I Laugh, Therefore, I AM

Evening Scene

2012-01-27T08:48:00.001-04:00

From my balcony.

Episcopalian

2012-01-26T11:16:00.016-04:00

Last week, I officially “jumped ship” from the RomanCatholics and joined the Episcopalian church.

For Roman Catholics, it’s prettymuch an easy process – Just sign on the dotted line. The Big Main Bishop laidhis hands on my head (messing up my hair, thank you) and proclaimed me to be amember of the Anglican Communion. I then went online to have asignificant amount of my earnings donated to the church every month and the process was complete.

I felt sort of like a Republican.

Easy Peasy.

But for me, becoming an Episcopalian was a really big deal.This is my third time at joining a Christian denomination and each time, theexperience was pretty significant. Bottom line: My motives in the past weremessed up.

April 1968: I was nine years old and I had been pressured for some time to make my “profession of faith” in the local Southern Baptistchurch. That’s where one walks down the aisle during the last hymn and says tothe congregation that you’re a sinner and that you “accept the lord JesusChrist as your savior” (I doubt that anyone knows, theologically, what thatactually means) and that you want to be baptized. I did that when I was nine.It was embarrassing and frightening.

June 1993: I had spent the previous year attending classesat the local parish in order to become a Catholic. I was doing this for thesole purpose of joining a monastery. I had become obsessed with monasticspirituality, (I wanted to become another Thomas Merton or St. Thérèse of Lisieux) had found amonastery to join, but the one hitch was – I needed to be Roman Catholic.

Muchlike Thomas Merton, I was admitted into the monastery two months after becomingCatholic. I remained in the Order for the next seven years and came awfullyclose to being ordained as a priest.

Having completed a huge amount of graduatestudies in philosophy and theology, in retrospect, I realize that I idealizedreligious life far too much. Turns out, it was a disappointing, painful and potentially disastrous experience;much like many episodes in our lives turn out to be.

January 2012: I had spent the past two-and-a-half years as amember of the choir at St. James (Episcopal) Cathedral and it’s been awonderful experience. I came there having distanced myself from spiritualityand having been awfully jaded by it.

Bottom line: I missed having music in mylife. I came to the Episcopal cathedral hoping to join a really good choir. Ifound that.

What I didn’t expect was to be nourished.

Emotional, intellectual, spiritual, and musical enrichmentbecame a huge part of my life because of this Episcopal church that I foundtwo-and-a-half years ago. For that, I am truly grateful.

In retrospect, I’ve got three years of monastic life andfour years of seminary toward the priesthood behind me along with an inordinateamount of graduate theological studies. There were a few years of embracing atheism as well.

As an Episcopalian, do I believe in God?

I don’t know.

Philosophically, I have a great deal of trouble thinking that I can marvel atmy own existence, that I can realize and create such beauty with my music, and thefact that I can love without Something-Greater-Than-I causing it. (Consult Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas for the actual philosophical references). Could all thisabout me have been created withouta supernatural First Cause? My training as a Catholic seminarian gave me theability to posit these things. As an Episcopalian, I can question them.

Do I believe in life after death?

I don’t know.

As aCatholic, we were always led to believe in a life and consciousness after wedie. I’m now free to think that, actually, I’d be very surprised to find thatwe exist after death; or at least in any humanly-recognizable form ofexistence.

When you think about it, isn’t there something incredibly meritoriousand supernatural in living our lives withoutthe knowledge of an afterlife?

Didn’t Christ (God) experience the same emptinessand nihilism upon his death when uttering “My God, why have you forsaken me?” Did Christ do all that he did with a quid pro quo mentality?

Cannot we enter into a solidarity with Christ by not expecting a reward? Are we brave enough to do this?

Why does such horrible affliction exist among the innocent?

I don't know.

During my years in religious life, I wrestled for so longwith that “ultimate” question as to why there is so much unjustified afflictionin this world. There was never an “answer” to why it exists. I can often onlyhang my head to the horror if it all. Butthe best response I could ever come up with was to develop an observation of myown;

An unlimited amount of supernatural beauty exists and canbe discovered when one finds solidarity with the God (Christ) who chose toexperience the affliction and annihilation to which we humans are continuallyshown.

That statement above pretty much distills all the insights I've gleaned so far. If I had to submit a "Credo", that would be it.

I still love the visions of the 20^th century philosopher, Simone Weil (1909-1943). I’llparaphrase her thought:

“In the beginning, God was all that existed and therewas nothing but Himself: . . . Perfection.

Therefore, God’s greatest act of love wasto create something outside Himself."

The journeycontinues. . . .

Peace and love, myfriends.

Starbucks Scene

2012-01-24T14:54:00.000-04:00

Sunday morning, I was at my usual Starbucks on the way to church. There was a family of three consisting of mom, dad, and a boy about five years old just in front of me.

Mom placed her order and the barista asked, “Would you like Pike Place roast or dark roast?”

“Dark roast,” was her reply.

Then the little boy piped up: “I prefer dark roast, too!”

I laughed and said, “Hey, the man knows what he wants.”

I then placed my order: “Grande. Dark roast.”

The mom turned to me, smiling, and said, “It comes highly recommended.”

Finding Bigfoot

2012-01-23T14:06:00.004-04:00

For a long time, I’ve had a strong interest in the creature known as Bigfoot. Ever since my cousin claimed to have encountered it near our family ranch when I was about thirteen, my interest has bordered on being a phobia.

Now don’t get me wrong. Intellectually, I know this creature called ‘bigfoot’ or ‘sasquatch’ doesn’t exist. Most likely, people are mistaking a bear for it. But the thought of encountering one still gives me the willies; so much so that I will probably never go hiking where they (bears) are believed to exist.

So, this brings me to the subject at hand. There’s a new series on Animal Planet called “Finding Bigfoot” that features a group of eccentric Bigfoot hunters who spend an inordinate amount of time trying to track this thing down. In each episode, the four of them creep out into the woods with all sorts of tracking and recording equipment in hopes of obtaining proof of this creature’s existence. (And might I add – a creature that doesn’t exist.)

Like I said, I’m a longtime Bigfoot fan, but these people bug the hell out of me. Here’s a typical episode:

They’re in the woods at night and hear a knock on a tree in the distance. “That sounds like a ‘squatch!” they whisper to each other. (They shorten the name “Sasquatch” to ‘squatch, indicating their extreme familiarity with this creature – a familiarity with something that doesn’t exist.)

They shine an infrared camera across a river and spot the outline of a bear waddling along the bank. But no! That could be a ‘squatch! Because when ‘squatches walk on all fours, they’re often mistaken for bears.

That’s because it is a bear, you fools!

Then, they come across some bear-poo in the forest and start analyzing it to see what the bear ate. Why? Because this will tell them what the ‘squatches are feeding on as well.

No – you’re digging around in bear-poo and now you know what bears enjoy.

They analyze a hiker’s video in which the hiker captured a humanoid shaped thing walking in the distance. “That sure looks like a ‘squatch to me!” they proclaim. “Look how tall it is!”

No, it’s a tall, humanoid-shaped thing because it’s a tall human. Most likely foraging for a Starbucks.

Then, they find some large, human-looking footprints in the mud -- The holy grail. They attempt to rule out that the tracks were caused by a bear. After all, “bear tracks can often be mistaken for those of a ‘squatch . . . .” and on and on we go.

I would really love, just once, for a big ‘squatch to come lumbering out of the forest at these people and just stand right in front of them. Most likely, they would end up leaving behind a good amount of poo for a bear to encounter.

Oh, Say Can You See?

