Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. The word touché is a difficult word to master when growing up. Countless times my thirteen year old daughter has attempted to use the word and has never really gotten it right any of those times. Unfortunately I have found the word and its use difficult to explain in a fashion that she would understand. However, life presented Jimmy with the perfect teaching moment.
My teenager started teasing me that I wasn’t the brightest individual that ever walked the earth and she decided to toss out the word touché incorrectly once again as a means to punctuate her argument… However, as a typical teenager might do, she got overly excited about some perceived mistake by a parent and in doing so, she managed to get the facts wrong. I reminded her not to jump to conclusions and I recited the unknown details behind the story as proof of her incorrect assumption and mentioned to her that it might be better to be a bit more humble in the future rather than blindly think she was correct on everything. Then I tried to explain the appropriate use of the word touché for that last particular instance as it didn’t fit the intended purpose at all.
After some more back and forth banter on the subject, I returned the tease as she wasn’t getting any of my explanations, “Honey… you know the problem with ignorance?”
In a typical teenager rant she replied, “No… what dad?”
“The problem with ignorance is not knowing when you have it.”
Without thinking, my daughter quickly added, “Oh… I have it!” and she nodded her head vigorously to affirm her point.
I chuckled for a moment before responding, “Yes you do and after I tell you what ignorance means… that might be a really good time for you to say… ‘Touché Dad’… as then you would be using it correctly.”
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
The Christmas Tradition Jimmy Takes No Part in Following
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Every Christmas Jimmy remembers one family tradition that he will not partake. My in-laws have fond memories of the old country… Norway in particular and they are compelled to save every bow and scrap of wrapping paper to be used again the following year… and forward into perpetuity. I am not sure of the origin of this tradition, but they have been carrying on this Depression era tactic since will before the Depression. By now they have it down to a science and to aid in the recovery process, they hand out the favorite tool of choice… a steak knife… to help every person slice open the well taped edges.
During first year of my indoctrination into this family tradition, I accepted the tool… err weapon, and used it with a mild amount of success. I was definitely not to the level of proficiency that this family had attained, but I was well on my way to meeting the minimum wrapping paper yield expectations… until that fateful moment.
For some inexplicable reason, Jimmy failed to remember where he placed the steak knife when he got confused during the complex gift opening process. That may sound odd, but there are several well established rules that are followed to maintain civility as each person is expected to embrace the time honored procedures of gift opening order. At that exact moment of confusion, a person handed me a gift from under the tree and in a polite manner, I decided to stand up and reach for the gift… meeting them part way.
As I plopped back down onto the couch (the exact middle - between two cushions since I had not yet attained a level of seniority to be seated in an actual chair), I then remembered where the knife had been placed. It was positioned right in the slot of the two cushions… the point of a perfect knife holder… straight up that is… serrated edge situated for the most damage. I looked down to see a silver blade positioned less than an inch away from… well let’s just say children might not have been in Jimmy’s future.
Now in a new Christmas tradition, every year we relive that moment and I politely shake my head when asked if I would like to take a knife this year.
During that fateful Christmas year, Jimmy made an early decision that he would gladly chop down an Amazon rain forest to produce brand new wrapping paper rather than slice open a useful body part. Just say no to knives.
During first year of my indoctrination into this family tradition, I accepted the tool… err weapon, and used it with a mild amount of success. I was definitely not to the level of proficiency that this family had attained, but I was well on my way to meeting the minimum wrapping paper yield expectations… until that fateful moment.
For some inexplicable reason, Jimmy failed to remember where he placed the steak knife when he got confused during the complex gift opening process. That may sound odd, but there are several well established rules that are followed to maintain civility as each person is expected to embrace the time honored procedures of gift opening order. At that exact moment of confusion, a person handed me a gift from under the tree and in a polite manner, I decided to stand up and reach for the gift… meeting them part way.
As I plopped back down onto the couch (the exact middle - between two cushions since I had not yet attained a level of seniority to be seated in an actual chair), I then remembered where the knife had been placed. It was positioned right in the slot of the two cushions… the point of a perfect knife holder… straight up that is… serrated edge situated for the most damage. I looked down to see a silver blade positioned less than an inch away from… well let’s just say children might not have been in Jimmy’s future.
Now in a new Christmas tradition, every year we relive that moment and I politely shake my head when asked if I would like to take a knife this year.
During that fateful Christmas year, Jimmy made an early decision that he would gladly chop down an Amazon rain forest to produce brand new wrapping paper rather than slice open a useful body part. Just say no to knives.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Jimmy’s Concussion
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Jimmy may have had a concussion… though I am not sure. Don’t worry as everything is functioning… I think. Of course this happened three years ago so I really should know by now. It happened while I was waiting to make a left turn on a busy highway – speed limit 55 mph. I had to wait to let a long line of cars pass when a car of three inattentive teenagers raced up behind me. Luckily when I realized the approaching car would not be able to stop in time I had a few seconds to consider my options.
Most people would’ve said “Oh Shit…” but not Jimmy. The physics of the situation came under consideration as the equation mv1 = mv2 raced through my brain. It’s been a while since school, but the force of the equation calculates that mass and velocity of one vehicle creates a momentum equal to… oh - sorry about that – this isn’t a science lecture… I guess “Oh shit” is easier to understand as I then tried to accelerate my vehicle to minimize the impact.
The results: Three teenagers in the hospital, one with a broken leg and the force of the impact created a fire in their vehicle. Jimmy walked away with a large lump on the noggin minus a backend on the SUV.
Then it gets interesting. The EMT’s pulled Jimmy into the ambulance and started asking questions to see if he comprehended the events. After several questions, they were leaning toward an overnight observation in the hospital, to which Jimmy strenuously objected because he had a boat load of meetings the next day he had to attend.
Somehow I talked my way out of the hospital stay with the standard AMA (Against Medical Advice). The EMT's said they would relent, but on one condition… Then in the exact words of the EMT he stated, “... only if you have your wife arouse you once every hour.”
Now Jimmy knows a good deal when he hears one, so I immediately scramble out of the ambulance knowing this would be a pretty good night. As I relayed the medical treatment to my wife, she considered the situation and then asked to see the documented proof before consenting to the advice of the not so brilliant EMT’s.
I guess Jimmy did have a concussion or I would never have left the ambulance without having that damn EMT write that treatment down.
Most people would’ve said “Oh Shit…” but not Jimmy. The physics of the situation came under consideration as the equation mv1 = mv2 raced through my brain. It’s been a while since school, but the force of the equation calculates that mass and velocity of one vehicle creates a momentum equal to… oh - sorry about that – this isn’t a science lecture… I guess “Oh shit” is easier to understand as I then tried to accelerate my vehicle to minimize the impact.
The results: Three teenagers in the hospital, one with a broken leg and the force of the impact created a fire in their vehicle. Jimmy walked away with a large lump on the noggin minus a backend on the SUV.Then it gets interesting. The EMT’s pulled Jimmy into the ambulance and started asking questions to see if he comprehended the events. After several questions, they were leaning toward an overnight observation in the hospital, to which Jimmy strenuously objected because he had a boat load of meetings the next day he had to attend.
Somehow I talked my way out of the hospital stay with the standard AMA (Against Medical Advice). The EMT's said they would relent, but on one condition… Then in the exact words of the EMT he stated, “... only if you have your wife arouse you once every hour.”
Now Jimmy knows a good deal when he hears one, so I immediately scramble out of the ambulance knowing this would be a pretty good night. As I relayed the medical treatment to my wife, she considered the situation and then asked to see the documented proof before consenting to the advice of the not so brilliant EMT’s.
I guess Jimmy did have a concussion or I would never have left the ambulance without having that damn EMT write that treatment down.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Guesses, Damn Guesses, and Statistics
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. I need to tell an old story from a few years ago (I mean decades ago)… only because I want to. Many years ago, a tradition at work was to gather everyone for coffee on birthdays. The birthday honoree would secretly pick a number between one and a thousand. Each person in the group would guess the number and the honoree would say higher or lower as each successive guesser had to bracket within the last two guessed numbers. This would continue in a circle until the damned guesser would zero in on the number and once selected, the damned guesser would buy coffee for the entire group of participants in honor of the birthday person. For those that don’t understand the math above (that would be half of my followers in this case… sorry honey), it was not a good thing to guess the number. To explain it in simple English – don’t guess the number.
Well, on one particular birthday, the first damned guesser selected the right number immediately with guess number one. First guess… winner… I mean loser. Then without hesitation, the quality manager (the statistics guru, the knower of all numerical oddities, the seer of all future probabilities, the expert for all statistical advice) yells out, “Wow… whad-ya think the odds of that are?!”
