2010 - Jimmy's Year in Review (The Top 11 Incase You Missed Them)

Me Knows Better Than to Say This... But I will.  For my three (semi-) followers who don't really log on to see what's happening in my blog on any regular interval, I thought I would provide a quick summary of the Top 11 blogs of my choosing.  (Eleven because Ten is over done and eleven is a pretty good number).  This should help you incase you missed nothing of importance.  These are not the ones which created the most buzz (if one can say that about my musings), but ones which I enjoyed writing and laughing about.

Number 11:  Eagles and Harleys and Claws... Oh My
Jimmy's glad he's not this stupid... to be disproved below.

Number 10:  Jimmy Is Disillusioned By Politics  
The most ironic sign I've seen.

Number 9:  Jimmy's Wife Comments on Last Blog
Continuing discussion on my favorite sweatshirt.

Number 8:  Jimmy's Sign From Above  
Perhaps its time for Jimmy to get glasses.

Number 7:  Jimmy Needs Glasses
Yes - Jimmy does need glasses... really.

Number 6:  Jimmy Turns Hawaiian  
Maybe you heard about a recent milestone.

Number 5:  Whoa... For a Second Jimmy Thought  
Jimmy relives an event my brother wants to forget.

Number 4:  Jimmy's Apology to Target Corporation 
You didn't hear this from me.

Number 3:  Jimmy's Crappy Luck  
Home repair taken to a new low.

Number 2:  Jimmy's Electrical Adventure
Jimmy just needs to leave the tools alone.

And my daughter's favorite story...
Number 1:  The Art of Winter Driving - Jimmy Style  
Suggestion to stay off the roads.


Let me know your favorite story because I'm sure there is more in there to write about later.

Thanks - have a great and safe 2011.

Jimmy

Jimmy's Basic English Deficiency

Me Knows Better Than to Say This... But I will.  OK, now that I've confessed to not hearing and understanding the differences between "Meat" Vodka and "Mint" Vodka, I can mention another time when what I thought I heard did not match what was actually said.

While waiting for a flight out of Taipei on China Air, an announcement came over the public address system for what we thought was to apologize for the longer than normal delay in boarding.  The Taiwanese airline employee started speaking in broken English with a heavy Mandrin accent, "We would ike to apahagize fo the incompetence."

Immediately one of my fellow passengers asked, "Did she just say they were apologizing for their incompetence?"

Another guy sitting across the aisle chimed in, "No, she said 'incontinence.'"

Either way - no good.

However we later figured she was trying to say, "We apologize for the inconvenience."

Jimmy hopes this hearing deficiency doesn't create another international incident.  Either that, or there is an opening for some English language courses in Taipei.

Upon Further Review by Jimmy

Me Knows Better Than to Say This... but I will.  After my last posting on the Polish Vodka, I decided to do a little research.  Wódka Żołądkowa Gorzka does have three flavors:  Orange, Mint and what I thought the lady said was "Meat."  That sounded a bit strange to me, but who knows... I've seen some pretty crazy things traveling abroad.... but Meat Vodka? That sounded almost plausible coming from Poland, but after looking it up on the Internet, I guess the lady was saying "Mint" but it sounded like "Meat."  So upon further review, mint would have been an excellent choice.

Jimmy is Lost in Translation

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  An interesting aspect of my job is the chance to sample the local culture of most of the locations I visit.  Poland was especially nice; however, the vodka wasn’t too nice back to me.  It’s not what you think… I just had a hard time drinking shots of alcohol when all I could feel was a burning sensation going down my throat.  It helps when the vodka is chilled or nearly frozen, but not all of it comes that way.  However, when in Poland you gotta do what the locals do...  It wasn’t until I discovered Wódka Żołądkowa Gorzka that I could at least enjoy a shot or two of the stuff.  The group I was with couldn’t decide what flavor it was, but consensus determined that it had a hint of cinnamon flavor.

Cinnamon is not my favorite, but this didn’t deter me from wanting to bring a bottle back to the US since it was that good.  So before I had too many, I tapped out the name of the vodka on my iPhone and relaxed knowing I didn’t have to remember the name or try to pronounce it. 

The night before leaving, I headed down to a liquor store in the town square to make my purchase.  Not surprisingly, not a soul in the quaint little shop spoke English, but I had planned for this situation.  I handed my iPhone over to the proprietor and pointed to the screen with the name of the spirit I wanted to purchase.  She nodded her head and motioned me to one particular area.  It had every kind of Wódka Żołądkowa Gorzka on the shelf and she expected me to know which one I wanted. 

I asked in English, “Cinnamon?” because that was the best guess at the time.  Apparently “cinnamon” is not a universal word between our two languages and she looked at me and shook her head.  I looked at the other patrons for a little advice and asked even though I knew better, “English?”  Everyone shook their head. Again, I asked "Cinnamon," and heard no takers.