2012-01-07T10:44:00.002-04:00

Indiana Senator, Vaneta Becker (R), has proposed a bill thatwould impose a fine on anyone who deviates from singing The Star SpangledBanner as it was written.

As a liberal Democrat, pretty much any bill by a Republicanmakes me bristle. But as a musician, this Republican would get my vote.

I get so weary of hearing performers ad-lib the melody andinsert their own style into this piece. Newsflash to performers: This piece wasnot written to be used as a springboard for your own, freewheeling style. Use abit of self-restraint and humility when performing this piece. The melody isdifficult and impressive enough on its own.

We don’t need to hear you singthirteen notes on the word, “brave.”

Here’s Mariah Carey performing it. (She really goes all overthe place toward the end.)

Yes, she’s talented and, yes, she’s got an impressiveinstrument. But, honey, use it on pieces that were meant to be improvised.

Ithink anyone who wants to perform this piece should be given the followingtest:

“Can you tell us what a ‘rampart’ is?”

“It’s, um, like, um, it’s like. . . .”

“Sorry! Next?”

In Becker’s bill, I’d go one step further regarding ournational anthem:

Change it altogether.

In my opinion, a nation’s anthem should be free of textsabout bombing, battles, and killing. Our nation has done way too much of that –we don’t need to emphasize it at every sporting event, especially every time anAmerican athlete wins the gold at the Olympics.

We should also change it because 99 percent of ourpopulation cannot sing it; few people have the requisite vocal range of anoctave-and-a-half.

And no one can remember the words, much less, knows what a “rampart”is.

Evidence by:

My solution?
Change the national anthem to something we allknow and can sing. My solution is the theme to The Brady Bunch.

Seriously, can’t you just see it at the next Olympic Games?

“Here’s the story

Of a lovely lady

Who was bringing up threevery lovely girls. . .”

We all know the words and melody. We've heard this piece many more times than The Star Spangled Banner.

Everyone from every country would join in singing ouranthem!

(You know they would.)

Such a scene would be so much better for our nation’s imagethan reminding everyone of our bombs bursting overhead.

Tim Tebow Denounced by Interracial Marriage Opponents

2011-12-31T10:30:00.007-04:00

It's been a long while since I wrote a piece of satire, but darn-it! My frustration with Tim Tebow, the conservative Baptists, football, and marriage equality all got wrapped up into one.

Enjoy.

Christian Quarterback Tim Tebow Denounced by InterracialMarriage Opponents

LOUISVILLEKY - Following the firestorm that erupted when the Gulnare FreewillBaptist Church in rural Kentucky voted to ban mixed-race couples from joining theircongregation, numerous members of the National Association of Freewill BaptistChurches have begun utilizing photographs of the notorious Christianquarterback, Tim Tebow -- often seen in passionate, kissing embraces withexclusively African-American partners – to spearhead their national campaignagainst interracial marriage.

More than 40 years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court obstructed aVirginia statute barring whites from marrying nonwhites, overturning bans in 15other states. But while interracial marriages have soared since then, manychurches in the South remain largely segregated.

“Frankly, I have no problem with mixed marriages and wewelcome them in our congregation,” reported Freewill Baptist ExecutiveSecretary, Ryan Burden. “But when a handsome, muscular, strapping Christian quarterback suchas Tim Tebow who is such a fine spokesman for Christianity and purity is seentime and time again kissing only blacks, well, that gives a confusing messageto our young people.”

Burden paused to collect his thoughts. “I mean, what are ourChristian athletes supposed to think when Tebow kisses Demaryius Thomas so hard and with such passion? He's never seen kissin' any white ball players at all! It’s onlygoing to lead to more mixing of the races!”

To date, the notoriously Christian quarterback, whoproclaims he will remain a virgin until marriage, has only been seen kissingAfrican-American team members, holding them in firm, musclebound embraces, then praying onthe sidelines. Although Tebow is often photographed in infamous sidelineprayer-stance on one knee, he has yet to be spotted in a romantic embrace with any same-race companions.

Heather Kelly, head cheerleader for the University of FloridaGators, had met Tebow on numerous occasions during his tenure with thechampionship team. “I practically, like, threw myself at him every chance Igot, but he was, like, never interested and I, like, kept asking myself, ‘Why?’Was he, like, not attracted to me? After I saw him, like, only hugging and kissing AfricanAmerican Gators, I, like, knew.”

Fellowship of Christian Athletes and Veteran NFL coach, LesSteckel, was equally perplexed with Tebow’s obvious choice of partners and readfrom a printed statement: “Tim Tebow has been a fine, upstanding symbol of Christianconservatism to which our young athletes aspire. While we have no problem withracial equality, his obvious proclivity toward partners of the opposite racepresents a sudden level of multiculturalism that we, the Fellowship of ChristianAthletes, have yet the opportunity to embrace.”

Across the South, anti-miscegenationdemonstrations continue to spread. Although such movements have been sporadicand miniscule since the 1960s, fundamentalist Christian organizations such asthe Freewill Baptists have re-ignited the cause largely due to Tebow’s choiceof public displays of affection with exclusively African-American partners on his own team.

The movement, alongwith Tebow’s romantic interests, shows no signs of abating.

(Almost) Home for the Holidays

2011-12-31T05:00:00.003-04:00

When flying homefor the holidays, I always fly to Houston and take the puddle-jumper connectionto Victoria, Texas, 150 miles SW of Houston where my mom lives.

I flew toHouston on Christmas day and ended up at Houston Intercontinental for the next26 hours after Continental kept cancelling the 30-minute flights to Victoriadue to lack of passengers (they kept citing “maintenance” problems.)

There wereno rental cars available to make the 150-mile drive.

They cancelled my 3:30 pmflight on Christmas day after having delayed it every hour for five hours.Then, they cancelled the last flight out at 9:30 pm. They put us in a hotelthat night and placed me on a flight at 3:30 pm the next day. I found out thatthere were very few passengers on that flight, so I had little assurancethat they wouldn't cancel that one too. Finally, I became so frustrated that Ijust threw in the towel and asked to be flown back to Chicago, which theydid.

Sleigh Ride wasincessantly playing in the background while I waited for my flight-in-defeat back to Chicago.

So, I never made it home for the holidays. I was 150 miles from home, but couldn'tget there. I spent Christmas day eating bad Mexican food by myself in TerminalA at George W. Bush Intercontinental. Isn't that THE saddest holiday tale EVER?

I've submitted lots of documentation to Continental, requesting compensationdue to me according to their own cancellation policies. I was provided with avoucher for $410 after the first flight was cancelled. After the following flight was cancelled andhaving to wait an additional 15 hours, I deserve more. Much more!

I’m a very niceguy, but being a somewhat-obsessive “people-pleaser” has seldom served me well. So, whenever I need to assert myself, (especially at a board meeting) I always think of this Joan Crawford scene. This is my "go-to" scene. If anything, it provides me with comicrelief and, moreover, reminds me of the mindset in which I need to be.

So, if ContinentalAirlines doesn’t accommodate me by honoring their own cancellation policy, I willgo all “Joan Crawford” on them.

Déjà Vu

2011-12-30T21:22:00.002-04:00

The other night, I happened to notice this Christmasdecoration in the lobby of my apartment building. It’s a very impressivegingerbread house:

When I saw that, I instantly felt a little thrill. Somethingvery specific in the core of my memory caused me to get excited over thisgingerbread house. I just wanted to remain there and stare at it. (And I did.) It was an uncanny case of déjà vu.

Then, I realized whyI was responding to this gingerbread house so strongly and it made me smile.

