Jimmy Loves Decisive People (Part 1)

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. True story. A friend told me about taking a prenatal class and the nurse went around the room and asked each person, “What is the one trait you would like to pass along to your child?”

The standard answers came out, “I would like my child to get my… sense of humor.” Or “… get my organizational skills.” Or “… get my green eyes.” Or “… get my dimple.” You know - the standard simple things.


Then a business man ponders for a moment and with a bold voice declares, “I would like my child to get my decisiveness… I think.”


Nice try buddy.

So Life Has Come To This

Sent from my iPhone

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  What happened to my youth?  What happened to the adventures in life?   There was a time when New Year's Eve meant staying out late, drinking and laughing till way past midnight, but the past decade has been anything but that as father time demands an early close to the evening.  I was afraid that age had finally caught up with Jimmy and life was over, but now the adventures are back… well almost.

There was a time when an interesting evening activity was wine tasting… not that Jimmy was very good at distinguishing the flavors erupting on the palate.  Heck, I had a hard time distinguishing between a Merlot and a Riesling… not sure where that word came from but I think it's a white wine.  But I was pretty adept at knowing the difference between the alcoholic beverages which were fermented with hops if that is any consolation.

But at this stage in my life… it has come to this.  Instead of wine tasting… the new vice is… wait for it… peanut butter tasting.  Yes you heard right.  Last New Year's Eve, a group of friends were bantering the age old question… which is better - JIF or Skippy? Lines were drawn and stretched back to childhood preferences.  Apparently change is not a word used well in my circle of friends.  

However, we decided to do a Taste Off to settle our differences once and for all with a blind sampling and crackers between each test to ensure a clean palate.  Each person had to list their current favorite then taste both and select the best.  

Jimmy's favorite since childhood is, has been and will forever be Creamy JIF.  The group was divided almost equally between the two giants of processed chemical spread, with entrenched stances similar to mine as to which is the best variety.  Vows were made that they could tell the difference.  In the unlikely event of selecting the opposing brand, each person swore they would never change.  Game on.

This may sound like an exaggeration, but I can assure it wasn't.  The beer may have been talking for everyone and boasts were ringing with bravado saved for major sporting events as each taste tester claimed the ability to tell the difference.  

The results?  Well over half of us were unable to distinguish our preferred peanut butter and about that same number came to the conclusion they liked the opposite one better than their original selection.  

Jimmy has decided, while it might be difficult to get used to buying Creamy Skippy, I would be unopposed to the selection… if it were cheaper.  Case closed. 

The Art of Winter Driving… Jimmy Style

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will. Now that the Statue of Limitations has expired and anything I say beyond this point should NOT be construed as an admission of guilt, I can tell this story. Jimmy realizes now that winter driving skills are finely honed artistic endeavors… much like ballet on ice.



Every time it snows, my daughter starts laughing and then proceeds to remind me of a story I told her that happened many years ago… now well past the Statue of Limitations I remind you and not subject to prosecution. I only told her to show her the dangers of idiotic winter driving and following cars too closely when the driving conditions are suspect.


The adventure happened while I was rolling down the road in the left lane on my way to work… going along with the traffic at the prevailing speed, which as it turned out was faster than any of us should have been driving. The snowing was falling with a good stiff northwesterly breeze making the visibility a bit lower than ideal and the white fluffy stuff was accumulating quite nicely. As I was driving with the pack, I became a bit concerned at the speed and decided I should check to see how slippery the road deck was and thought I should tap my brakes just a bit to gather a data point to support my suspicions. I carefully realized that it would have been stupid to tap my brakes while traveling over the bridge so I smartly waited until after I cleared… well just barely cleared. That was when all hell broke loose.


See… this is where the knowledge of following some idiot too closely is important. Not to say that Jimmy was the idiot here or not, but the idiot behind him truly was such an example… and the idiot behind him… and probably a few other idiots in succession. The moment I started my experiment to gather data (again only to check the low coefficient of friction theory) I realized that the back end of my car moved a small amount and I made the reasonable conclusion that it was indeed slick and that we were all idiots for traveling too fast. Unfortunately for the car behind me (who I might remind everyone is just coming off the bridge) panics at the sight of brake lights and steps on his brakes a bit harder than he should have. Subsequently, the car behind him which is fully on the bridge concludes there is a problem ahead, jumps on his brakes as he suspects time to impact is now a vital concern.


This is where it gets interesting. Everyone knows that while driving in slippery conditions that one should never use the brakes on a bridge deck as the results will look like a ballet in slow motion. Mere moments after my successful experiment, I looked in my rear view mirror to watch the idiot immediately behind me fishtail and start to regain control. Then a split second later, the supreme idiot behind him does what I would consider is an unrecoverable spin with an immediate bailout into the ditch at a ninety degree angle to the median with a blast of snow which cushions the impact and brings him to an immediate stop. The explosion of snow was quite the sight as apparently everyone behind him decided to admire the spectacle. That pretty well cleared the road as Jimmy had no one following him into work that day.

Touché… The Subtlety of Ignorance

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.”

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.

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.

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.