Finally the owner motioned again at the three choices like I had to make a decision now since she was busy.  I pointed at the one on the bottom because it “looked” cinnamon.  She shook her head like that wasn’t a good choice to make.  Silently she waved her hand again directing at the three distinct options.  Again I pointed to the “cinnamon” looking bottle.  She shook her head and grabbed the bottle in a way that made me think I was making a mistake by not taking her advice… but my odds weren’t that good either way and I thought it best to stick with my original guess.

Later the next day, after I had checked my luggage with my proud possession of some type of local vodka, I noticed a duty free shop with my vodka along with the other flavors.  I knew I could not make another purchase since my carry on would be held at the next stop, but I asked if the owner of the store spoke English.  She nodded her head and I asked, “Can you explain the differences between these three vodkas?”

She rattled them off, “This is orange.  This is honey… and this is meat.”

Obviously the first lady knew what she was talking about.

Jimmy Meets The David

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  I am praying that my daughter is not blessed with my unique and somewhat bizarre sense of humor, but on somewhat more frequent occasions it seems to be surfacing.  Take for example our trip to Italy last year.  The history is amazing but after a while it’s difficult to absorb another marble statue representing some aspect of some century so far back I’ve lost count.  Even though the art is amazing, soon all the sculptures begin to look alike… including all aspects of the detailed anatomical features.  As a modest Midwestern father of a teenage girl, I finally got somewhat accustomed to the… let’s just say the unashamed aspects of the artwork.

We had been through the Vatican, St. Peter’s Cathedral and every Roman fountain known to man.  It wasn’t until we reach Florence, home of Michelangelo, that we seemed to have reached the peak… the agony of seeing one more statue (showing everything), but the ecstasy of seeing one the greatest sculptures ever crafted.  Florence proudly displays “The David.”  This is the masterpiece crafted from a chunk of marble rejected by many renowned artisans of the day, only to be accepted by, at the time, a little known Michelangelo as a challenge to showcase his own confident abilities.

The guide was telling us that we were looking at an exact replica and if we were so interested, she could take us to see the original that is protected in a museum a couple of blocks around the corner.  However, it was easier to see this one in the large public square amongst many other works of art and she explained the story behind masterpiece.  She noted that even though this represented the young David at the moment prior to slaying Goliath, that the model was most certainly an Italian man.  She noted that the nose was more Roman and that this was not a young boy, but rather a young and a well developed young man at that.  She also pointed out that David, while Jewish, would have been circumcised, but that this model was definitely not. 

It was then that guide gracefully waved her hand to show all the other similarly displayed young Italian physiques forever captured in the proud and stoic marble and commented, “As a result, you’ll begin to note some similarities to the other sculptures done around the same time.”

In an instant, my daughter leaned over to my wife, rolled her eyes and dryly said out of the corner of her mouth, “I’ll say.”

Jimmy’s Poor Parenting Skills on Display – Thanksgiving Past

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  Well obviously the Parent of the Year Award will not go to Jimmy.  I think it stems from past violations around Thanksgiving time ten years ago.  At the time, my daughter was having a hard time sitting still at grandma’s place waiting for the main meal.  Since she was only four years old it was quite understandable and the cousins had gotten her pretty wound up throughout the day.  She needed a nap in the worst way but would not sit still for fear of missing anything.

In order to move the process along, Jimmy decided it was best to have her sit on his lap and watch a little TV.  The only problem was that Grandma received only three useable TV stations (which brought back memories of my childhood).  Of the three, one had football – this was no interest to my daughter – although I would have gone for that, but I was still in the running for Parent of the Year.  The second one was fuzzy and needed a person to hold one end of the antenna while using the opposite hand to point toward town.  (I would have used this option, but my hands were full and it too brought back too many good memories of my childhood when it was my job to double as the signal boost ground operator).  The third and best choice (like I had any other) was to watch the family friendly cartoon - The Simpsons. 

Now I know that the Simpsons is not the best choice for a four year old, but given the constraints and the objective to keep her occupied until she fell asleep, it seemed like the best option.  Everything was going well and I figured what few age inappropriate jokes they had, would go over her head… until my wife showed up to help.  Her first comment was, “You aren’t letting her watch that show are you?”

Rather than explain the options, I responded that this episode of the Simpsons was really tame and I pointed at my daughter’s head and mouthed the words, “This is way above her head.  Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately I did not know this episode.  It was the one where Mr. Burns had a girl friend and she was trapped in burning building.  In an instant, Mr. Burns developed super human strength, rushed into the building to save her and somehow carried her out against all odds.  The reporter on the scene asked him while he was still holding her like a bride across the threshold, “How were you able to perform this miracle when you are barely able to walk?” 

Mr. Burns replied, “Well, you know what the strongest muscle in the human body is… it’s the heart.”

Homer happens to be standing by and responded, “That’s funny, I always thought it was the wiener.” 

Immediately my wife gave me the I-told-you-so-stare, walked over to the TV and slapped it off.  