I was four years oldand we were visiting my paternal grandparents and great-grandmother, Granny,Poppy, and Big-Mama. Granny had fashioned this incredible castle-cake and I wascompletely fascinated with it. It was made of cake, of course, but made to looklike a castle with cookies, gum drops, ice cream cones, wafers, andpeppermints. It was one of the most creative things you’d ever seen.

Here I am inBig-Mama’s back yard, transfixed by the castle cake. My younger brother, toddling away, obviously having found something else that interested him.

Even though I wasbarely four years old – if that much – I can still remember every detail ofthat castle cake and the exact feeling I had that memorable day so long ago.

The other night, Iwas probably standing and staring at the gingerbread house in the lobby of myhigh-rise in exactly the same pose as I did forty-eight years earlier.

Baggage Claim

2011-12-29T12:38:00.004-04:00

Having traveled about the country quite a bit, I’ve realizedthe value in having just the right piece of baggage for the trip.

A plain, black carry-on is fine, but once you’re standing ata crowded baggage carousel, you’ll soon realize how many other passengers havebaggage that looks just like yours. Once your plain, black piece of baggage islost, you’ll feel like a dolt telling the airline rep to be on the lookout fora plain, black piece of luggage.

I used to tie a red bandana to the bottom of mine in orderto identify it. That was always a great idea. I could easily spot my bag as itinched its way around to me. Finally the bandana became tattered and barely redat all from all the traveling about.

I get a chuckle when I see these expensive sets of luggageon display at nice department stores like Macy’s. Here are these gorgeous, color-coordinated,designer sets in maroon and moss-colored paisley print. Sure, that piece wouldlook lovely rolling through the terminal, but that bag is going to be shovedalong dirty conveyor belts, dropped onto muddy tarmacs, and crammed into cargoholds along with other nasty pieces of god-knows-what.

One trip across the Midwest on a snowy nightand you’ll find yourself dragging a five-hundred dollar, muddied-up piece of paisleycrap through a terminal in Des Moines.

I took this video at O’Hare on Christmas day after watchingpieces of luggage smash into each other and drop to the tarmac. Keep this videoin mind when packing that bottle of expensive olive oil you’re bringing as agift.

One can practically hear expensive Christmas gifts beingsmashed to pieces.

So, after many years of traveling, I’ve come across theperfect piece of luggage. It’s a carry-on piece that comes in hard plastic (canbe wiped clean), it comes in black, blue, or brown (I chose blue because I likeblue and it’s easy to identify. Isn’t it pretty?

And here’s the best part: It also has a garment bag inside.Wow! Large enough to accommodate a 42-long suit with nary a wrinkle:

I’ve traveled with it and it fits perfectly into theoverhead compartment.

You can order it here at Amazon. Trust me. It’s a greatpiece of traveling equipment.

Leave that designer, paisley stuff on display atMacy’s -- where it belongs.

The Rental Car

2011-12-22T12:40:00.003-04:00

A few days ago, I reserved a rental car for a work-related trip. I usually reserve an economy or standard car, for that suits my needs quite nicely. When I arrived at the car rental place, of course they didn’t have any cars that size, but would I like an SUV for the same price?

Sure. I just needed to get on the road.

I was presented with this huge, black behemoth. An ominous soundtrack playing in the background at that moment would have been appropriate. While checking it for damage, I thought I should check for any small children left behind in steerage.

I carefully eased out of the rental garage, perched high above the street. This vehicle had state-of-the-art everything. Soon, my lower back began sweating and I realized that the seat warmer thought my posterior was cold and needed to be heated. I began poking at the computer screen in the dashboard while trying to negotiate my way through downtown Chicago traffic.

I kept poking at the screen, unable to figure out how to turn the stupid seat-warmer off. My backside was getting braised. Finally, I just had to pull over to figure it out. Trying to keep my butt from being baked was definitely not conducive to traffic safety.

Soon, I was whizzing down Interstate 57. Suddenly, the heater decided I was cold and began toasting the interior of my cruise vessel. Poke, poke, poke. I veered into the other lane. Poke, poke, poke.

So, I pulled over into a Denny’s for some dinner and to try to figure this thing out. But this brilliant monster wasn’t through effing with me yet. As I turned off the ignition, the seat automatically began moving forward. I was being squished in a trash compacter. It was rather alarming.

I guess the seat detected my distress, for it released me after a few seconds. For the next two days, I kept trying to figure out how to control the damn heater. I never did figure it out! -- Much less hooking up an iPod, GPS, or phone. Getting the radio to play and tuned to NPR was a major accomplishment.

This brings me to my point. With all the new laws banning cell phones and texting while driving, I have to tell you that trying to control the simplest features on that monstrosity was a lot more distracting than texting. Our car manufacturers have included so many bells and whistles that they’ve made these vehicles extremely hazardous to drive!

A couple of days later, I had to rent another car and was able to procure a normal-sized Toyota Sentra. The heater was controlled by a simple knob with red on one side, blue on the other.

Trust me. Highway safety in Illinois vastly improved at that point.

Sports

2011-12-16T13:43:00.004-04:00

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a sports fan. I just fail to see the intrinsic value in winning a game, much less paying pro athletes billions of dollars to do so. The fact that Tim Tebow prays on the sideline for a touchdown really irks me. (God should remind Temow that his profession is FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.)

But this doesn’t mean that I don’t have opinions about sports. As a matter of fact, I think my insights as someone who doesn’t watch them can be pretty, well, insightful.

Let’s take basketball. The court is way too small. You’ve got these giant guys loping back and forth, taking about three steps to make basket after basket. The score is always something like 102 to 100. That’s a lot of baskets.

Then, you’ve got soccer. The field is way too big. These guys run and run and run and never make a goal. The score is always something like Brazil: 1, Uruguay: 0.

Solution: Have the giant basketball guys play on a court the size of a soccer field. That would give these guys some room to display their ball-handling skills. Let the soccer guys play on a field the size of a basketball court. That would really give the goalie a workout and make the game much more exciting. Brazilian fans would have a coronary with their team scoring 102 points. Cheerleaders getting a soccer ball in the face would be an added bonus.

Figure skating: Way too much importance is placed on landing the jumps. That’s all the judges seem to care about. A skater can have perfect form, an incredibly creative routine, but if the poor guy bobbles the landing on a quadruple toe-loop, his career is toast.

Solution: At least half the competitions should have no jumps allowed. That way, the skaters will be judged on what truly matters: Perfect form, artistic routines, skating that actually goes with the music, and sparkly costumes.

Gymnastics: Again, too much emphasis placed on “sticking the landing.” The poor gymnast can do triple-flying flips ten feet above the high bar, but if she wobbles one millimeter during the landing, she loses the medal for the entire Russian team.

Solution: Once the bar routine is finished, the gymnast simply cannon-balls into a tub of water. It’s an easy way of removing all the chalk, not to mention tremendous comedic effect.

Football: It’s so boring! These huge guys huddle-and-plan, huddle-and-plan, the quarterback rams his hands under the crotch of the crouching player, they all smash into each other as hard as they can, and all fall down.

Solution: Flag football only. And no touching or tackling. At all. If anyone touches, there’s a penalty. Such a game would require a lot more skill for all the players and make the game a lot more interesting.

And Tim Tebow would no longer have to manhandle a guy’s junk every Sunday. Praise the Lord.

Telemarketers

2011-12-10T07:58:00.014-04:00

I'm here to defend telemarketers.

Yes, those annoying phone calls we receive during dinner whose caller cheerfully and relentlessly attempts to manipulate us into a sales web of deceit. . . .

. . . Yes, I am going to defend them.

Be really nice to them. . . I was once one of them.

Back in 1987, I had been laid off from my job at a bank in Austin Texas due to cutbacks (A bank which became Bank One, which is now Chase). I was single, frightened, and had no money. Rent and car payments were looming. I took a telemarketing job.