Not that Jimmy is any statistical master here, but… ah… me believes it could be close to… let’s see… one in a thousand? Sound about right Mr. Statistics?
Apparently we hire only the best and the brightest here.
Well, on one particular birthday, the first damned guesser selected the right number immediately with guess number one. First guess… winner… I mean loser. Then without hesitation, the quality manager (the statistics guru, the knower of all numerical oddities, the seer of all future probabilities, the expert for all statistical advice) yells out, “Wow… whad-ya think the odds of that are?!”
Not that Jimmy is any statistical master here, but… ah… me believes it could be close to… let’s see… one in a thousand? Sound about right Mr. Statistics?
Apparently we hire only the best and the brightest here.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Jimmy's Blog Stoops to Mass Commercialization After Black Friday
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. (Jimmy apologizes in advance as it may take a while to follow my logic and where this leads. However, I will get there… eventually).
Jimmy is a bit of a movie buff. I remember trivial parts of many movies which clog up the important facts in life. My wife on the other hand can watch a movie a couple of times before she realizes it ends the same way each and every time (sorry honey). Which leads me to the movie - Wayne’s World (not the greatest movie, but by far, not the worst), where Wayne and Garth promote their local cable access show (and their movie) by smiling and pointing at several well known products noting that they would never stoop to such “gratuitization” of their show.
Well Jimmy has decided to take that gratuitization plunge. Not that long ago, I had some of the best chocolate cake and cookies from one of my “unofficial” readers. (I think “unofficial” means they want to remain in the shadows without acknowledging that they actually do read this blog… but I digress). Anyway, Di has her own business providing cakes and cookies to various events and parties and individuals that want a special treat… it doesn’t have to be for any specific reason. The chocolate frosting has a secret ingredient that was disclosed to me but I can’t reveal its true nature because it may or may not be a trade secret.
So, I am asking that my two official readers (or those that remain in the shadows) to please contact her immediately during this down economy and buy some really good desserts. This may be the one thing that brings back the economy and employment… because we know that stimulus money didn’t do anything; however, I guarantee that these desserts will stimulate you. I’m sure she could make arrangements to send them wherever you are. This would probably be the most patriotic thing you do… ask not what you country can do for you, but ask what these desserts will do for our country… God bless America, Capitalism, 2Di4Desserts, and Jimmy’s Blog… Amen.
Because my Damn American Lawyers need to protect Jimmy's Blog - THE FNE PRINT:
The following legal disclaimer must be read as fast as possible and without any understanding whatsoever or herein. All claims past present and future are null and void and not intended to violate any trademark, copyright, millwright, Wright Brothers, or writing rights herein and therein. Jimmy is not responsible for any human, subhuman or alien within the universe getting fat as Jimmy was told there were no calories in any product, subproduct or substances herein or therein… or that me wanted to believe when eating said or unsaid products. Any use of Healthcare, Medicare, Obamacare, selfcare, Carebears, or KARE TV is or is not, may or may not be approved, denied or paid for by Jimmy. (OK… Jimmy can make that one really plain – me not responsible for anything). Official sanctification of above websites has or has not been confirm, denied or proven that they exist from and whereas herein forward, therefore all humans, subhumans and aliens must and hence forth, do there, or their own due diligence and product performance testing with or without said or unsaid knowledge of Jimmy. Although royalties, product in-kind, or gifts from above officially and/or unofficially sanctioned websites, will never be turned away, turned upside down, sideways or crossways… but only eaten, consumed and digested. Amen. (In plain English… Di, please send over some more of that cake). Thanks.
Jimmy is a bit of a movie buff. I remember trivial parts of many movies which clog up the important facts in life. My wife on the other hand can watch a movie a couple of times before she realizes it ends the same way each and every time (sorry honey). Which leads me to the movie - Wayne’s World (not the greatest movie, but by far, not the worst), where Wayne and Garth promote their local cable access show (and their movie) by smiling and pointing at several well known products noting that they would never stoop to such “gratuitization” of their show.
Well Jimmy has decided to take that gratuitization plunge. Not that long ago, I had some of the best chocolate cake and cookies from one of my “unofficial” readers. (I think “unofficial” means they want to remain in the shadows without acknowledging that they actually do read this blog… but I digress). Anyway, Di has her own business providing cakes and cookies to various events and parties and individuals that want a special treat… it doesn’t have to be for any specific reason. The chocolate frosting has a secret ingredient that was disclosed to me but I can’t reveal its true nature because it may or may not be a trade secret.
The food is to die for… which coincidently is the name of her business – http://2di4desserts.com/.
So, I am asking that my two official readers (or those that remain in the shadows) to please contact her immediately during this down economy and buy some really good desserts. This may be the one thing that brings back the economy and employment… because we know that stimulus money didn’t do anything; however, I guarantee that these desserts will stimulate you. I’m sure she could make arrangements to send them wherever you are. This would probably be the most patriotic thing you do… ask not what you country can do for you, but ask what these desserts will do for our country… God bless America, Capitalism, 2Di4Desserts, and Jimmy’s Blog… Amen.Because my Damn American Lawyers need to protect Jimmy's Blog - THE FNE PRINT:
The following legal disclaimer must be read as fast as possible and without any understanding whatsoever or herein. All claims past present and future are null and void and not intended to violate any trademark, copyright, millwright, Wright Brothers, or writing rights herein and therein. Jimmy is not responsible for any human, subhuman or alien within the universe getting fat as Jimmy was told there were no calories in any product, subproduct or substances herein or therein… or that me wanted to believe when eating said or unsaid products. Any use of Healthcare, Medicare, Obamacare, selfcare, Carebears, or KARE TV is or is not, may or may not be approved, denied or paid for by Jimmy. (OK… Jimmy can make that one really plain – me not responsible for anything). Official sanctification of above websites has or has not been confirm, denied or proven that they exist from and whereas herein forward, therefore all humans, subhumans and aliens must and hence forth, do there, or their own due diligence and product performance testing with or without said or unsaid knowledge of Jimmy. Although royalties, product in-kind, or gifts from above officially and/or unofficially sanctioned websites, will never be turned away, turned upside down, sideways or crossways… but only eaten, consumed and digested. Amen. (In plain English… Di, please send over some more of that cake). Thanks.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The Great Favorite Pie Survey
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. In honor of Thanksgiving, Jimmy thinks it is time to bring out an old Thanksgiving story about pies… no not the one where Jimmy still has an aversion to pumpkin pie stemming from a small case of the flu in 3rd grade… sorry… just in time to help the pumpkin pie sales there.
No this story starts about twelve years ago when my nephew was in the 2nd or 3rd grade himself and had a math homework assignment to survey the family about favorite pies. All the data would be tabulated and reported with all the other classmates the next Monday at school.
So my nephew goes to each family member and quizzes each asking them what their favorite pie was. He gets the standard, “pumpkin, apple, banana, chocolate (my personal favorite there)…” and runs back to his dad to add each to the tally.
Then it was my turn. But ‘ol Uncle Jimmy had to mess with him a bit.
“Uncle Jim, what is your favorite pie?”
“Well…” I said and then I looked off into the distance to feign some in depth consideration. “I would have to say that my favorite pie is… you know they’re all so good… but I would have to say my favorite is Cow.”
Then he runs back to his dad to tabulate the data point searching in vein for an unlisted choice on the sheet. He keeps looking and then asks his dad about the unfamiliar selection.
To which Jimmy hears a squeal and a laugh as the joke was finally explained to him, “Uncle Jim, you can’t like Cow Pie!!!”
Uncle Jimmy… just molding minds of the future.
No this story starts about twelve years ago when my nephew was in the 2nd or 3rd grade himself and had a math homework assignment to survey the family about favorite pies. All the data would be tabulated and reported with all the other classmates the next Monday at school.
So my nephew goes to each family member and quizzes each asking them what their favorite pie was. He gets the standard, “pumpkin, apple, banana, chocolate (my personal favorite there)…” and runs back to his dad to add each to the tally.
Then it was my turn. But ‘ol Uncle Jimmy had to mess with him a bit.
“Uncle Jim, what is your favorite pie?”
“Well…” I said and then I looked off into the distance to feign some in depth consideration. “I would have to say that my favorite pie is… you know they’re all so good… but I would have to say my favorite is Cow.”
Then he runs back to his dad to tabulate the data point searching in vein for an unlisted choice on the sheet. He keeps looking and then asks his dad about the unfamiliar selection.
To which Jimmy hears a squeal and a laugh as the joke was finally explained to him, “Uncle Jim, you can’t like Cow Pie!!!”