Jimmy’s Excuse For Not Writing

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  My apologies to my three loyal readers (yes, we had a 50% increase in followers within the last month from two to now three), but work has been getting in the way of blogging.  I know that really is not much of an excuse.  But since work pays better than blogging, it is my fiduciary responsibility to maintain some sort of a standard of living and support my family.  Since blogging pays almost as much as my gambling winnings (if not a bit more), I need to concentrate on what brings home the bacon. 

Some may have thought that I was on probation after a few of excerpts regarding wardrobe issues, but no… not this time… It was merely a requirement to concentrate on work during a pretty hectic schedule.

However, the work has had plenty of side benefits.  I have a bunch of new material to share and I had a chance to visit many interesting countries.  At the time of my last blog, I was starting a round-the-world trip going from Scotland to Germany to Poland to India to China and finally Korea before coming home… then back on the plane a couple of weeks later for two weeks in Europe in France, Germany, Poland, Scotland and No. Ireland.  Luckily I am able to sleep pretty well on planes as I normally get a good 21-24 minutes total when adding up the 3 minute bursts… so I am ready to go all the time.

Well… I am back and well fed and those new scanners really penetrate through all the extra body weight I am carrying while eating all the time.

Below are a number of random photos of a couple of sites.  I will get back to the blog shortly. 

No visit to Scotland would be complete without a visit to the Royal Links... the birthplace of golf.  I tried to enter the ballot for a chance to play, but no luck this time.

Here is a look out over the putting area... It is my understanding that the caddies make most of their money by betting with the visiting players and I can see why.

While driving through the Scottish country side,  we spotted a castle that we had to visit.... no idea of the name, but still pretty awesome.

Off to Osnabruck, Germany... beautiful town square with the church here.

I will write later about my trip to India, but here are a few vendors selling spices on the street.  I would have stopped, but they don't take Visa.

Paris - light show at the Eiffel Tower.  Much bigger than I suspected.  Met some Americans I will blog about later.  

Spent a little time visiting Jim Morrison's grave in Paris.  

Then off to Versailles.  Beautiful setting outside for Paris.  Interesting history, but too bad for that unfortunate incident with King Louis and Marie Antoinette losing some body parts.  Not sure how the French do it... everywhere I went, I expected to pay for a ticket, but no one would take any money even though the signs clearly said 18 Euros.  Now I see why they have a fiscal issue, they try to make everything free... but I'm  not complaining.  I guess they thought I was storming the gates of Versailles to get a piece of history.

They had an exhibition with a Japanese artist showing a bunch of his work throughout the palace.  It didn't seem to fit, but I had to get my picture take in front of this one... not sure which subject is odder looking standing in front of the palace...(My three followers are not allowed to comment).

















Then inside were these statues... just out of place in this historic building in my opinion.















Here is one from No. Ireland.  We took a drive along the northern coast and saw spectacular vistas.  This is well worth the drive and needed more time than I could give it.


 Later I will post a few of the best photos to the slide show.


Good to be back home.

Escalation of the Wardrobe Wars

Me knows better than to say this... but I will. In continuation of the sweatshirt issue, Jimmy ran across an issue while trying to hang my jacket in the coat closet and not finding 1) an available hanger and 2) any available slot to squeeze just one more coat into the double sized closet. What in the... world is going on here?

I quickly deduced that my wife had too many coats and we needed to pare this down a bit. If I needed to get rid of some old sweatshirt, she should at least part with a coat or five. So to prove a valuable point in the logic war, I decided to get an accurate inventory of the situation. One, two... fifteen, sixteen... twenty-one, twenty-two. Twenty- two coats! How many coats does one woman need!

Since I was sure that a comparison would be asked, I decided to trump that argument with my total. I was sure I was as low as single digits and maybe ten or eleven at most. One, two... ten, eleven... Hey I finally found that golf pullover I was missing... twelve, thirteen. At twenty I counted my pastel blue tennis jacket purchased twenty-five years ago. I have't played tennis in at least twenty-two years and at some point I converted it into my oil changing jacket. However I haven't changed my own oil in at least twenty years. But I hung onto it since I was sure that pastel blue would come back into vogue for the third time... shortly I am sure. Thirty, thirty-one, and finally the last one nuzzled up against the wall number - thirty-two. It was my good ski jacket which hasn't fit Jimmy in fifteen years... But I'm sure I'll lose that thirty pounds by winter so I better hang onto it.

Well I may have to save the point about too many jackets for another time. Please, no one tell my wife. I'm sure she will never read about it in the blog so (in Pig Latin) ixnay on the acketjay.

Jimmy’s Wife Comments on Last Blog

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  (Editor’s note pertaining to the last blog):

Hello – this is Jimmy’s wife (technically it’s Jimmy.  She’s just standing over me while I type this so that the following is accurately represented in the post). 

It has come to my attention through a good friend, that I was mentioned in the last blog.  I normally don’t read that drivel (even though I am still 50% of his active readership), but I decided I had to investigate.  The quotes attributed to me were not accurate.  What we have here is a case of a man’s selective hearing and general lack of thinking… you ladies will totally understand my problem.  I don’t even need to explain it to you.