At first, it seemed like a great way to make the cash that I needed. There was an hourly wage and a big bonus for each sale. Unfortunately, each sale meant that I tricked unsuspecting elderly recipients into receiving a Gold Mastercard with an automatic annual fee of thirty-five dollars: The dialogue was just horrible. . .

"Oh! and Mrs. Johnson, this Gold Mastercard that you've qualified for comes with an extra benefit of free insurance on any rental car, free overnight shipping if you misplace the card, the-usual-annual-of-thirty-five-and is there anything else I can do before getting your Gold Mastercard card to you?

I got another part-time job encouraging votes for a mayoral candidate I knew nothing about. I even sold season tickets to the Austin Ballet. The Austin Texas Ballet. I was good at it. I kept myself afloat.

Yes, these telemarketing gigs were nothing but scamming money-makers. But I didn't consciously think of that at the time; I was frantic and only trying to make enough cash to pay $390 in monthly rent and keep my tiny Honda CRX from being repossessed.

That's probably what any telemarketer you talk to is only trying to do.

Yes, they are trying to make money off of your gullibility, but that person on the other end of the telephone line is probably only a frightened, unemployed worker who's desperately trying to stay afloat as best they can.

Whenever you find yourself talking to a telemarketer, please try to picture her as your mother, single and desperate, before hanging up on her so rudely.

On the other hand . . .
Never conduct business on the phone unless you initiate the call!

Repeat after me: "I will never conduct business on the phone unless I initiate the call."

When telemarketers call, simply respond:

"I only conduct business on the phone if I initiate the call."

There's pretty much nothing they can say in response to that. (It's fun to hear them try.)

Then, be sure to kindly say, "One other thing -- Be sure to place my phone number on your 'do not call' list."

Anyone who calls you should be able to "not call you" if you request it.
Be sure to ask for their name, operator i.d. time & date, and toll-free number to add extra emphasis. There's a $500 fine if they violate your request after 90 days of your documented requisition.
(So, document your request.)

Bottom line: Please nice to telemarketers.
They're unemployed, distressed people.
They're your daughter or mother just trying to stay afloat.

And: Never conduct business on the phone unless you initiate the call.

Pass it on.

Best advice yet: Stop the telemarketing calls from coming in.
It's easy and really effective.
Go online to the government agency where you can register your phone number to NOT receive unsolicited calls. (Renew it every five years.)

Here's the site: www.donotcall.gov/

And say "thank you" for this really valuable service announcement.

Click the 'comment' button . . .you know . . . like we used to do seven years ago when we were a civilized people?

THEM!

2011-12-05T15:28:00.000-04:00

Friday night; Summer 1969:

My younger brother and I had been allowed to stay up and watch the late-night horror movie by ourselves for the first time. Being eight and ten years old, this was a Really Big Deal. The parental figures retired to the back of the house for the night and we were left alone . . . by ourselves . . . in the dark of night.

The movie was a 1954 classic titled Them! in which leftover radioactivity from Los Alamos had caused these ants to become huge and really nasty. (Most horror movies in the 1950s featured radioactivity that cause something to become huge and nasty.)

At first, the viewer never saw the giant ants; only weird, oscillating sounds were heard in the distance across the New Mexico desert. Tracks were found. The suspense built for quite some time as more evidence was found.

My brother and I were getting pretty scared.

Finally, the local sheriff and deputy came across an isolated grocery store that had been ransacked by something really powerful. A dust storm was raging outside, dark and perilous. The deputy went out back to investigate further. All of a sudden, the weird oscillating sound was heard, two gunshots were fired, and the deputy let out a blood-curdling shriek.

Well, that was IT for us! We stared wide-eyed at each other, quickly shut off the TV and we went scampering to the safety of our bedroom. So much for staying up late on a Friday night.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that Them! was being broadcast so I set my Tivo to record it. I wanted to see what became of the giant ants and, hopefully, make it through the entire movie this time.

Yes, the suspense was built pretty masterfully. Then, the terrifying dust-storm scene came on where the deputy met an untimely end. When I was ten, it seemed like my brother and I had been watching it for hours in suspense at that point.

I looked at the Tivo time-marker. It was only at the 17-minute mark.

I called my brother and he remembered that night very well.

“Dude, we only lasted seventeen minutes!”

We had a really good laugh over that.

So, if you ever come across this old classic, give it a watch. By all means, take note where the ant eats the deputy and picture two terrified young boys scuttling off for the safety of their bedroom.

It’ll make you smile.

Morning Scene - Skyscrapers

2011-12-02T11:31:00.000-04:00

I like tall buildings.

Bacchanalia

2011-11-27T09:04:00.007-04:00

Little neighborhood restaurants are such a priceless gem. I had my first meal at Bacchanalia in Chicago almost twenty-five years ago and have loved it every since. My friend, Jack, and his family have been dining there much longer. It's just a tiny slip of a place; a family-owned establishment nestled in a little, out-of-the-way Italian enclave.

The food cannot be beaten. It's hearty, Southern Italian fare but about as far away from Olive Garden as one can get.

Our waitress knew us; she'd been working there for decades. A complementary platter of pasta with vodka sauce appeared. It's that kind of place.

Antipasto for everyone:

Calamari stuffed with pork:

Eggplant Parmesan with meat sauce:

Stuffed mussels with linguini and white clam sauce:

Scallops Diavolo:

These are just a few of the gorgeous samplings there.

By all means, order their fried calamari. It's buttery, tender, and light as a feather. Their penne arrabiata is to die for. Tons of garlic, olives, and a touch of allspice lace the fiery tomato sauce. But only the cognoscenti order it; it's not even on the menu.

If you really want a treat, order their Porterhouse Vesuvio; a char-grilled monster served in a robust, garlicky brown sauce.

Desserts came, coffee came, another carafe of red wine followed, and laughter ensued among old friends.

The waitress who'd been there for decades got a kiss on the cheek from each of us.

It's that kind of place.

A Cheerful Holiday Message

2011-11-23T14:03:00.004-04:00

It’s the holiday season and that means one thing: News reports showing political officials serving Thanksgiving dinners at soup kitchens and homeless shelters. Very few things get me as upset as this.

Folks, if you want to do a good deed on Thanksgiving or Christmas Day, please don’t pester your local homeless shelter. Stay home and enjoy your turkey and football and family dysfunction.

Several years ago, I was a supervisor in a large housing facility in Chicago that provided hundreds of hot meals every day. Every year at Thanksgiving or Christmas, we would be inundated with folks wanting to volunteer and serve meals on those days. We had to assign extra staff just to take care of all the phone calls.

I remember one woman who got very upset when she showed up to volunteer and it was suggested she help stock the shelves in the kitchen. Oh no! She wanted to work “with” the unfortunate homeless people. I’m sure she envisioned herself benevolently smiling to the less fortunate as she handed them a plate of food.

And yes, city officials made their appearance for the news teams. They’d crowd into the serving line and dish up green beans for half an hour, disrupting the entire operation, and then leave. All for show. They were serving their needs; not their constituents.

Parents would drag their teenage children there to show them the unfortunate, homeless people in hopes of providing them with a lesson on how good they had it. (The Duggars did the same while visiting Washington D.C. last year.) Then, the parents would get upset when we didn’t have anything for them to do. I really wanted to tell these parents that our facility provided multiple services, but being a zoo wasn’t one of them. (Jim Bob Duggar, take note.)

Yes, volunteers are severely needed at these facilities – year round. There were wonderful people who faithfully showed up all year long to help out and I don’t know what we would have done without them. They answered phones, stocked shelves, unloaded delivery trucks – all behind the scenes.