Uncle Jimmy… just molding minds of the future.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Jimmy's Big Sesame Street Diaper Idea
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Me not sure why I am on this subject, but here goes. I was day dreaming… one day that is… while looking at a pair of disposable diapers. Hold that thought for a moment… It’s not what you are thinking. I am not wondering if the sizes will fit me or looking to add to the family, but it just happened. (Me not sure where these things come from… once again a little clarification - that is the inner workings of my mind… not babies or diapers. I have good handle on both). But to get back to the subject at hand, today’s diapers have so many varieties in patterns and colorful logos that weren’t available in my diaper purchasing day… in this daydream, the particular one I was looking at had Big Bird from Sesame Street on it. That got my mind to thinking… if someone would put a sensor into the bottom… then parents would know that the diaper was ready to be changed. Then to springboard off that… what if we added a voice alert system similar to those obnoxious greeting cards that play music when opened.
I can almost hear Big Bird casually mention in that semi-stupid voice, “Hey, someone just laid a big one down here!”
Or we could have Bert and Ernie added to the print pattern and they could debate the situation, “Ah Bert… I think it’s your turn to change this one.” Then Bert could chime in, “Oh no Ernie. You’re mistaken… I got the last one.”
Or the Cookie Monster could shout in that obnoxious tone, “Cookie!”
Well… he always was kind of an odd Muppet.
Or we could have Kermit zee Frog say, “We got a green one down here,” only if the sensors determined it was a bit messy.
Or even The Count could join in the fun. “That’s a number one… oh sorry… make that a number two.”
Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy… come back to reality.
*****************************
EDITOR’S NOTE: While Jimmy was researching this subject… well actually visiting Walmart to get a photo of a Sesame Street Diaper… he got lost in the store. Not wanting to make a big deal of it, he casually walked up to a Walmart store employee and in a soft voice he asked, “Say where do you keep the diapers?”
The clerk asked a clarifying question, “You mean,” her voice got a couple of octaves higher, “… the baby diapers?”
“Yes.”
“They are in the back corner over there.”
As Jimmy was walking away, he was a bit perturbed… even though he looked a bit old to be getting baby diapers, he could have been a grandpa looking out for his family. Hey… it wasn’t even out of the realm of possibilities that he could have a little one that age… was it?
It wasn’t until he took a few more steps and it finally dawned on him that she may have mistaken Jimmy’s quiet question for diapers as a request for ADULT diapers. COME ON NOW. DO I LOOK THAT OLD?????
Saturday, November 21, 2009
A New Perspective on Birthdays…
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. While traveling it is interesting to hear people’s views about many subjects… even if they are wrong. Oh, don’t get the wrong impression, I didn’t create any international incidents here in France, but I did find it humorous about the perspective people have… Take this as an example. I found it quite funny as it was spoken so truthfully by a young French woman.
It was disclosed during lunch by her friends, and much to her embarrassment, that over the weekend she had celebrated her birthday. Everyone at the table was making a big deal of it and I could see that she didn’t want to talk about it. But eventually she provided a few details to satisfy the requests of her co-workers.
It was disclosed during lunch by her friends, and much to her embarrassment, that over the weekend she had celebrated her birthday. Everyone at the table was making a big deal of it and I could see that she didn’t want to talk about it. But eventually she provided a few details to satisfy the requests of her co-workers.In a sheepish tone she started, “Oh, I didn’t really do anything special on my birthday… I just went to the south of France.”
Me thinks that sounds kind of boring too… Mediterranean, Monte Carlo, Nice, The Beaches… doesn’t sound like anything special to me either.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Why Didn't Someone Tell Me
Me Knows Better Than To Say This... But I Will. Jimmy was walking
through an airport in Europe looking for a good deal in one of the
Duty Free Shops and came across this "promotional" display.
Question: Are they trying to make a sale or not?
Now that I know this info, maybe I should drop this habit.
My only question is why didn't someone tell me sooner?
Did I miss some info I should have known?
Jimmy Can’t Understand The English Language
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Ireland… great country… great language… still not sure what they are speaking. I asked the young lady at the hotel reception desk about getting on the Internet. Her reply was classic Irish brogue, “Aye… you can get-on the Net.”
“So what do I have to do?”
“Easy, I give you this card, it has a password and I charge your room.”
“Great, how much is it?
“Well ninety minutes is six points, and twenty-four hours is ten points?”
“Excuse me? How much?”
“Six points or ten points.”
“I am unfamiliar with the point system. What does that mean?”
The receptionist looked at Jimmy with a very perplexed look and repeated the prior statement this time trying to enunciate the words more carefully, “Six points or ten points.”
Jimmy was doing mental gyrations, unsure if this was a modified currency for the hotel where they didn’t use a monetary system, but rather a point system… until it dawned on him that she may have said something different.
“Oh, you said – ‘poings.’ What is the value of a ‘poing’ if I choose to do it?”
Again, another perplexed look before she repeated it, “Sir, it’s poings.”
Jimmy tried to pretend he knew what a ‘poing’ was so he asked, “So what is the going exchange rate of a ‘poing?’” hoping to go back to his room to calculate the cost.
The receptionist had a blank look on her face so Jimmy looked to the end of the counter to see the bellhop smiling and barely controlling himself trying not to bust a gut laughing.
Then the young lady said in her best attempt to enunciate the word as slowly as possible, “That would be… six or ten… poings… Sterlin.”
The additional word “Sterlin” still did not register with Jimmy, then a moment later, it finally dawned on Jimmy, the brainiac, that the receptionist… yes the one with the strong Irish accent… was not saying “poings” but rather ‘pounds.” She had been trying to tell Jimmy that the cost was ten British Pounds Sterling.
Jimmy has heard better English in Chinese.
“So what do I have to do?”
“Easy, I give you this card, it has a password and I charge your room.”
“Great, how much is it?
“Well ninety minutes is six points, and twenty-four hours is ten points?”
“Excuse me? How much?”
“Six points or ten points.”
“I am unfamiliar with the point system. What does that mean?”
The receptionist looked at Jimmy with a very perplexed look and repeated the prior statement this time trying to enunciate the words more carefully, “Six points or ten points.”
Jimmy was doing mental gyrations, unsure if this was a modified currency for the hotel where they didn’t use a monetary system, but rather a point system… until it dawned on him that she may have said something different.
“Oh, you said – ‘poings.’ What is the value of a ‘poing’ if I choose to do it?”
Again, another perplexed look before she repeated it, “Sir, it’s poings.”
Jimmy tried to pretend he knew what a ‘poing’ was so he asked, “So what is the going exchange rate of a ‘poing?’” hoping to go back to his room to calculate the cost.
The receptionist had a blank look on her face so Jimmy looked to the end of the counter to see the bellhop smiling and barely controlling himself trying not to bust a gut laughing.
Then the young lady said in her best attempt to enunciate the word as slowly as possible, “That would be… six or ten… poings… Sterlin.”
The additional word “Sterlin” still did not register with Jimmy, then a moment later, it finally dawned on Jimmy, the brainiac, that the receptionist… yes the one with the strong Irish accent… was not saying “poings” but rather ‘pounds.” She had been trying to tell Jimmy that the cost was ten British Pounds Sterling.
Jimmy has heard better English in Chinese.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
My Connection To Auschwitz
I need to deviate from my normal blog this one time and let this soak in.
Got back from Auschwitz late last night. Not sure how to start.
Overwhelming is probably the best description. No one would believe the enormity unless they saw first hand the piles of items the Nazis took... like combs - piles and piles of combs.... piles and piles of tooth brushes, wire rimmed glasses, human hair shaved from the dead which they later returned to Germany for textiles and stuffing... clothing on clothing... and the part which really made me quiet was seeing the stacks of baby shoes. You would not believe the pile... and these were just a fraction because most were sent back to Germany. I had to estimate there were hundreds which ranged from 3 months old to just barely toddlers. Tough to even write about and... really tough to hold it together while looking at them.
I was already down, then around the corner I saw something that would later make my heart sink even further, if you can imagine that. In another exhibit they had placed stacks and stacks and stacks and stacks of luggage. Most of them had self-written names with addresses... because the Nazis said they would be getting their belongings right back and delivered to them a little while later after they were settled.
I didn't associate anything from all the names from all the suitcases because I wasn’t looking that closely - there were just too many to process in my mind. Everything started to become numb as I disassociated myself from what was in front of me. There were so many suitcases and so many names just in this one enclosure. It was hard to imagine 1.1 million of these suitcases over 4 years. There were too many to read right in front of my eyes so it was easy to skip over them because the names were unfamiliar to me. I am sure they were just ordinary European names, Polish names, Jewish names, names from everywhere... names I had never really seen, but they became common names too quickly when I skipped over them... too common... all were phantom people to me... people I did not know... people that were ghosts to me... I had no connection to them... then one suitcase changed it all for me. As I stared at it, I realized that these were people that were known and loved by others and they just disappeared brutally without a trace, minutes after getting out of the rail cars just like cattle. Right then I knew how horrible it was. I thought I knew before... but I didn't. I did not really know until I saw that one suitcase and I put myself into the situation. What would you think if you saw your name on that suitcase… or your spouse’s name… or your child’s name… or someone you really loved? Tough to think about it until you realize that those suitcases were just that. In that life could have been someone you knew or loved... and all of them had someone.