All I said was, “That sweatshirt…” and I shook my head.  It was no where near the given impression of general biatchiness.  (Jimmy’s post editorial comment:  Is that really a word?  “Biatchiness”)

I can only assume that my good senses caused him to re-evaluate his wardrobe selection.  He must have rationalized all those statements in his head… only after realizing that I was indeed right.  How he described that ratty old thing was the only thing that was accurate about the blog: old, torn, didn’t match, not good enough for Good Will.  I guess what he wrote is only what he interpreted from those two very inert words and his descriptions where his own.  The only way I could describe his attire… in a kind way… it was a bit, shall we say, ragged. 

So… don’t believe everything you read here and would someone mind giving me some clue as to where he hid that thing?

***

OK – now that she’s gone… 

Jimmy – GQ is Waiting

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  This morning, I got up early to play a little golf.  Since it was a bit chilly, I elected to throw on some jeans with a golf shirt and I topped it off with a comfortable sweatshirt which coincidently has the name of the club embroidered on it.  (What Jimmy is failing to mention is that his favorite sweatshirt has been just that - his favorite for the last 15 years and is a bit - by some generous standards - frayed around the collar).  Also, he failed to mention that the color combination did not match the golf shirt.

The moment I put it on, my wife looked at me and commented, “Uh… that doesn’t go together and that sweatshirt needed to be thrown out ten years ago… and jeans?  You can’t wear those up there.” 

“Hey, it’s my favorite sweatshirt and I play better when I am comfortable.”

She responded, “At least do something with the sweatshirt and get something that matches this time… and take that frayed thing immediately to the garbage can.  It’s so bad, you can’t even give it to Goodwill.”

As I walked back to the closet to change I heard her mumble, “Men… you can dress ’em up…  No… in your case, I can’t even do that.”

Looks like GQ will be waiting for Jimmy a little longer than usual.

Jimmy's Apology to Target Corporation

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   Really, I should know better, but this is too good to pass up.  Jimmy “knows” an older couple and they were in Target the other day doing some shopping.  Out of no where, the elderly man sneezes so violently that his dentures fly out of his mouth and slide across the tile floor doing a slow rotational glide to a stop on the other side of the aisle.

The elderly lady sees this and she begins to laugh so hard that she pees her pants. 

If you see my mother-in-law, you didn’t hear this from Jimmy.

P.S. Target Corporation - My apologies to your staff.  I will will pay the sanitizing bill... it was worth it.

Jimmy’s Nemesis

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   There comes a time in every project when the homeowner needs to step back and leave it to the professionals.  Sound advice.  Too bad Jimmy wasn’t listening.

Several months before the birth of my daughter, my wife decided it was time to convert the spare bedroom into a nursery.  As an uninformed stupe, Jimmy later realized this was called the “nesting syndrome” and most intelligent men know it’s time to tread carefully – apparently hormones have something to do with this.  However, first time dad… no one told me. 

While she was painting up a storm, Jimmy decided, rather than help paint, that now was the best time to run a telephone line, cable TV and Ethernet into the room.  I still don't know what I was thinking.  That would be mistake number 1… I should have helped.  My logic: One bad cut now - screw up a fresh paint job.  This was a simple plan… pull back the baseboard, drill a hole, fish a wire, cut the box… job done.  I can still help paint after this job is finished.

Unfortunately the drill kept digging deeper into a much larger board than I anticipated so a new plan was hatched… drill at a different angle thereby missing the board completely.  Mistake number 2 was about to happen.  Jimmy snagged the edge of the carpet with the drill bit.  It was only a millisecond before releasing the trigger, but here’s a little factoid for those that don’t know:  It’s amazing how fast a spade bit can wind up Berber carpet… just a little touch and it was like a sweater unraveling and the drill winding up in a nice little skein of yarn. 

Jimmy cursed. “$*%#, I think the crib is going in this spot.” 

My wife winced, “There’s no need to do that job.  Help me paint.”

“I will, but this will take just take a second.  I don’t think I can get it from here so I'll  go downstairs and drill up.”

“But you can’t.  That’s the dining room below and my good wallpaper which I spent a fortune having professionally hung.”

“Ah… don’t worry.  I’ll go through the closet and cut a hole in the sheetrock.  I can put my arm in the wall, drill up and I’m through that board... in and out... piece of cake... can of corn.”

“But what about the new hole?”

“I can patch that.  No one will ever see it.”  That would be mistake number 3 for those counting.

Everything was going smoothly, but attempt number three just wouldn’t come together since they must have triple-headered that damn wall as the bit kept going and going and never broke through. Since I didn't want to run to the hardware store for a longer bit (mistake number 4), it was time to try another option.

Since going up was useless, perhaps a different angle from above was better after all.  Maybe if I went back to the original spot, pulled the carpet back this time (Berber carpet lesson learned since I'm not that stupid) and skimmed the ceiling below, I might hit my target. 

“Honey… go downstairs and watch the ceiling in the dining room.  Yell at me if you start to see a drill bit poke through the ceiling.”  That would be mistake number 5.