These facilities serve meals every day and they have their routine down really well. Homeless people are hungry every day. It’s not like there’s a huge surge of them requiring sustenance just because it's a holiday.

If you want your teenager to volunteer, great. Have the little darlings show up every Monday at 7:00 am before school, without fail, so they can unload the delivery truck in the back alley.

On Thanksgiving as you’re enjoying your turkey and gravy and find yourself wanting to help, do your local shelter a real favor. Stay home, watch the game, and write a check.

Best Water Ever

2011-11-21T18:27:00.001-04:00

If you want a great example of how gullible the American consumer is, I have only two words for you:
Bottled water.

I don’t know how they did it, but the bottled water people really pulled one over on us. Go to any grocery store, convenience store, and the stuff is flying off the shelves. They’ve caused our society to have a huge aversion to drinking the horrible, nasty water out of the tap.

How did the bottled water people pull that off? All of a sudden, many of us shun tap water as if it was from Mexico or Oklahoma.

We didn’t use to be like this. After all, how many of us grew up gulping water from a garden hose on a hot summer’s day?

And why don’t these bottled water drinkers have an aversion to ice? Do they think the ice in their soft drinks was made from Desani? Newsflash: It was made from tap water pushed through the mildewed tubes of an ice machine that hadn't been cleaned in a decade.

I remember my grade school in Texas. During recess, we had to remain out there on the hot, dusty playground until the bell rang. We’d be out there in 100-degree heat growing thirstier by the minute, just dying for a drink of water.

The moment the bell rang, a hoard of us would hurtle toward the outdoor water fountain which consisted of nothing more than a pipe with holes in it laying over a cement trough; a long, rusty flute with tepid water spurting out of it. A dozen of us sweaty kids would suck on it for dear life, like a dozen piglets on the teat of a sow.

Best. Water. Ever!

I remember working in my grandparent’s non air-conditioned dry cleaning establishment on hot Saturday afternoons. The place would be filled with steam from the presses and the humid air would be thick with the smell of dry-cleaning fluid. We had an ancient 1940s refrigerator in the back that held pitchers of water filled from the taps of the old, wooden rinse tubs in the back.

You’d be sweating all day from the steam and machinery, building up a mighty thirst. Upon hoisting one of those pitchers, you’d notice the thin film of ice that was always covering that wonderfully cold water from the old fridge.

Best. Water. Ever!

Yes, I keep a gallon of designer water in my fridge at home for drinking and for offering to guests. I refill it just about every day from the tap.

No, it’s not designer water from some glacier in Iceland – just good ‘ol dihydrogen monoxide from Lake Michigan.

The Pain of Au Bon Pain

2011-11-18T16:49:00.002-04:00

I’ve come to dread going into Au Bon Pain for my bagel each morning. Apparently, some clueless upper-level manager has instructed the managers and staff to be super-friendly and give every customer a hearty “hello!” and “good morning!” upon entering.

Every time I swing in there, I'm suddenly pelted with an onslaught of enthusiastic greetings. It's a bit much.

I’m a friendly guy, but there’s a limit. I just want my bagel.

Having been in the restaurant business, I can tell you that this directive came from higher-up. Some upper-level manager behind a desk thought it would be a good idea to set Au Bon Pain apart by having their staff double as breakfast-cheerleaders.

I love their asiago cheese bagels, but I’m about to give up on braving the good-morning-gauntlet every time I want one.

Smelly Cat / Soft Kitty

2011-11-15T09:51:00.001-04:00

Remember the Friends episode where Phoebe sings "Smelly Cat"?

And the episodes from The Big Bang Theory where they sing "Soft Kitty":

Here's another episode where they sing it. Obviously, "Soft Kitty" had caught on with the audience.

Well, did you know that both songs can be sung at the same time?

It's true!

I figured this out while riding on the bus the other day.

Here are Miss Healthypants and I in a brilliant performance of Soft Kitty and Smelly Cat. The audience is her cat, Autumn.

You ready?

Finally, my four years of music theory, composition, form & analysis, and counterpoint came into good use.

Afternoon Scene - Autumn

2011-11-11T14:23:00.000-04:00

Here's a pretty tree in the plaza of my workplace. Autumn has arrived in Chicago -- which meant that we had snow squalls yesterday.

20 Kids and Counting

2011-11-09T17:14:00.000-04:00

I’m sure many of you are familiar with The Duggar Family and their super-sized family featured on 19 Kids and Counting. Just yesterday, they announced that Mama-Duggar was pregnant with their twentieth child, thus sending television producers scrambling to change the name of the reality series once again.

Go to any website or blog about the Duggar Family, and you’ll see thousands of comments from folks weighing in and expressing their opinion about this family. The bottom line is, we love to hate the Duggars.

I’m no different.

A friend of mine and I often watch the program together over the phone (she lives in Tulsa) and I’m usually there making snide comments. Yes, I’ll admit it.

I would love to see one of the older boys go off to Africa to be a missionary and then return with a same-sex partner named Umbutu. I can’t wait for one of the girls to grow up and write a torrid, tell-all best seller, Growing Up Duggar. I secretly want Daddy-Duggar to be caught having an affair with a stripper in Little Rock, get divorced, and be slapped with a fifteen-thousand-dollars-a-month child support order.

I’m bad.

I couldn’t help but to caption this photo of them:

But in reality, I had to take an honest look at why I love to hate the Duggars. The honest truth is, I’m jealous of them.

Yes, the four older girls are adults now, still living at home with no career and most of the child care duties falls on their shoulders. But they also get to tour the country on book tours, meet lots of adoring fans, and let’s face it: Jana, Jessa, Jinger, and Jill are celebrities. What’s not to like?

I’m jealous.

The older boy, John-David, is 22, still lives at home and putters around with a towing business. He's got it easy. When I was that age, I eked out a living as a keypunch operator and had to supplement that paltry salary with another part-time job.

I’m jealous.

I’m sure we see a very sanitized view of their life each week. I’m sure they have their share of dysfunction we never get to see. For one thing, that bedroom with ten boys in it is bound to smell like a rotting weasel.

Yes, all the Duggar kids seem to live in isolation from the real world, aren’t allowed to date or watch TV, and appear to be brainwashed by their parent’s super-conservative religious views.

And didn’t I join a freaking monastery for seven years back in 1994?

So, yes, whenever I find myself criticizing the Duggars for their lifestyle, I usually just have to say two words to myself:

“Glass houses. . .”

The Envelope

2011-11-04T16:23:00.008-04:00

Growing up in my Little Bitty Home Town in Texas, we attended church every Sunday at the local Baptist church. I really didn’t enjoy it at all which is strange considering how it’s something I look forward to now. (Now, it's Episcopalian.)

Anyway, for a while when I was about nine or ten years old, we gave this elderly woman a ride to church every Sunday. Her name was Mrs. Clark and she lived on a really run-down farm located on a dirt road a few miles outside of town.

Every Sunday morning, we would drive up to the gate at the edge of her property and either my younger brother or I would have to get out of the car, open the gate and stand there while my grandmother, Budgie, drove up to the dilapidated old farm house to fetch Mrs. Clark. We’d stand there with the gate open, being eyed by threatening cows, until Budgie would return with Mrs. Clark in hand, close the gate and hop back in the car.

Every Sunday, it was the same. Soon before we got to the gate, my brother and I would begin arguing over whose turn it was for gate duty. There was a reason for this. Mrs. Clark would always give the gatekeeper a whole quarter for doing the job. Twenty-five cents! That was 25 percent of my whole weekly allowance; quite a haul for opening and closing a gate, perilous cows notwithstanding.