Got back from Auschwitz late last night. Not sure how to start.
Overwhelming is probably the best description. No one would believe the enormity unless they saw first hand the piles of items the Nazis took... like combs - piles and piles of combs.... piles and piles of tooth brushes, wire rimmed glasses, human hair shaved from the dead which they later returned to Germany for textiles and stuffing... clothing on clothing... and the part which really made me quiet was seeing the stacks of baby shoes. You would not believe the pile... and these were just a fraction because most were sent back to Germany. I had to estimate there were hundreds which ranged from 3 months old to just barely toddlers. Tough to even write about and... really tough to hold it together while looking at them.
I was already down, then around the corner I saw something that would later make my heart sink even further, if you can imagine that. In another exhibit they had placed stacks and stacks and stacks and stacks of luggage. Most of them had self-written names with addresses... because the Nazis said they would be getting their belongings right back and delivered to them a little while later after they were settled.
I didn't associate anything from all the names from all the suitcases because I wasn’t looking that closely - there were just too many to process in my mind. Everything started to become numb as I disassociated myself from what was in front of me. There were so many suitcases and so many names just in this one enclosure. It was hard to imagine 1.1 million of these suitcases over 4 years. There were too many to read right in front of my eyes so it was easy to skip over them because the names were unfamiliar to me. I am sure they were just ordinary European names, Polish names, Jewish names, names from everywhere... names I had never really seen, but they became common names too quickly when I skipped over them... too common... all were phantom people to me... people I did not know... people that were ghosts to me... I had no connection to them... then one suitcase changed it all for me. As I stared at it, I realized that these were people that were known and loved by others and they just disappeared brutally without a trace, minutes after getting out of the rail cars just like cattle. Right then I knew how horrible it was. I thought I knew before... but I didn't. I did not really know until I saw that one suitcase and I put myself into the situation. What would you think if you saw your name on that suitcase… or your spouse’s name… or your child’s name… or someone you really loved? Tough to think about it until you realize that those suitcases were just that. In that life could have been someone you knew or loved... and all of them had someone.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
French… A Foreign Language to Jimmy
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Well, Jimmy flew into Germany and drove into France. The countryside was beautiful and while going through the forests close to the border the drive reminded me of all those fairy tales we heard as kids … like Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel (which now, looking back on them were pretty disturbing… what kind of parents try to scare the crap out of kids?)… but I digress as usual. (Luckily this isn’t Twitter, or I would be out of words by now)… but back to the damn story.
Blah… Blah… Blah… oh yeah… the country was beautiful, people friendly and the food… not that great when compared to Italy. But the people were great to talk to. Luckily those two solid years of high school French came in really handy. I could converse if I only said, “Merci beau co.” Which I was forced to say for everything… including the food which only reinforced the idea that the food was good in their minds… which it wasn’t.
Then out of nowhere, the French language was flowing from Jimmy’s tongue. He was in another time and place… perhaps it was an out of body experience as he started pontificating, “Si j'ai été élu, il ne serait aucun gouvernement plus. Il n'y serait un poulet dans chaque pot, deux voitures dans chaque garage (pressé des cours en un seul emplacement) et un téléviseur grand écran plat sur chaque mur. De cours que tout le monde serait propriétaire que je possède la partie de la société de l'iPhone.” … All with the perfect accent of course.
And everyone was amazed.
Of course no one was amazed more than Jimmy… when he stumbled across the translator program on the Internet while writing this blog.
Blah… Blah… Blah… oh yeah… the country was beautiful, people friendly and the food… not that great when compared to Italy. But the people were great to talk to. Luckily those two solid years of high school French came in really handy. I could converse if I only said, “Merci beau co.” Which I was forced to say for everything… including the food which only reinforced the idea that the food was good in their minds… which it wasn’t.
Then out of nowhere, the French language was flowing from Jimmy’s tongue. He was in another time and place… perhaps it was an out of body experience as he started pontificating, “Si j'ai été élu, il ne serait aucun gouvernement plus. Il n'y serait un poulet dans chaque pot, deux voitures dans chaque garage (pressé des cours en un seul emplacement) et un téléviseur grand écran plat sur chaque mur. De cours que tout le monde serait propriétaire que je possède la partie de la société de l'iPhone.” … All with the perfect accent of course.
And everyone was amazed.
Of course no one was amazed more than Jimmy… when he stumbled across the translator program on the Internet while writing this blog.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Alps
this one out. I could not come up with anything cynical to say.
Don't think I am going soft here, but I had to send off a preview of
the Alps. Beautiful. Even taken with my phone... And through a
window, I hope you can enjoy.
Looking out at the switchback roads, I can safely say that Jimmy's
wife would stay in town and shop... and collect the insurance money a
little later. Just beautiful... I must take a trip to Switzerland
some day. I would probably fall off the mountain taking photos. The
photo does not do justice to the view at all.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Life is Good in Italy
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Life is good in Italy if you don’t need a phone, TV or the Internet. Jimmy dropped off his bags in his hotel room and had to return to the front desk to ask about the phone… or lack thereof. “Can I call out from my room?”
The hotel clerk responded, “Si, si… you can use-a the phone-a in the room-a.”
“But sir, there is no phone in my room… just bare wires sticking out of the wall.”
“No phone-a in the room-a?”
“Yes, just wires.”
“Oh, si, si… sorry then… no phone-a.”
“How about the TV?”
“Si, si… TV in room-a.”
“Yes, I know. TV in room sitting on table, but no way to turn it on.”
“Use-a the remote control-a.”
“But the problem is there is no remote control and no controls on the TV itself. It just stays black.”
“Si, si… sorry. Perhaps when you get back-a to da room-a… you a call-a house keeping about-a the remote control-a?”
“Uh… like I said… no phone. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll just go back to my room and work on the internet.”
“Oh seniora… internet only available across-a da street-a… at restaurant-a.”
“Grazie. I’ll just go over there in my pajamas.”
“Si, si…”
Jimmy decided to have a chocolatta cappuccino to stay up since, besides no alarm clock in the room, how could I get a wake up call? Life is good without electronic stimuli. This is a laid back country. No need for all that messy stuff like worka.
The hotel clerk responded, “Si, si… you can use-a the phone-a in the room-a.”
“But sir, there is no phone in my room… just bare wires sticking out of the wall.”
“No phone-a in the room-a?”
“Yes, just wires.”
“Oh, si, si… sorry then… no phone-a.”
“How about the TV?”
“Si, si… TV in room-a.”
“Yes, I know. TV in room sitting on table, but no way to turn it on.”
“Use-a the remote control-a.”
“But the problem is there is no remote control and no controls on the TV itself. It just stays black.”
“Si, si… sorry. Perhaps when you get back-a to da room-a… you a call-a house keeping about-a the remote control-a?”
“Uh… like I said… no phone. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll just go back to my room and work on the internet.”
“Oh seniora… internet only available across-a da street-a… at restaurant-a.”
“Grazie. I’ll just go over there in my pajamas.”
“Si, si…”
Jimmy decided to have a chocolatta cappuccino to stay up since, besides no alarm clock in the room, how could I get a wake up call? Life is good without electronic stimuli. This is a laid back country. No need for all that messy stuff like worka.
Welcome to Italy
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Life definitely is different in Italy. Just after landing in Venice, the plane taxied to the terminal and everyone jumped up trying to get off the plane. After a few moments of no movement, the captain’s voice boomed over the intercom, “We’re going to have to wait another 15 minutes or so. The ground crew arrived, but they forgot to bring the stairs. They sent someone back to get it.”
Welcome to Italy. Life is Good. You-a don’ta worry, we drinka Expresso then we come-a backa and getta you. Ciao.
Italy is so laid back. Jimmy wonders how close to a coma Italians would be if they stopped drinking Expresso.
Welcome to Italy. Life is Good. You-a don’ta worry, we drinka Expresso then we come-a backa and getta you. Ciao.
Italy is so laid back. Jimmy wonders how close to a coma Italians would be if they stopped drinking Expresso.