“OK… that didn’t work.  Since I have a hole in the closet, I could try that angle up instead.  That might work better.”

Finally my wife put her foot down.  “If you go through that wall paper…”  She didn’t finish the sentence so I knew she wasn’t all that serious about the threat.

  

Even with that ominous word of caution, Jimmy measured and calculated… used all his math skill available… put an “x” in the closet at just the right spot and started to drill… until he broke through.

“Uh oh… I shouldn’t be able to see light…  $%&#.”  That would be mistake number 6.

To her credit, my wife didn’t say a thing.  She put on her coat, left the house and went to a movie by herself.  Jimmy spent the next three hours patching holes and wallpaper.

***

A few years later, Jimmy hired a professional to finish the task.  “When you do this room, might I suggest you try a different route since that wallpaper is kinda special.”

“Oh, don’t worry sir.  We have this new feature called “Wireless.”  That would be mistake number 7.

Final tally:  House 7 – Jimmy 0.

Jimmy’s Crappy Luck

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   Since electrical work is not Jimmy’s specialty, he decided to try his luck with minor deck construction.  Slapping boards together is not all that tough.  In order for a deck to be stable (not fall down for the non engineers in the audience), it is best to ensure that the ledger board is properly secured to the house. 

The ledger board work is a pretty simple task.  All it takes is a small drill, a 3/8” bit, a lag bolt, and a ratchet.  This is about the simplest job in all of deck construction… what could go wrong? 

Everything was going smoothly (which should’ve been my first warning sign)… tap the hole, insert the lag, and ratchet it into place.  Move to the next spot, redo above procedure.  A monkey could do this job… while eating a banana… it’s that simple.  On about lag number four, the resistance on the ratchet became much higher than normal.  Jimmy applied more force using several straining repetitions as he called upon his inner ape like strength, (saying a few curse words under his breath about those damn knots in the wood probably helped the most) until the object finally relented and gave way to the gradual click, click, click of the final few torque down twists with minimal effort. 

Holes five through ten were uneventful like the first three. 

Upon completion, Jimmy decided that something didn’t seem right… why would nine lags be so easy and only one so difficult?  What was different about lag number four?  Since the basement was not completed, it was easy to remove the insulation and inspect the various lags protruding into each and every preselected location… exactly where it should be.  Fail one…

As I removed the insulation from lag location #4, I purveyed a 4” diameter PVC pipe sucked up against the outside wall.  The lag pierced the object a mere 2 inches below the main floor.  Crap… hit the sewer drain pipe.  Me should know better.

Jimmy’s Electrical Adventure

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   Jimmy was reminded today while he was fighting an obvious direct short in an electrical circuit about some good common sense when it comes to dealing with electricity.  Luckily he had some valuable “real-life” experience to draw upon that occurred a few years ago while running an extra set of outlets in the basement.  Jimmy had the “brilliant” idea to finish all six outlets and then join them at an inconspicuous box in the utility room.  It’s all about the planning.

The plan was coming together very well until I realized that the only light in the utility room was on the same circuit as the hot input outlets where I had to connect– but this vital bit of information was not available until after all the outlets were installed.  The best and most sensible solution at that moment was to stop, get a portable light, and turn off the breaker.  At that moment, sensibility left the room and Jimmy had the “brilliant” (there’s that word again) idea.  I thought that it would be much quicker if I just wired them hot rather than go find a portable light and trudge all the way back to the panel to shut off the system.  What could go wrong?

Now I know that most of you are thinking – wow, what a stupid idea, but none of you were around to provide that type of insight. 

I had insulated handles on the long nose pliers.  I was standing on dry ground.  I didn’t plan on touching any bare wires for obvious reasons.  I had done this before.  This should work out just fine.  I grabbed the first wire with the pliers, had a hold of the outlet and then… BANG.  I’m standing in total darkness… not a sound of any kind in the house… total silence.  Apparently things didn’t go as planned or I was about to meet St. Peter.  I found my way out of the room and noticed that my pliers were missing a chunk of metal.  Actually a chunk of metal melted away leaving a gapping hole in the shape of a non-existent 14 gauge wire rendering the tool useless.  At that moment, I realized – wow, that was a stupid idea, and I kicked the breakers back on to inspect the rest of the damage… which was contained to one burn mark up the side of the wall. 

 

Jimmy reminds people not to try this with your home.

Note:  This is not a photo of the described event.  On a dumber note, this was the second attempt.

Jimmy Understands the Importance of Spelling

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   This week, a high school classmate reached her dream and published her first novel.  In honor of her exquisite writing, I thought could share the other end of the spectrum.

A colleague of Jimmy reminded me that his own writing in high school never quite conveyed the message he intended.  He always had the best intentions and was (and still is today) a very thoughtful person nonetheless.  While in high school and dating the girl he would eventually marry, he thought he would surprise her with a fresh doughnut he picked up on the way to school and place it in her locker with a little love note.  This is where the thoughtful gesture went wildly astray. 