Yes, it was great to have a shiny quarter given to you for such an easy job. But you see, Mrs. Clark’s huge payroll came with a strings attached. It was meant, not for our benefit, but as earnings destined for the church collection.

We were only in possession of our cash for an entire fifteen minutes. Once we got to Sunday school, it had to go into the Official Sunday School Collection Envelope. I’m sure that anyone who grew up in the Southern Baptist tradition has seen one of these dreadful things:

Not only did The Envelope gobble up your earnings, but it documented your dedication to Sunday school (or lack thereof) and graded it. Here’s what it graded you on:

Present? (20%) That was easy. Was I present at Sunday school? Was I there? Check.

On Time? (10%) Oh my goodness; well if I was on time, I was also present. Check

Bible? (10%) Southern Baptists shouldn’t be without their bible. And it had better be a King James Version, too. None of these high-falutin’ International versions. Check

Offering? (10%) Well, it was an offering envelope after all. Yeah, my hard-earned quarter’s in there. Check.

Lesson? (30%) This was the kicker. Did you study your Sunday school lesson ahead of time? No way! That’s like homework. Yes, they call it Sunday school, but don’t expect me to do homework.

Preaching? (20%) That meant “Are you attending church afterward to hear the preaching?” No small feat since Southern Baptist sermons often ran 45 minutes, if not more. Check.

So, I’d always get a paltry grade of 70 on these things. It also asked you how many people you invited to church, how many phone calls you made, etc. (Yeah, right, like I’m gonna invite any of my friends to come to a place that expects extra homework.)

So, yes, Sunday school sucked. You were graded, had homework, had to give up your money, and were imperiled by cows.

I could never understand why Mrs. Clark actually wanted to be taken there every week.

Dear Sirs:

2011-10-31T18:00:00.004-04:00

Back in 1994 when I was a first-year monk in a monastery, one of the elderly monks, Fr. Placid, asked for my assistance in getting his little computer to print a letter he had written. We went to his room, and there it was -- an original MacIntosh, circa 1984.

Fr. Placid, being 82 years old and having very little experience at word processing, had painstakingly written a letter to a book publisher, inquiring about the availability of a book on theology he wished to purchase. I can still remember the letter in great detail. It was something one would see in a bygone era:

Dear Sirs:

I would like to purchase one copy of “XXX” by xxx, published in New York, May, 1984. If you have copies available, would you kindly consider this a purchase order and mail a copy to me at the above address with invoice enclosed? I shall gladly remit payment by money order upon receipt.

If you have any questions, I can be reached by telephone at 214-xxx-xxxx during business hours except on Tuesdays and Thursdays between 10:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. during which time I am teaching at the university.

Very truly yours . . .

I had to smile when I saw that letter he had spent so much time writing. He would type one letter, look at the screen to see if it was there, type another letter, and so on.

I discovered the problem with getting it to print. He was using Word 1.0 – one point O – and the printer just wouldn’t recognize it anymore.

We finally managed to print his letter. But rather than mail it to the “dear sirs” at the publisher, I kindly called the local Borders, ordered it, and charged it to my credit card.

But I had to hand it to the old guy.

Here he was, 82 years old and bangin' it on a computer. Good for him. His letter was expertly written even though English wasn’t even his native tongue. I doubt that his letter would have been acknowledged at all, though it would have been the means by which one would procure a book by mail back in 1935.

Nowadays, the publication would simply be ordered online from Amazon or downloaded to a Kindle. Calling a Borders these days, if you could find one, would be as archaic as him writing a “dear sirs” letter to the publisher.

Some Things DO Change

2011-10-19T18:51:00.001-04:00

It’s been thirty years since I was an undergraduate in a college music department, but after all these years, I’m back. I’ve been taking private voice lessons from an instructor at a school for the performing arts in Chicago and really enjoying it. (I’m now singing countertenor in the church choir at the Episcopal cathedral.)

Anyway, the other night, my voice teacher said that he had to attend a student’s recital in order to proctor it. After culling my distant memory, I was able to recall what “proctoring a recital” meant.

Students majoring in music are required to attend at least ten performances every semester as part of their music education. I remembered having to do this: You attend a performance or recital and afterward, you look for the teacher who’s proctoring the recital. You rush up to him immediately afterward and he initials and dates your recital card, documenting that you were there. At the end of each semester, you have to turn in your card showing that you attended at least ten performances.

It’s a means of ensuring that every music student is exposed to -- – music. (And also ensuring that every student’s recital has at least a spattering of people in attendance.)

So, my voice teacher had to proctor a recital last night. It brought back memories of frantically searching for the proctor who would document my attendance. Some things never change.

However, he said that things have changed considerably since then. He said that students nowadays will sit through an entire performance and . . . are you ready for this. . . .
text the whole time.

What??!!

I was incredulous. I just couldn’t believe the audacity of these kids – music students – who lack the self-control to keep from texting during a recital.

These are aspiring artists for crying out loud; yet they feel it’s acceptable to do something inane as texting during the very thing they’re aspiring to do!

My voice teacher said that if he sees a student texting during a recital, he refuses to initial their card.

Good.

If some kid was texting during my performance, I’d stop, walk down and confront the little bastard right there.

And all his friends would suddenly be texting OMG and WTF.

Sigh. . .

I've Grown Up

2011-10-10T14:36:00.004-04:00

I think I’m in danger of finally growing up. I’m doingsomething I never thought I’d ever do.

I’m buying a condo.

That’s right. My own place to live; my own pad; actual realestate.

Sure, it’s only a 550 sq. ft. studio, but I really like theidea of having something that I can pay off in ten years. Honestly, the realestate market here in Chicago became quite the buyers’ market. When I ran thenumbers and realized I could actually buy something so easily, I couldn’t passit up.

So, yes, I’m growing up. I met with my realtor to go overthe contract and I heard myself saying grown-up words like “association fees”and “discount points” and “sewer”. It all seemed pretty surreal.

I’ve retained a real estate attorney all by myself just likea big boy. I’ve a lender who’s approved me to pay them money for the nextfifteen years. Most importantly, I’ve enlisted the help of professional moverswho have promised to disassemble and reassemble my computer desk – a horrible, forebodingtask that I was dreading.

My mortgage, condo fees, and taxes result in a monthlypayment that’s considerably less than I’m paying in rent right now. Sure, I’llmiss living in my wonderful, goofy Marina Towers, but I just can’t pass up adeal like this. It’s a prudent move to make and one that employed matureforesight. . . . I’m growing up.

Compared to Marina Towers downtown, this place is pretty nondescript:

But that's okay. With all those trees, I now refer to this place as "the country." Compared to downtown, it sort of feels that way.

This condo has lots of other pluses. It’s in the niceEdgewater neighborhood, it’s two blocks from the EL station, three blocks froma large grocery store and . . . are you ready for this . . . it comes with a washerand dryer. Holy-Mother-of-God -- no more traipsing down to the laundry room andfighting over washing machines. I can now wash my underpants with completeinsouciance; with careless ease.

Oh, and it gets even better. It’s one block from the beachon the lake. Not that I would ever actually go outside and walk on the beach (arepellant activity if there ever was one) but it’s there if I’m so inclined.

Here is the nearby Repellant Beach:

Here’s the biggest perk. Do you remember the apartmentbuilding that Bob and Emily lived in on The Bob Newhart Show? (I blogged aboutit a few years ago and someone posted a link to my blog on Wikipedia.)

Here istheir apartment building that was featured on the series:

Well, Bob and Emily will be my neighbors, just one blockaway. Isn’t that the coolest thing ever?