Oh Crap… Curry Revisited
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Not sure if Northwest Airlines knows what they are doing to me or if the dietitian knows the misery they are placing on their customers. Two for two on flights now … is there something about curry spice they have to serve… and I’m not even going to India. But the announcement about the food choices brought the words, “Oh crap… not this again” to my lips. Then Jimmy thought better about his choice of words. We don’t need a repeat of that blog do we?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wisconsin Marketing 101
Me Knows Better Than to Say This... but I will. The Department of Transportation in Wisconsin is an example of preeminent marketing. Now I know that many of you doubt my comment... mainly because I am cynical by nature. But this time... really... I am only stating the facts.
Jimmy bases this on one random occurrence will driving around the St. Croix River Valley taking photos of fall leaves. I like to take seldom traveled roads and try to figure out a way to see overly photographed sites from a new angle... but this takes me down some "pretty" difficult roads. I mean really rough roads.
In Iowa they are honest about the quality of the road. The DOT in IA displays plenty of signs to remind everyone that these are, "Low Maintenance Roads." With this warning, I expect rough roads and probably no shoulders and a little complaining that Iowa should do something about this travesty of a road crew.
In Minnesota, the roads are usually pretty good - all due to the exorbitant taxes and the thanks of Representative Oberstar, the ranking Democrat on the Transportation Committee. He is really good at siphoning funds from other states to do his pet projects and no one blinks an eye... wink... wink. Luckily all that money is free... so no need for any posted signs... and I still complain if the roads aren't perfect... after all shouldn't these be paved in gold with the taxes we pay.
But in Wisconsin... these guys are geniuses. They just label them as "Rustic Roads." Too bad George Carlin isn't alive as I can hear him enunciate the words slowly... "Rustic Road." Jimmy had visions of wagon wheel tracks and Conestoga’s passing through the prairie. Even when the road turned to crumbled asphalt and plenty of potholes, another sign reminded me, a present day settler, that this was a "Rustic Road." I had no reason to complain... I had shelter... the wheels were turning, I was moving and no Indians were attacking... for I was on a Rustic Road... this was an adventure.
But let's do the math and expectations:
Jimmy bases this on one random occurrence will driving around the St. Croix River Valley taking photos of fall leaves. I like to take seldom traveled roads and try to figure out a way to see overly photographed sites from a new angle... but this takes me down some "pretty" difficult roads. I mean really rough roads.
In Iowa they are honest about the quality of the road. The DOT in IA displays plenty of signs to remind everyone that these are, "Low Maintenance Roads." With this warning, I expect rough roads and probably no shoulders and a little complaining that Iowa should do something about this travesty of a road crew.
In Minnesota, the roads are usually pretty good - all due to the exorbitant taxes and the thanks of Representative Oberstar, the ranking Democrat on the Transportation Committee. He is really good at siphoning funds from other states to do his pet projects and no one blinks an eye... wink... wink. Luckily all that money is free... so no need for any posted signs... and I still complain if the roads aren't perfect... after all shouldn't these be paved in gold with the taxes we pay.
But in Wisconsin... these guys are geniuses. They just label them as "Rustic Roads." Too bad George Carlin isn't alive as I can hear him enunciate the words slowly... "Rustic Road." Jimmy had visions of wagon wheel tracks and Conestoga’s passing through the prairie. Even when the road turned to crumbled asphalt and plenty of potholes, another sign reminded me, a present day settler, that this was a "Rustic Road." I had no reason to complain... I had shelter... the wheels were turning, I was moving and no Indians were attacking... for I was on a Rustic Road... this was an adventure.Iowa - $4,000 for signs and much complaining about shitty work.
Minnesota - $4,000,000,000,000 in taxpayer funded roads (probably could add a few more zeros.. but Jimmy tried to be conservative in the estimate) - and still some shitty areas.
Wisconsin - $400 for a couple of well positioned signs - still a shitty road, but fun to drive on something called a "Rustic Road."
Wisconsin DOT - Marketing geniuses...
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Guess There Is More Than One Way To Do It
Me Know Better Than To Say This... But I Will. Putting out... Well I guess vertical is one way to do it if you want. Jimmy leads a sheltered life.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sign of the Times
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. While walking through the airport parking garage in Shanghai, I noticed this sign on every level next to the escalator... even though the sign says elevator.
No one wants to lose an appendage on an escalator or even an elevator, but I especially don’t want to lose my “Booy”… whatever part of my anatomy that is. I have my suspicions, but even I have some standards for this blog... as low as they might be... but they're still standards.
Jimmy The Subversive
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. I have to apologize to my two followers. I have been traveling through the People’s Republic of China and unable to update Jimmy's Blog. Apparently the Communist Government became aware of my recent popularity on this blog and blocked 6 Billion people from reading my musings. No wonder my readership has not reached the level I expected. It turns out that my writing could be considered subversive and all access was denied. I was just trying to be somewhat humorous... not take over a 60 year old communist regime. I have enough trouble of my own to fix. The photo shows all that I could receive on my laptop from the hotel. "This Page Can Not Be Displayed."Then as I was leaving the visa checkpoint in the airport, one sign was begging me to snap a photo… unfortunately there were signs posted everywhere saying no photos, area monitored, along with a host of security personnel. Jimmy may not be all that smart, but this time me thought better than to take a photo of the poster which had smiling security person pointing at the words, “Building a civilized society through civilized behavior.” Me boarded the plane quickly.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
What Did That Sign Say?
Me Knows Better Than to Say This... but I will. While zooming down the highway in India (more on that later), this sign flashed by... However after the day, it seemed like a reasonable risk as it couldn't have been any worse than the prior bridge… the one without a sign... the one which still had remnants of deteriorated cement... the one with no railing.. the one with various sections reduced to one lane. Our driver assured no one had lost a car into the river… yet. Yes that one was safe. This new one… well at least we had a warning this time.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Airline Cuisine to Mumbai
Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Note to self: Next time check seat locations on planes before arriving at airport. This is a simple rule I will live by from now on. This goes with the corollary to this rule: No seats within 5 rows of the bathroom.... especially should Northwest/KLM serve vegetable burritos with curry spice to please the overwhelmingly Indian crowd flying into Mumbai. “Whoa!” is all I can say.
I also made an executive decision that there is a new job I don’t want any part of… cleaning bathrooms on an airline after a nine hour flight - as it looked like… well let’s just say I had to use my right shoe to keep clinging toilet paper from sticking to my left shoe and vice versa creating an interesting scene stepping out the bathroom door.
The odor emanating from the small and frequently used room was especially interesting. It alternated from an obnoxious sanitary sweetness, on one extreme, to a residue of post-processed burritos… Indian style. After a while, I was really hoping to smell the sanitary acidic odor all the time, however, it turned into a mild blend of each which wafted out every time the door was opened.
While the smell seemed to get de-sensitized to my olfactory glands after a few hours, the constant traffic and local greeting and conversation area next to my head did not. This sustained distraction allowed me the option to snooze in roughly 15 second intervals… but of course this was over 9 hours so it all added up to a good night’s rest… that is if you only need 24.5 minutes of sleep per night. Not only that, but each person had to bang the door, not once, but twice (once to get in… once to get out) and throw in the constant whoosh of high speed bodily fluids with an air suction unit tied directly into the wall behind my head. The wonders of modern sanitary systems never cease. I think the trains in Europe do it the right way… just let it drop from the sky.
And since it was a high traffic area (apparently this version of an Indian burrito did not seem to agree even with the Indians), each person that meandered over to my private abode had to brush my elbow or rock the back of the seat while they balanced standing outside the door. Nice.
I also observed a custom for which I was not prepared to experience. Just as I was falling off for one of my 15 seconds of sleep, the gentleman beside me decides to show his appreciation for the meal with a large and sustained belch. Since I was unable to muster a responding show of similar approval for the meal, I assumed that all bodily displays were appropriate and I lifted my right cheek… again only as a sign of deep and gastrointestinal respect for the meal… but thought twice before allowing the signal to become public as it may have produced an unexpected outcome… for me that is.
It was then that I determined that the close proximity to the bathroom does have one major advantage.
I also made an executive decision that there is a new job I don’t want any part of… cleaning bathrooms on an airline after a nine hour flight - as it looked like… well let’s just say I had to use my right shoe to keep clinging toilet paper from sticking to my left shoe and vice versa creating an interesting scene stepping out the bathroom door.
The odor emanating from the small and frequently used room was especially interesting. It alternated from an obnoxious sanitary sweetness, on one extreme, to a residue of post-processed burritos… Indian style. After a while, I was really hoping to smell the sanitary acidic odor all the time, however, it turned into a mild blend of each which wafted out every time the door was opened.
