child, announced, “That man’s head is big. Can I sit in your lap?”
After moving away from Mr. Big Head, we were settled in. One nice thing about going to a Saturday matinee of a G-rated movie is that you are surrounded by families, and people understand that it is not exactly a quiet zone. While you don’t want it to turn into a Chuck E Cheez, some chattering will go on. Actually, truth of the matter is, the most common thing you hear during a movie is the parents talking to their kids, saying “SHHH!!!!” and “Stop talking!!!” and “You have to pee again!?!!?”
The movie itself was fantastic. I rank it was my new favorite Pixar movie (booting the first-place tie between Finding Nemo and Monsters, Inc.) and one of the best films I have seen in a long time. While kids can certainly enjoy it, it’s just a beautifully done movie that any fan of film will enjoy. In fact, I found it so entertaining, I may take the kids to see it again. If they behave.
Anyway, we bought tickets online, which was a first for me. I lag behind lots of things in terms of online convenience. Back when I was in charge of household finances, I wrote checks for every bill, some of them even on time. My wife saw this as a less than ideal way to manage your budget/keep the electricity on, so she opted to do most of our banking online. Should my wife decide to run off to Tahiti, it will be only a matter of time until creditors descend on me, as I will have no clue when/how/where to pay any bills.
When we got to the theater, I was glad that I had ventured into the online world, as I saw person after person being turned away at the box office. I overheard this conversation:
PATRON: Two tickets to WALL-E.
BOX OFFICE: It’s sold out.
PATRON: Sold out?
BOX OFFICE: Sold out.
PATRON: Completely?
At this point, I mentally awarded the Medal of Restraint to the box office worker who simply nodded, rather than saying, “No, it’s sold out, but not completely sold out. It’s just a ruse to trick those who are not clever enough to ask.”
When we got in the theater, I had to do some serious strategic planning. There were quite a few issues at play:
-- The movie was sold out, meaning we had to scramble to find three seats together
-- Concessions were a must
-- Parker was doing an interesting little dance/hop, which meant somebody needed to get to the bathroom quickly.
Fortunately, both kids are at the age where they are a little more independent and responsible. It’s nice to get to the point where you don’t have to actually stand in the stall when your child is going to the restroom, doing that over-the-top conversation that lets other people know that you are a perfectly normal adult standing in a stall talking about potty time. It also helps to know that you can have your eyes off of your kids for three seconds and know that they will not, say, eat a rock.
Because of these two developmental milestones, I was able to put Allie at our seats while Parker went to the restroom and I stood in line at the concession stand. I am still somewhat paranoid, and did make a point of standing where I could see our seats and the bathroom door. I probably looked like someone with a nervous tic, or perhaps someone watching a tennis match, as I swiveled my head back and forth to keep an eye on things.
When Parker was done, he came to assist me at the concession stand. After explaining to him where his college fund went (“You HAD to add Skittles...”), we settled into our seats. Parker, showing the gentle sensitivity of a child, announced, “That man’s head is big. Can I sit in your lap?”
After moving away from Mr. Big Head, we were settled in. One nice thing about going to a Saturday matinee of a G-rated movie is that you are surrounded by families, and people understand that it is not exactly a quiet zone. While you don’t want it to turn into a Chuck E Cheez, some chattering will go on. Actually, truth of the matter is, the most common thing you hear during a movie is the parents talking to their kids, saying “SHHH!!!!” and “Stop talking!!!” and “You have to pee again!?!!?”
The movie itself was fantastic. I rank it was my new favorite Pixar movie (booting the first-place tie between Finding Nemo and Monsters, Inc.) and one of the best films I have seen in a long time. While kids can certainly enjoy it, it’s just a beautifully done movie that any fan of film will enjoy. In fact, I found it so entertaining, I may take the kids to see it again. If they behave.
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