I remember growing up in my Little Bitty Home Town in Texasand watching Bob Newhart ride the EL from downtown, walk to his apartmentbuilding, and wishing I could live in such a cos-mo-politan environment. I didn’tthink I’d ever get to.

Now, whenever I disembark from the train like Bob did, I can look up at his apartment building, think of that thirteen year old boy who never thought he'd get to live in a big city, and realize that he finally got to grow up.

Norma Jean

2011-10-04T17:53:00.000-04:00

Here's a clever use for the giant statue of Marilyn Monroe in Chicago.

For some reason, Noah's family on the ark leaps to mind. . .

Pancakes?

2011-09-29T18:28:00.000-04:00

I recently noticed that Denny’s and IHOP are featuring“All-You-Can-Eat Pancakes.” Now, if that’s not reaching to the bottom of the advertisingbarrel, I don’t know what is.

Pancakes?

Pancakes??!

First of all, the breakfasts at these two establishments -- andlet’s face it, they are just analogs of each other -- are gargantuan. By thetime one finishes with the Giant Omelet from Hell, bacon, sausage, ham, hashbrowns, and grits, -- who wants pancakes? The pancakes are there just to makethe plate look bigger.

Who are these people who aren’t getting enough pancakesanyway? Was there a soaring demand for unlimited discs of cheap, griddledbatter?

For one thing, I’m not a breakfast eater. Never have been. Evenas a little kid, my breakfast request was usually, “Just a cup of coffee, thankyou.” (Seriously)But I have to admit that I occasionally enjoy a big Denny’s breakfast – atnoon. I think, maybe, I’ve eaten half a pancake from the giant pile of discsaccompanying my Grand Slam. But that’s it.

The only people I can imagine taking advantage of theAll-You-Can-Eat Pancake Special are families who might have several teen-ageboys. They’re bottomless pits and filling them up can be quite challenging.Otherwise, I just can’t envision hoards of folks banging their forks on thetables for more pancakes.

Still, I’m sure this advertisement has worked its wonders. After all, wereally are an All-You-Can-Eat kind of nation -- one that certainly doesn't need to be eating all we can eat.

But Pancakes? If it was All-You-Can-Eat Bacon, I might besinging a different tune.

Otherwise, I’ll just have a cup of coffee, thank you.

Culinary Proclivities

2011-09-28T16:42:00.002-04:00

Yesterday’s episode of Anderson Cooper’s talk show featured people with strange eating habits, including Cooper himself. For example, he eats very few food items and when he finds a meal he likes, he’ll eat that same meal, day after day, month after month. Right now, it’s roast turkey and two sides of corn from Boston Market.

The program also featured two women who’ve only eaten potatoes for over fifty years. Can you imagine that? Nothing but French fries and hash browns for 50 years.

I thought, “My gosh, these people are messed up!” That is, until I took a look at my own eating habits and even had some pointed out to me.

I don't eat breakfast or dessert. The idea of piling in food the first thing in the morning or after a meal just doesn't appeal to me.
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always eaten one thing at a time; never taking a bite of this and a bite of that. I just don’t like mixing things up. Big deal.

But, at home, I realized that I only eat one food item for every meal. Pasta and marinara sauce is one food item. Pizza. A sandwich. Lentil curry and rice. I would never make, say, roast chicken with potatoes, a vegetable and a salad for a meal. I don’t think I’d even enjoy it. However, I could put veggies in the tomato sauce that is served over pasta.

Another proclivity of mine that Miss Healthypants pointed out to me is that I never eat the last bite of anything. “Well, yeah. That last bite is just . . . nasty,” I replied. I never really thought about it, but the last bite of anything just seems, well, nasty or contaminated. I don’t know why.

The strangest food aversion I have is that I won’t use my fingers to eat anything oily. French fries, pizza, chicken all get the knife-and-fork treatment. Popcorn is eaten with a spoon or, better yet, with latex gloves. Seeing people eat honey barbecue wings on a commercial? It sends shivers down my spine. I have to look away.

As I’m typing this, I have a little bowl of roasted peanuts with a plastic spoon beside me.

So, I can’t rail at anyone on TV about their food habits. I have them. I suppose we all do to some extent.

And if I’m ever in New York and take Anderson Cooper out for lunch, I’ll know to head for Boston Market.

He'll appreciate that.

Inclusive Language

2011-09-27T12:35:00.000-04:00

Back in the mid-eighties, I was an organist and music director at a non-denominational church in Austin, Texas. Being somewhat progressive, the clergy at this church were really into “inclusive language.” It was the new thing. Gone were the verbal shackles of a male-dominated spirituality.

God was no longer referred to as “he”, just God. The words “lord” and “master” and “king” were verboten, for they had connotations of an oppressed society. (Referring to Jesus as “he” was questionable since Jesus was really God, you know.) The phrase, “washed me whiter than snow” was changed to “purer than snow.”

The hymn texts were edited and re-printed in each Sunday bulletin. I became pretty adept and creative at this editing process. Texts to choral music were also changed. Over time, the choral arrangements had all the ‘him’s’ and ‘kings’ crossed out with less offensive words penciled in.

Now that we’re firmly implanted in the 21st century, I think we’ve come a full circle regarding inclusive language; at least we have in the church were I currently sing. I find it all terribly interesting.

The Episcopal church where I’m a member is so progressive, so inclusive, that we’re beyond having to change the verbiage to reflect it. It’s almost as if we’re saying, “Changing ‘he’ to ‘God’ in the music? Oh, that is so retro; so twentieth century!”

We know it. At this point, we’d rather keep the integrity of the music intact and perform it as the composer wrote it. Our priorities have changed.

So, during rehearsals, whenever we come across penciled in words with the ‘he’ crossed over, our erasers come out and we expunge the vestiges of when people had to be “included.”

They’re all included now; at least they are in the Episcopal Church. We no longer have to herald it in the music.

For that reason, it’s pretty refreshing to sing “he” again.

Wild Hog Bursts Into Local Whataburger

2011-09-23T14:33:00.002-04:00

I’m still laughing over this newspaper report from my little bitty home town in Texas (pop. 1,900)

It seems that a large, wild pig escaped from a trailer while being transported, bashed through the front glass doors at a local restaurant, frightening the staff and patrons. It finally ran behind the counter, a worker opened the back door and it ran out.

Now, you might think that livestock wreaking havoc in public places might be an isolated event in my home town, but you’d be wrong. Very wrong.

In May of 1976, my home town was conducting a Bicentennial celebration, part of which was to acknowledge the local longhorn cattle industry in the area. So, the town officials decided it would be a good idea to march about a hundred head of longhorn cows through the town square to commemorate its heritage.

Here came the longhorns into the town square, herded by real, live cowboys. The announcer heralded their arrival over the loudspeaker which, if you know anything about cows, caused instant terror among them.

Apparently, cows hate loudspeakers and they began a stampede around the town square. The cowboys and townspeople scattered everywhere, fleeing the onslaught of longhorns which had been our heritage for the past two centuries.

I was not there for some reason. I was home alone, but my mother, brother and grandmother were there and remember it well. The Stampede became an annual event in my hometown after that, only without any cows.

Here’s a photo from the local paper:

About 30 miles up the road is the small town where my dad and stepmother have lived for 40 years. That town’s heritage is turkey farming (not longhorns.) Back in the turkey heyday, the turkey farmers found that the best way to get thousands of turkeys to the market was to simply herd them down main street.

I’m not kidding! Here’s a photo of it:

So, that event became the annual Turkey Trot. I remember marching with my high school band in the Turkey Trot every year.

So, you can imagine my laughter upon hearing that a giant, wild pig burst through the front doors of a local burger joint.