While the smell seemed to get de-sensitized to my olfactory glands after a few hours, the constant traffic and local greeting and conversation area next to my head did not. This sustained distraction allowed me the option to snooze in roughly 15 second intervals… but of course this was over 9 hours so it all added up to a good night’s rest… that is if you only need 24.5 minutes of sleep per night. Not only that, but each person had to bang the door, not once, but twice (once to get in… once to get out) and throw in the constant whoosh of high speed bodily fluids with an air suction unit tied directly into the wall behind my head. The wonders of modern sanitary systems never cease. I think the trains in Europe do it the right way… just let it drop from the sky.
And since it was a high traffic area (apparently this version of an Indian burrito did not seem to agree even with the Indians), each person that meandered over to my private abode had to brush my elbow or rock the back of the seat while they balanced standing outside the door. Nice.
I also observed a custom for which I was not prepared to experience. Just as I was falling off for one of my 15 seconds of sleep, the gentleman beside me decides to show his appreciation for the meal with a large and sustained belch. Since I was unable to muster a responding show of similar approval for the meal, I assumed that all bodily displays were appropriate and I lifted my right cheek… again only as a sign of deep and gastrointestinal respect for the meal… but thought twice before allowing the signal to become public as it may have produced an unexpected outcome… for me that is.
It was then that I determined that the close proximity to the bathroom does have one major advantage.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Tough Day At The Home Office
Me knows better than to say this... but I will. Golf is a tough occupation... luckily I still have a day job.After my fifth trap in five holes, one of my playing partners commented, "The only person that has seen more bunkers than you is Eva Braun."
So I flipped him a modified Third Reich saluate with an extended long digit signaling that it only took me one swing to get out of each trap.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Phenomenal Growth of Followers
Me knows better than to say this... but I will. I know I might jinx this blog by commenting on the phenomenal growth of followers, but I am proud to announce that we have had an approximate 100% growth rate over the last week according to my Iowa math.
Now for those of you that are calculating in your head, the followers doubled, from one to two... which after several iterations of gazinatas (a reference of 'goes into' from the Hillbillies for those that haven't run across that question in Trivial Pursuit)... this math produces the 100% increase. Whoo hoo!
You see, my wife was commenting about the historically low number of followers on the site and I reminded her that she should just sign up as a show of support for her husband. Then came the comment that I found almost hard to take... yet it was exactly what I would have said having been the model of efficiency throughout my lifetime. She suggested, "Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me what you were going to write?"
Now how can anyone argue with that logic... that was my first thought. Then another thought popped in as I was thinking in my head... "It is so much easier to be cynical to you when I write rather than just saying things out loud." But that comment would not have come out with the love and empathy that any male would have intended... so I told her that I would show her how easy it was to sign up and become a follower of this blog. I didn't have the heart to mention to her that she could also just check the boxes at the bottom for easier comments... but then she would actually have to read to the bottom of the blog entry to see it.
As it turned out, she didn't have the time to join... or perhaps the willingness to go that far, but she did say that I could push the button and sign her up if it meant that much to me. Now that's the spirit for which I was looking. It actually was pretty easy and for those of you that haven't become followers... the other one in my family that is... just click the button on the left side of the screen (Follow with Google Friend Connect) and sign up with with either your Gmail, AIM, or other account name (there are quite a few options listed)... it's that easy.
Of course with an additional follower that would only drive me up with a measly 50% gain... again if I'm doing my Iowa math correctly.
Now for those of you that are calculating in your head, the followers doubled, from one to two... which after several iterations of gazinatas (a reference of 'goes into' from the Hillbillies for those that haven't run across that question in Trivial Pursuit)... this math produces the 100% increase. Whoo hoo!
You see, my wife was commenting about the historically low number of followers on the site and I reminded her that she should just sign up as a show of support for her husband. Then came the comment that I found almost hard to take... yet it was exactly what I would have said having been the model of efficiency throughout my lifetime. She suggested, "Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me what you were going to write?"
Now how can anyone argue with that logic... that was my first thought. Then another thought popped in as I was thinking in my head... "It is so much easier to be cynical to you when I write rather than just saying things out loud." But that comment would not have come out with the love and empathy that any male would have intended... so I told her that I would show her how easy it was to sign up and become a follower of this blog. I didn't have the heart to mention to her that she could also just check the boxes at the bottom for easier comments... but then she would actually have to read to the bottom of the blog entry to see it.
As it turned out, she didn't have the time to join... or perhaps the willingness to go that far, but she did say that I could push the button and sign her up if it meant that much to me. Now that's the spirit for which I was looking. It actually was pretty easy and for those of you that haven't become followers... the other one in my family that is... just click the button on the left side of the screen (Follow with Google Friend Connect) and sign up with with either your Gmail, AIM, or other account name (there are quite a few options listed)... it's that easy.
Of course with an additional follower that would only drive me up with a measly 50% gain... again if I'm doing my Iowa math correctly.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Golf in the Bible Belt
Me knows better than to say this... but I will. I had an enjoyable time golfing in Oklahoma over Labor Day weekend. We were visiting some good friends (Rose and Roger) and Roger thought he would snag us a tee time at a pretty exclusive club. It was beautiful looking over the city from on top of the high ridge and the course was in very good shape for September. It is easy to think of Oklahoma as flat, dusty and uninviting, but at least the area around Tulsa has a lot to offer with the rolling hills and the lush surroundings.
The temperature was a slightly humid 81 degrees and the locals were complaining about the cool weather. Needless to say, I was feeling the affects and was sweating profusely. But the local host was very pleasant and since he publishes Christian books I figured I had to mind my p's and q's and f's and s's on the course. He also had his son stop and play a few holes with us for entertainment and it turned out very nice because later on during the round, his older son, Greg stopped by to play 7 or 8 holes after he had just finished playing 18... and before a big match with some old college buddies. Greg just happened to be on top of his game as he birdied three of the first 4 holes after joining us and he was driving the ball a mere 330 to 350 yards. He said he was "very happy" with his new driver which Ping had customized for his swing and returned to him that day... I'll say he was happy. He described so many theories about shaft flex, weighting, opening the face and boring the shaft at a different angle... that it had my head spinning with the science. I thought I understood a few concepts, but he was talking in a different language. Not only was he playing well, but earlier this summer he had posted 62... two times that is and then set the course record a few days before playing with us by shooting a 61. This was all before he got his new driver worked out. Wow.
Apparently he is trying to make it on tour and hoping to play on the Hooter's Tour regularly. Something we all aspire to I believe. Now imagine a guy playing this good and still can't break onto the PGA tour... "those guys are good" as the PGA slogan goes.
There was no way to keep up with him so I had to laugh at my poor excuse of a game and then it went to hell... sorry... have to remember who my playing partners are. I tried not to cuss at every shot that went astray, nor the 2 or 3 footers for boogie I kept missing... but it was fun to watch Greg play. So on a par 3 he plays an 8 iron up a hill against a slight breeze to a 167 yard hole and it drops just to the left of the cup... just a touch deep he commented... concerned about the direction from which he had to putt.
Since we had nothing in common as far as our games went, I had to ask him about the mental part of the preparation, since clearly I couldn't compete on the physical side. I queried, "So what goes through your mind as you setup for that type of shot." He replied, "Well, I'm thinking I'm in between clubs so I need to ease off a bit on this 8 iron." It didn't really answer my question, so I slowly shielded my 5 iron from his view and put it back into the bag while admosishing my latest foray into the bunker just short of the green... and I still couldn't curse at my swing even though apparently I eased up on my iron also.
On the next par 3, he misses long and left... but still only 5 yards from the pin which was situated at the extreme back left part of the green. He was just off the fringe. I still had to hit. Since it was an uphill 209 yard hole and I too was between clubs... I opted to ease off a bit on my club selection (which conviently I can't remember) and I proceeded to slide my shot way to the right, positioned nicely between a couple of traps. Then I dumped the next one into the closest trap with an astounding display of pitching prowess, then a couple more swings and two putts and I was out of there. Again since I couldn't say anything to relieve the pressure of my outstanding game, I resorted to a little humor. The only thing I could say was, "Well to quote Henny Youngman, the only two good balls I hit on this hole, happened when I stepped on the rake."
I guess humor is still acceptable in the Bible Belt.
The temperature was a slightly humid 81 degrees and the locals were complaining about the cool weather. Needless to say, I was feeling the affects and was sweating profusely. But the local host was very pleasant and since he publishes Christian books I figured I had to mind my p's and q's and f's and s's on the course. He also had his son stop and play a few holes with us for entertainment and it turned out very nice because later on during the round, his older son, Greg stopped by to play 7 or 8 holes after he had just finished playing 18... and before a big match with some old college buddies. Greg just happened to be on top of his game as he birdied three of the first 4 holes after joining us and he was driving the ball a mere 330 to 350 yards. He said he was "very happy" with his new driver which Ping had customized for his swing and returned to him that day... I'll say he was happy. He described so many theories about shaft flex, weighting, opening the face and boring the shaft at a different angle... that it had my head spinning with the science. I thought I understood a few concepts, but he was talking in a different language. Not only was he playing well, but earlier this summer he had posted 62... two times that is and then set the course record a few days before playing with us by shooting a 61. This was all before he got his new driver worked out. Wow.