She opened her locker to a great surprise and read the note.  It said, “Good morning sweat heart.  This dognut is for you.”

She still married him.  She is a teacher today and reminds all her students about the importance of proper spelling.  He is an engineer.  I guess we are all predestined to certain careers. 

Congratulations Colleen on your novel… Jimmy took the easy way out and pursued engineering.

For more info on Colleen's new novel see:  http://www.fridayjonespublishing.com/Friday_Jones_Publishing/Glass_Halo.html

Jimmy – A Witness to the Best Non-Productive Golf Shot of All-Time

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  Since it’s a golf weekend for me, I figured it was time for a golf story.  One can argue the merits of what could be considered non-productive in golf, but Jimmy witnessed the strangest shot of all time that was essentially a wasted swing.

It all started innocently enough on a par 3.  The lady in our foursome had parked her golf car on the path next to the green and proceeded to walk in a straight line from the car, across the green.  She surveyed the landing spot next to the flag and then proceeded on that same line directly into the trap that had eaten her tee shot.  She setup nicely and had a nice follow through, but she caught it too cleanly.

I knew the shot was a bit strong as it sailed over the lip of the trap, so I started yelling, “Hit the flag!  Hit the flag!” hoping it would snag of piece of the cloth and drop by the hole.  However, the ball whistled past the flag – just missing it by inches.  Then desperately hoping to stop the ball before it headed over the green and into the woods, I again yelled, “Hit the car!  Hit the car!”

This time the ball obeyed and on the fly, hit the front tire and immediately reversed course back toward the green.  While the ball was still in the air, it was again looking a bit too strong so I yelled, “Hit the flag!  Hit the flag!”  Again it missed the flag by a mere inch or two, bounced twice on the green and rolled back into the trap.  And yes - it rolled directly into the divot where it started. 

The ball traveled over 40 yards total and had two chances to drop by the hole for an easy putt, but ended in the exact same place it started.  That had to be the best non-productive golf shot that Jimmy has ever witnessed.

Jimmy’s Perplexing Sign

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  I saw this sign in Belfast.  Not sure what it means, but I’m sure Jimmy’s not supposed to do it at any time. 

Jimmy's Sign From Above

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  OK, OK, OK… Jimmy knows he really needs glasses, but still won’t admit it.  As further evidence to support that conclusion, a business trip took me back through Ames, IA.  A colleague suggested we make a quick tour through the campus, grab a bite to eat and continue our trip.  It had been a while since my last visit and since it was getting late, this was a good place to stop for supper.

Upon arriving at the campus, my head was on a swivel and I was amazed at all the changes.  I continued to drive and then I turned along Welch looking for a place to park and an old hangout that we could get a beer and burger. 

I commented to my traveling companion, “Wow, there sure have been a lot of changes around here.  They even have a clock tower in the middle of the street.  That wasn’t here the last time I was in town.”

A second later, I found a parking spot and noticed several unfamiliar buildings… ones that didn’t exist when I walked these same hallowed grounds. 

“Look… they even have a Visitor’s Center,” I stated much to my amazement.

My colleague looked around and asked, “Where?”

“Over there,” and I pointed at a two story building across the street that appeared to have been constructed out of bricks, but it was a little too dark to be certain.

“Uh?”

“Over there,” I pointed again.  “See the two story building with the lights on the bottom level.  It has the sign over the top that says ‘Visitor’s Center'.  Can't you see that?" I said incredulously.

Casually, my friend corrected me, “Jimmy… you mean that sign that says ‘VISION CENTER’?”

Jimmy may not be that bright, but perhaps that could be a sign it's time for glasses.

Jimmy’s Chocolate Milk Adventure

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  A few days ago, my wife announced that there was an unopened container of chocolate milk in the refrigerator that we should probably use.  Now the only person that loves chocolate milk more than me is my daughter so I thought I would give her first dibs.  I waited a day and the container still sat unopened so I figured now it was fair game for anyone. 

The brand of milk sitting in the refrigerator was unfamiliar to me, but after a hot day on the golf course, I poured a large glass to enjoy with my sandwich.  It wasn’t too bad, but I quickly decided that this brand, flavored like a chocolate malt, wasn’t the best.  Over the years I have reached the conclusion that I much prefer chocolate shakes over chocolate malts as the malt taste doesn’t usually enthrall me.

As I continued to drink it, all I could do was associate it with the unpleasant after-taste found at the bottom of a warm chocolate shake from McDonald’s that had been sitting in the car a little too long.  But I forced it down since one should never let any chocolate go to waste.

The next day I remembered to mention to my wife, “Say… about that chocolate milk, let’s not get that brand anymore.  I’m not a big fan of malt flavored chocolate milk… and it must have been mislabeled because it didn’t say malt flavored on the jug either.”

“Uh… you mean the chocolate milk I just threw out yesterday?”

“Why… didn’t you like that flavor either?” I asked.

“No… it had soured and smelled pretty funky to me so I threw it out.”

On a related note:  Jimmy has started checking USE BY DATES a little closer.