Apparently he is trying to make it on tour and hoping to play on the Hooter's Tour regularly. Something we all aspire to I believe. Now imagine a guy playing this good and still can't break onto the PGA tour... "those guys are good" as the PGA slogan goes.
There was no way to keep up with him so I had to laugh at my poor excuse of a game and then it went to hell... sorry... have to remember who my playing partners are. I tried not to cuss at every shot that went astray, nor the 2 or 3 footers for boogie I kept missing... but it was fun to watch Greg play. So on a par 3 he plays an 8 iron up a hill against a slight breeze to a 167 yard hole and it drops just to the left of the cup... just a touch deep he commented... concerned about the direction from which he had to putt.
Since we had nothing in common as far as our games went, I had to ask him about the mental part of the preparation, since clearly I couldn't compete on the physical side. I queried, "So what goes through your mind as you setup for that type of shot." He replied, "Well, I'm thinking I'm in between clubs so I need to ease off a bit on this 8 iron." It didn't really answer my question, so I slowly shielded my 5 iron from his view and put it back into the bag while admosishing my latest foray into the bunker just short of the green... and I still couldn't curse at my swing even though apparently I eased up on my iron also.
On the next par 3, he misses long and left... but still only 5 yards from the pin which was situated at the extreme back left part of the green. He was just off the fringe. I still had to hit. Since it was an uphill 209 yard hole and I too was between clubs... I opted to ease off a bit on my club selection (which conviently I can't remember) and I proceeded to slide my shot way to the right, positioned nicely between a couple of traps. Then I dumped the next one into the closest trap with an astounding display of pitching prowess, then a couple more swings and two putts and I was out of there. Again since I couldn't say anything to relieve the pressure of my outstanding game, I resorted to a little humor. The only thing I could say was, "Well to quote Henny Youngman, the only two good balls I hit on this hole, happened when I stepped on the rake."
I guess humor is still acceptable in the Bible Belt.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
A Day Of Infamy In Kindergarten
Me Knows Better Than to Say This... but I will. I thought it might be good to enlighten you about my childhood so you understand a little more about the title of this blog and how it shaped or warped my mind as some might claim. You see, I have been tainted since early childhood. I know the common phrase in vogue right now is that my parents screwed me up... but that is not the case at all. It was actually the education establishment... which was linked to the military industrial complex at the time. No - I just threw that in as a conspiracy theorist. No - the education establishment is linked to union labor and organized crime. Really.
It all stems back to one of my first "tests" in kindergarten. I still remember the question and since that time, I have held a general disregard for those that can't see both sides of the argument. Yeah... kinda deep for a 5 year old, but you'll understand in a moment.
Back in my day (wow that sounds old), but we learned to read from the ever-present Dick and Jane books. They had several levels from kindergarten to third grade... and then you graduated from school in Iowa. The part everyone remembers and can recite from memory (the early stages of fake reading), were "See Dick run. See Jane run. See Dick and Jane run." You get the picture... so to speak.
Then there was Sally, the one in the middle. She was my favorite and I had a cr
ush on her... until that dreadful day. The day of the "test" (and it probably wasn't much of a test, but it seemed like the first in a series of ridiculous milestone moments of higher learning) and it offered a seemingly easy series of multiple choice answers. Since no one in kindergarten could read (that I was aware of) the teacher asked us to circle the correct answer which was presented in a picture format after she read the question to all of my esteemed colleagues.
The questions were all pretty straightforward - all five of them and I aced it... scholarship on the way... Stanford, Princeton, Yale, probably even MIT if I continued the trend. Hell, probably all four of them with multiple PhD's. Then the next day the answers were provided and there was a huge red check mark on Sally. I missed the question of my favorite character... that little heart breaker... the first of many might I add... mistakes and girlfriends.
The question was really straightforward with Sally standing facing away from the page and both her arms raised with 90 degree elbow bends pointing up. The student (meaning me) had to select from the pictures of what Sally's face should look like. The multiple choice answers were: Happy Face, Sad Face, or Surprised Face. It was all pretty simple on the surface.
Yes and the obvious answer was... Sad Face. Yes, yes, yes. Now I know that most of you would have selected the Surprised Face, but that was not correct answer based on my reasonable knowledge of human behavior and wealth of five years of experience growing up. And like you, the teacher and the author of this dumb book also selected Surprised Face as the correct answer to force upon unsuspecting and easily molded minds of mush. Now I know it doesn't seem like a big deal right now... but this stupid question has bugged me for many, many years. My shrink... aka my wife, tells me, "oh just get over it." But hell no. I'm not letting it go. I'm not letting this military industrial complex (right - not them this time)... I mean those union thugs... they can't get in my way... and in kindergarten I did just that. I stood up for what I believed. Well actually, I was really timid and just thought WTF... those idiots don't know how to write a test.
You see, the part no one knows is that during the morning of the test, I was confronted with exactly this same situation and hence my answer of a Sad Face makes all the sense in the world. And to remind everyone, it is just a matter of perspective... a perspective that the teacher and the author never saw. Well, as it happened that very morning, I must have done something really stupid and my dear mother had had enough. She threw her arms up in the air (just like Sally) and proceeded to scream at the top of her lungs, "OH SHIT JIMMY!" and then she turned around to face me and give me "the look" the one which is forever burned into the back of my eyeballs.
You see, as I commented above, there are two sides to every situation. I stand by my answer of a sad face. I would have selected "Angry Face" but "Sad Face" was a close as it came. That moment tainted my academic career and all hope of an Ivy League education was lost forever. You see there really is a conspiracy of organized crime keeping me from a solid education and dreams of a really good job. Sally, Sally, Sally... it was a tough way to start an education with you. It almost forced me to join the union and become a teacher with a life of crime taking money like that... but alas I wasn't good enough. I couldn't even answer that one stupid question... so I had to pursue another line of work to support my life style.
I think I'll write children's books in the future.
It all stems back to one of my first "tests" in kindergarten. I still remember the question and since that time, I have held a general disregard for those that can't see both sides of the argument. Yeah... kinda deep for a 5 year old, but you'll understand in a moment.
Back in my day (wow that sounds old), but we learned to read from the ever-present Dick and Jane books. They had several levels from kindergarten to third grade... and then you graduated from school in Iowa. The part everyone remembers and can recite from memory (the early stages of fake reading), were "See Dick run. See Jane run. See Dick and Jane run." You get the picture... so to speak.
Then there was Sally, the one in the middle. She was my favorite and I had a cr
ush on her... until that dreadful day. The day of the "test" (and it probably wasn't much of a test, but it seemed like the first in a series of ridiculous milestone moments of higher learning) and it offered a seemingly easy series of multiple choice answers. Since no one in kindergarten could read (that I was aware of) the teacher asked us to circle the correct answer which was presented in a picture format after she read the question to all of my esteemed colleagues.The questions were all pretty straightforward - all five of them and I aced it... scholarship on the way... Stanford, Princeton, Yale, probably even MIT if I continued the trend. Hell, probably all four of them with multiple PhD's. Then the next day the answers were provided and there was a huge red check mark on Sally. I missed the question of my favorite character... that little heart breaker... the first of many might I add... mistakes and girlfriends.
The question was really straightforward with Sally standing facing away from the page and both her arms raised with 90 degree elbow bends pointing up. The student (meaning me) had to select from the pictures of what Sally's face should look like. The multiple choice answers were: Happy Face, Sad Face, or Surprised Face. It was all pretty simple on the surface.
Yes and the obvious answer was... Sad Face. Yes, yes, yes. Now I know that most of you would have selected the Surprised Face, but that was not correct answer based on my reasonable knowledge of human behavior and wealth of five years of experience growing up. And like you, the teacher and the author of this dumb book also selected Surprised Face as the correct answer to force upon unsuspecting and easily molded minds of mush. Now I know it doesn't seem like a big deal right now... but this stupid question has bugged me for many, many years. My shrink... aka my wife, tells me, "oh just get over it." But hell no. I'm not letting it go. I'm not letting this military industrial complex (right - not them this time)... I mean those union thugs... they can't get in my way... and in kindergarten I did just that. I stood up for what I believed. Well actually, I was really timid and just thought WTF... those idiots don't know how to write a test.
You see, the part no one knows is that during the morning of the test, I was confronted with exactly this same situation and hence my answer of a Sad Face makes all the sense in the world. And to remind everyone, it is just a matter of perspective... a perspective that the teacher and the author never saw. Well, as it happened that very morning, I must have done something really stupid and my dear mother had had enough. She threw her arms up in the air (just like Sally) and proceeded to scream at the top of her lungs, "OH SHIT JIMMY!" and then she turned around to face me and give me "the look" the one which is forever burned into the back of my eyeballs.
You see, as I commented above, there are two sides to every situation. I stand by my answer of a sad face. I would have selected "Angry Face" but "Sad Face" was a close as it came. That moment tainted my academic career and all hope of an Ivy League education was lost forever. You see there really is a conspiracy of organized crime keeping me from a solid education and dreams of a really good job. Sally, Sally, Sally... it was a tough way to start an education with you. It almost forced me to join the union and become a teacher with a life of crime taking money like that... but alas I wasn't good enough. I couldn't even answer that one stupid question... so I had to pursue another line of work to support my life style.
I think I'll write children's books in the future.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Club Championship
Me knows better than to say this... but I will. Golf is an easy sport when you don't have your hands gripping your throat while trying to putt. Yesterday all I saw were 4 and 5 footers for par and it was tough to keep breakfast down standing over these all day.
But fortunately they double cut and rolled the greens so they ran true. All that was needed was to get the ball rolling and hope the cup got in the way. Very fast - very difficult pin positions. The greens keeper must have wanted to humble us and remind us we were not that good. Luckily I was getting the ball rolling straight and most fell in. Not sure how that happened, but take them when you can. I'd better just take the 38 / 40 and run home.
On Sunday:
It could have been worse. One guy I played with took a 9 on a par 5. This even after he got there in 3. Yes... for those of you scoring at home that is 6 putts... Or in the common vernacular - a 6 jack. I've 4 jacked a few greens, but never 6 times. (He should've used the old Sevie Ballestros line after the announcer asked him what happened to him when he 5 putted a hole. Sevie's reply was, "Well, I miss, I miss, I miss, I miss, I make). After watching that 6 putt, it made me lose my cookies on the next hole as everyone in the group was a little more cautious. So I easily 2 putted from 2 feet.
On the bright side everyone had the same nerves as scores were not as low as expected and I shot 38 on the front and brought the clunker home with a smooth 43 on the back. I was burning oil, threw a piston and was running on two flats... the other two wheels just happened to fall off after watching the 6 jack and then the vehicle caught fire smouldering all the way home. I was surprised I could even bring the club back to swing it.
On the par five 18th hole, I drove it into the fairway bunker. Then I smoothed a safe six iron into the next fairway bunker, leaving 103 yards to a back pin directly over a deep pot bunker... oh by the way... also into the wind to help me out. I proceeded to hit the perfect pitching wedge pin high and with all the luck I had (and the sand and wind combination), spun it back 30 feet. Those are really fun to watch on TV and to impress your friends... but that wasn't the time on the last hole of the club championship. But two putts later (with a knee knocking 4 footer for par above the hole), I could finally breathe and find a little moisture in my mouth... just glad to have it over with and somehow never having seen any part of the 515 yard fairway.
But all in all, it turned out pretty good. Second place (behind by 1) in the first flight... not all that bad. It should have been much worse based on the way I played. Next year, I'll try to loosen the grip around my throat.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Pool Party
Me Knows Better Than to Say This... But I will. Too cool this year for the annual friends pool photo. For those of you that believe in global warming... where the hell is it? Or if I used the same trending data over the last 3 years extrapolating like the "experts," I'd say we better brace ourselves for some glaciers coming across North America by 2100. This pool is starting to look like a bad investment unless I can turn it into a hockey rink.
Well - we did use it, but not like the last couple of years when the summer heat was perfect. Al Bore - a little help here please. I need to recoup this investment.
Remember... I warned you guys.
About the Title...
I thought long and hard about this blogspot... well really short and quick and a bit impetuous. I wasn't sure what to call it. I liked what JD (my nephew) did with "The World According To JD" as it sounded pretty worldly and since he has traveled quite a bit and is living overseas, I thought he had a great title. Then I realized it was http://www.theworldaccodingtojd.blogspot.com/ where he left the "R" out of the middle and then I wondered if he did this intentionally as a means to spoof everyone or to see if anyone was paying close attention. He seems to keep people off balance with his thoughts. Then he deflated my expectations when he said he had been having a bit of trouble with his computer keyboard as the "r" was a bit sticky. I guess I was reading too much into his mind. Uh oh... didn't really want to venture there.
Well, I liked the idea as it was pretty catchy and also wanted mine to be on par with his, but more tuned to my personality. "The World According to Jimmy" was perfect, but then as I thought about it, that would be like copying and not very clever... almost like repeating the same joke after the person before me really nailed it. I need to be more original with my concepts.
I also thought about the "The World According to a Big Hick" but thought my family and friends might substitute the letter "H" and that kind of defeats the purpose of a cutting edge thought... not that there will be any brilliant prose logged into this blog. On occasion I might stumble across a sane thought or two... at least something I might consider as acceptable, but not everyone will agree... especially those... well, you know who you are... and if you don't all the better for me.
Then I ran across a concept, that perhaps each post could start off with "I Know Better," especially if I might enlighten some people, but then that sounded a bit presumptuous... even if I was correct in my writing it might turn off the "uninformed" with knowledge of less than trivial matters... although I might bring up a few concepts about ancient Egyptians or why beer actually makes people smarter... I was all set to go with it, until I discovered that someone else beat me to the name and came up with the same brilliant idea. How can I always be so late? I was late to the "Beer on a Stick" concept... the one that would have made me a zillionaire at the State Fair. I was also late with the "Snuggy" idea, you know the one advertised on late night TV that is a blanket looking like a kimono, but available in just plain royal blue and ugly red. The colors I would have selected would have been mauve, serengeti or taupe... something I have no idea what they were. (Note: now the "owners" of Snuggies have Leopard and Zebra print for the more discriminating tastes. Even I would not have ventured into the wildlife field. Suggestion to the brainiacs there - make the next series in camo and target another market). But I digress. Well at least I thought the url was brilliant.
Yet the more I thought about it the more I realized "I Know Better" was a little too cutting edge as I may on an occasion, make one or two incorrect comments. I know that isn't probably the way to start... be positive... know for certain you are correct, but sadly I do make one or two mistakes a year. Just ask my wife.
But I really liked the concept. And since I will more than likely make a few offhanded, incorrect, and down right offensive comments to a few people... the new title fits. "Me Knows Better Than to Say This... but I will."
If anyone does read this, you were warned.
Well, I liked the idea as it was pretty catchy and also wanted mine to be on par with his, but more tuned to my personality. "The World According to Jimmy" was perfect, but then as I thought about it, that would be like copying and not very clever... almost like repeating the same joke after the person before me really nailed it. I need to be more original with my concepts.
I also thought about the "The World According to a Big Hick" but thought my family and friends might substitute the letter "H" and that kind of defeats the purpose of a cutting edge thought... not that there will be any brilliant prose logged into this blog. On occasion I might stumble across a sane thought or two... at least something I might consider as acceptable, but not everyone will agree... especially those... well, you know who you are... and if you don't all the better for me.
Then I ran across a concept, that perhaps each post could start off with "I Know Better," especially if I might enlighten some people, but then that sounded a bit presumptuous... even if I was correct in my writing it might turn off the "uninformed" with knowledge of less than trivial matters... although I might bring up a few concepts about ancient Egyptians or why beer actually makes people smarter... I was all set to go with it, until I discovered that someone else beat me to the name and came up with the same brilliant idea. How can I always be so late? I was late to the "Beer on a Stick" concept... the one that would have made me a zillionaire at the State Fair. I was also late with the "Snuggy" idea, you know the one advertised on late night TV that is a blanket looking like a kimono, but available in just plain royal blue and ugly red. The colors I would have selected would have been mauve, serengeti or taupe... something I have no idea what they were. (Note: now the "owners" of Snuggies have Leopard and Zebra print for the more discriminating tastes. Even I would not have ventured into the wildlife field. Suggestion to the brainiacs there - make the next series in camo and target another market). But I digress. Well at least I thought the url was brilliant.
Yet the more I thought about it the more I realized "I Know Better" was a little too cutting edge as I may on an occasion, make one or two incorrect comments. I know that isn't probably the way to start... be positive... know for certain you are correct, but sadly I do make one or two mistakes a year. Just ask my wife.
But I really liked the concept. And since I will more than likely make a few offhanded, incorrect, and down right offensive comments to a few people... the new title fits. "Me Knows Better Than to Say This... but I will."
If anyone does read this, you were warned.
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