Jimmy Is Disillusioned By Politics

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  I ran across this sign today. 

Is it just me or does this sign say it all about the sad state of politics in the US today?  The website described the event as, “Enjoy a day of friendly camaraderie on the golf course while getting to know your fellow retailers and state legislators.” 

Not only are legislators out on a golf outing when we don’t have money, but the event is sponsored by Pawn America.  This is just ironic on so many levels.  Jimmy is still shaking his head.

Whoa… For A Second, Jimmy Thought…

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Between my junior and senior year, my brother and I decided to spend the day at the amusement park (Valleyfair) with a group of our baseball buddies. During the day, my brother and I hooked up with a couple of hot girls (truthfully - it was a very warm day) and we went on a few rides with them. Everything was going very well and the girls wanted to go for a final spin on the Enterprise before spending a little casual time with us. At this point, the Enterprise was one of the most extreme rides in the park where the four person containment compartment moved in a circle until it gained enough speed and then the entire ride turned ninety degrees so that it looped like a Ferris Wheel. Only the riders were upside down for a good portion of it.

Like I said, everything was going well… very well. After we finished the ride, the four of us were standing in a circle deciding where we could hang out when my brother abruptly stopped talking and put his hand over his mouth. He paused for a second and then he announced for all to hear, “Whoa.” And as he tapped his chest he added, “That was close. For a second, I almost thought I was going to…” And before he could finish the sentence, he threw-up in the middle of the circle.

Instinctively both girls kicked their legs back to avoid the splash, but the angular velocity of the projectiles were a bit too much as they ricocheted onto their sandals and bare legs.


Not sure what happened next, but the girls mentioned they needed to go to the bathroom to clean up and needless to say, they didn’t come back. Way to go bro! Whoa, for a second, I almost thought we were going to get…

Jimmy Wants A Vanity License Plate

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. It seems like too many people have the urge to express themselves everywhere - including on cars. I don’t particularly care for bumper stickers… but that is just me and everyone has First Amendment rights. For me, they are too small to read, generally not in tune with my political beliefs and most look like they are the only valuable part still on the car – which might be the only thing holding the bumper on and hence the name. (Which gets me thinking that the Cash 4 Clunkers program was generally a good thing since it got many Obama bumper stickers off the road – either that or they had a change of heart. Maybe that was what all the Change hype was about). But me… I prefer the more subtle message - A Vanity Plate.




Jimmy has thought long and hard about this. Unfortunately I’m not sure anyone would get it so I need your opinion. What about this:

If you don't get it, read a little lower on the page and I will tell you what it is.





















When I come up from behind and you look in the rear view mirror what does it say?

The Answer: MOVE IT

Jimmy’s Fourth Rule for International Travel

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  Sorry for the long time between blogs, but I have been traveling… I mean working.  I know the blog should come first, but Jimmy has to eat (bad choice of analogies here as you will read later).  However, the job does give me plenty of material to write about.  A few blogs ago I had “Three Rules for International Travel.”  See:  http://meknowsbetter.blogspot.com/2010/03/three-rules-for-international-travelers.html

Well today, I must amend this to a fourth one:  Eat First, Ask Questions Later.

The fourth rule must be strictly adhered to in Asia… particularly in China.  Jimmy really likes Chinese food (Americanized Chinese food that is as I have come to realize there is a distinct difference).  On a recent travel to Guangzhou, I was treated to a special dinner where the patrons select live food from tanks and it is prepared right away.  I have now come to appreciate mammals which walk on four legs and are found prepackaged at Cub Foods.   

Jimmy has also learned to eat more vegetables since at least those are recognizable food forms.  Not sure I have, or will ever acquire the taste yet for alligator, water beetles, sea urchins, snakes, or geoduck glams (whatever the heck those are, but they sure are ugly even when alive).

Remember besides:

1.      Any sleep is good sleep.  

2.      Whenever food is placed in front of you, it must be time to eat.  

3.      Start each and every day with a healthy breakfast because the day can only get better after eating that crap.

And now the latest rule:

            4.  Eat first, ask questions later.

Jimmy Knows Burritos

Me Knows Better Than To Say This... But I Will.  Personally, any eating establishment which refers to food returning back to it's original location (360 degrees) is not a place I want to eat... especially burritos if you get my drift.  I mean... just refer to my plast blogs on ths subject (around September).  See Airline Cuisine to Mumbai if you are not familar.  http://meknowsbetter.blogspot.com/2009/09/airline-cuisine-to-mumbai.html

That blog is of my personal favorites, but not for the squeamish.  So be warned.

But I like the added touch of "Gourmet" not like I have ever linked that word with burritos.

Jimmy Turns Hawaiian… The Big 5-O.

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. I decided to make this a quick blog and tout all the good things about turning 50 years old.

   1.  ??????

   2.  ??????

   3.  (Are there really any?)

I struggled with this concept until I arrived home to find my AARP membership application prominently displayed. My wife was responsible for this small act of supposed humor, but it did get me going with some brainstorming possibilities. So here is a list in Letterman’s Top 10 format.








Reasons Why Jimmy Should Embrace Turning 50 Years Old:

   10. Full fledge membership advantages with the AARP card are now possible.

   9. The excitement of receiving a lovely letter from my employer mentioning I am eligible for the “Executive Medical Examination Program.” (True email… I wonder what they want to check).

   8. A built in excuse for not remembering important appointments mentioned by my wife.

   7. If I hear something I don’t want to do, I can always claim hearing loss.

   6. When my daughter mentions something about the Old Man… I know it’s not the Hemingway novel.

   5. The gray hair looks better on a 50 year old rather than a 49 year old.

   4. I am now considered a shovel ready project under Obamacare.

   3. No need to explain eating supper at 4:30 in the afternoon.

   2. Discounted green fees at selected courses.

   And finally the number one reason to embrace turning 50…
   I can now play golf from the senior tees.

Jimmy Needs Glasses

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  Yup… it’s that time.  The ole eyesight is just not there anymore.  Of course it has been a gradual disintegration starting back a few years.

The first indication occurred while we were on vacation in Hawaii and my wife was looking for a particular store without really knowing the name (that’s how we shop)… so as a dutiful husband, I tried to help the situation by pronouncing the stores that appeared on my side of the road hoping the correct one would come along so we could get back to the fun stuff.  Off in the distance was a store I could barely make out… I started slowing reading it as it came into better focus, “Boogie…” the words faded and I then I saw more, “Boogie Boards…,” I added still unable to see it all.   I strained again, “Boogie Boards and… Miscellaneous.”  That was it… I could see the entire sign.

My wife questioned what she heard as it sounded a bit ridiculous to her, “What?” 

But the store name was well within the realm of possibilities since this was after all Hawaii. 

“Boogie Boards and Miscellaneous,” I repeated matter-of-factly and positive in the possibilities that we would not venture into that shopping establishment.

“Where do you see that store?” my wife questioned… disbelieving a fact uttered from my lips.

I pointed it out almost to the point of indignation, “That building over to the left that says Boogie Boards and Misc. in big red letters.  Can't you see it?”

Then my gracious wife mentioned, “You mean… Borders Books and Music?”

“Yeah – that’s what I said,” and I continued driving past the big sign written as an obvious optical illusion.

Jimmy Has Been Duped

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  A while ago I noticed a small lump or growth in the palm of my hand.  As a man, my first reaction was to ignore this obvious sign of trouble and insist to myself that it would “eventually go away.”  A few months pass and my healthcare wife noticed it and suggested that I have a specialist take a look.  My response, “Don’t worry honey, it will eventually go away.” 

A few more months pass and a second lump has connected itself to the first and apparently it’s not going away.  Now Jimmy is a bit more concerned since whatever this growth is, may require surgery and if that happens, it might wipe out the golf season.  Since golf is apparently more important than good health, I make an appointment. 

Soon Jimmy is waiting for the doctor.  As he enters the room and before he has physically inspected the patient (me), he throws a pamphlet in my direction and confidently declares, “You have Dupuytren’s Syndrome.” 

Uh?  This sounds ominous and the casual abruptness of the physician isn’t making me feel any better.  He has already given up any hope for my chances… the callous bastard.

I pleaded, “Doc, before you give me the bad news, how ‘bout you first take a look to make sure the diagnosis is correct.”

 “Don’t worry, I see this all the time.  As a matter of fact, I was one day away from getting to do this same surgery on Ronald Reagan but he had it done the day before I arrived at Bethesda Naval Hospital.”

Jimmy was feeling a bit better about his chances and the expertise of the doctor.  If the President of the United States would trust this guy, I should too… but then again the President opted for a different surgeon moments before going under the knife.

“This is a hereditary contracture of the fingers where the growth overtakes the tendon and starts to curl your finger.  Chances are that your father has the same thing.  The only other characteristic I can tell you about this disease is that your ancestors came from Northern Europe and we don’t know what causes it.”

My suspicions of this quack mounted… hell he didn’t need to be a clairvoyant to predict my ancestry with my fair skin and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to say “we don’t know much about this.”  Thanks for the confidence boost doc and the reason we don’t need government in healthcare.

 He continued, “But it is relatively common and nothing to be concerned about.  Chances are you won’t require surgery unless it bothers you.  And even if you get surgery, it will probably grow back anyway.”

“Don’t worry doc, unless this disease screws up my golf game, you won’t see me again. Thanks,” and I left.

Shortly thereafter, Jimmy decided to call his dad.  He sounded a bit concerned when I mentioned that I had seen a specialist about a health issue.  When I told him about the growth on my hand, and before I could say anything else, he interrupted me.  “You mean a growth on your right hand under the ring finger?  I have that too.”   

“How long have you had it?” I asked.

“About thirty years.  I thought it would eventually go away.”

“Dad, let me save you two hundred bucks.  It doesn’t go away.”

“I know that.”

"Well that's good info to know... If you want to know...  it's called Dupuytren’s Syndrome... now send me two hundred bucks."

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