That was just typical life in my neck of the woods.

Size Doesn't Matter

2011-09-21T13:58:00.004-04:00

As a society, I think we’ve become rather schizophrenic regarding the size of things. We can’t make up our minds whether bigger or smaller is better. Both seem to be de rigueur.

Take, for example, the television. Gone are the days of the simple 19-inch screen. Flat screen TVs are getting so large that man-caves are designed to accommodate 72-inch behemoths. We’re obsessed with bigger-is-better when it comes to our TV viewing.

Then you have the cell phone. Year after year, smaller and lighter seems to be the name of the game. And they can do everything, including – are you ready for this – storing and playing four hundred hours of TV viewing.

Oh, we just love the fact that we can watch TV on a cell phone the size of a Tic Tac.

We can’t make up our minds.

Another example: Women’s bosoms and automobiles.

During the seventies, 95 percent of teenage boys had the iconic poster of Farah Fawcett thumb-tacked on their bedroom walls. (The other five percent were admiring their sisters’ posters of Erik Estrada.)

And look at her little bosom.

Small, pert, and natural. The cars we drove reflected the same trend. Pintos, Gremlins, baby Hondas, all reflected our desire for economy.

And look at them nowadays. Bosoms and SUVs are the same: Puffed up, oversized, and enhanced way out of proportion. Everywhere you look, there are these ridiculous, puffy breasts and SUVs.

In three decades, there are going to be lots of women with sagging, skinny bodies but top-heavy buxom bosoms. Meanwhile, the SUVs of the early 21st century will look as ridiculous as a 1976 AMC Pacer.

Mark my words.

Evening Scene - State Street Begger

2011-09-19T23:25:00.000-04:00

I took this photo of this clever fellow on State Street tonight and gladly gave him five dollars. I will ALWAYS support witty humor whenever it appears.

Morning Scene - Smallville

2011-09-19T16:21:00.000-04:00

These vehicles are props for the Superman/Smallville movie that’s currently being filmed here in downtown Chicago. While not in use, they’re squirreled away in this lower-level back alley.

During the summer months, movie scenes are often filmed here. I can honestly say that any movie that’s filmed in downtown Chicago is probably one of those “action” films and, subsequently, one that I shall never see.

Morning Scene

2011-09-16T11:21:00.000-04:00

Here's a really cool view of my apartment building.

This photo also makes for a nice desktop background.

Click here if you'd like to see some photos of various residents' apartments. Some of them are pretty amazing. (Mine was not featured. I completely missed out on the interior decorating gene and am a disgrace to My People.)

Meanwhile, Down at the Vatican . . .

2011-09-13T13:18:00.000-04:00

"See? You look positively FIERCE in black! I told you it was slimming."

Perry for President?

2011-09-07T15:57:00.002-04:00

Here's Rick Perry's modus operandi:

1. Gov. Rick Perry slashed state funding to volunteer fire departments from 30 billion to 7 billion (75%) this year during a record drought.

2. Then, Perry asked everyone to pray for rain.

3. Rain doesn't come. Fires rage out of control.

4. Perry campaigns with Jesus like a parrot on his shoulders, railing against big government and federal spending, and then

5. requested disaster relief from the federal government. . . .

. . . As president, he might be the one to slash Medicare by 75 percent during a plague and then pray for everyone to get well. That's his mode of operating he's already established. Is this the "Christian" man we want for president?

Eating Durian

2011-09-07T01:58:00.002-04:00

Have you ever heard of the durian fruit? It's a large, spiky fruit from Southeast Asia that is, shall we say, definitely an acquired taste. It has a very distinct aroma which, some people say, smells like death; or smelly feet, or cat poop. Hotels and many other public places in Thailand forbid durian from even being brought on the premises.

If you're familiar with Andrew Zimmern's Bizarre Foods, you'll recognize him as the foodie who goes around the world eating the strangest foods imaginable. Insects, innards of every kind, rotting foods all get gulped down on his program.

Except the durian. The poor guy just can't eat it. There have been three episodes where he's encountered it and he usually ends up spitting it out.

Here's a clip from his show where one of the crew members tries it:

So, of course, I had to try it.

I have tried it once before in a coconut smoothie. This time, a friend of mine had the real deal. Fresh durian.

It really does smell like death. It caused other people to flee from the kitchen.

It's reminiscent of creamy, putrid, rotting onions.

But I have to tell you, there's something captivating about it. I can't put my finger on it, but even with its odor that's just about the most foul thing one can imagine, there's something appealing about it.

This is my third big bite of it.

I want my own TV show.

Perspective

2011-08-31T17:48:00.002-04:00

Here’s a photo of the Earth and moon that one of our space ships took recently as it was flying around Jupiter. This is what our little planet and its satellite looks like from 600 million miles away.

Sort of looks precarious and insignificant, right? I mean, we’re just a little bitty speck, perilously suspended in the void. Some huge, errant object could come whizzing along and, bloink! The speck and everything on it would be gone.

Back in 1986, I owned a really cool Honda CRX and I loved that car. That little two-seater thing was the coolest car ever. I sold it so that I could live in a downtown high rise in Austin, Texas, and I’ve always regretted that decision.

Seeing our whole world as one tiny blip sort of puts things into perspective, I guess. Everything we know of, everyone we love is on this little, tiny dot.

It could all be gone in an instant.

Still, somewhere, at one time, on this little blip, I sold my Honda CRX and it will always be a huge deal.

This Says It All

2011-08-30T16:42:00.001-04:00

(source)

Morning Scene: Hummus for the Homeless

2011-08-28T19:52:00.001-04:00

If you’re a Chicagoan, here’s a sight you’ll see quite often along downtown streets: Food containers from restaurants full of “doggy bag” food.

You see, many homeless people will ask for money, saying that they want to get something to eat. Naturally, there are lots of restaurant patrons in downtown Chicago who have just finished a meal and are walking along with their doggie bag, so they give it to the homeless people instead of cash. That’s why one sees so many food containers full of food along the sidewalks. I don’t think the homeless are actually wanting food.

This morning, I was walking to church and there it was: A whole catering try full of hummus, baba ganoush, and pita bread sitting atop a newspaper stand. It was right near the Trump Tower and Hotel.

I can just see it. There was some event there the night before with way too much Middle Eastern food left over and someone decided not to let it go to waste. Some homeless guy probably asked this person for money so he could get something to eat and the poor guy was presented with a whole tray of fetid, leftover fare that had been catered hours before.

But why can’t the homeless people throw it away in an appropriate receptacle? There are trash cans all over the city, practically one on every block. I see stuff like this on my way to work so very often.

I would say that this was an awful waste of food, but I can’t stand hummus (I don't like garlic); so good riddance. I tossed it in a nearby garbage can after I took the photo.

Afternoon Scene - Window Washing

2011-08-25T13:30:00.000-04:00

I watched a pretty intricate window washing process going on at the Aqua building.

There's a guy on a little platform that moves up and down the building.

The horizontal boom moves him in and out according to the width of the balconies. He then reaches out and washes each window by hand.

Very impressive.

We're A Resilient Nation

2011-08-24T14:03:00.002-04:00

Just Something Beautiful . . .

2011-08-22T23:02:00.001-04:00

In October, a music colleague who's a very fine violinist and I will be performing a truly beautiful piece by the Estonian composer, Arvo Pärt, called Spiegel im Spiegel (Mirror in the Mirror). It'll be part of a concert series in which we were asked to perform.

Anyway, not only is this piece just about one of the most moving, pensive things, but I was also captivated by this quote by the composer:

"I could compare my music to white light which contains all colors. Only a prism can divide the colors and make them appear;

this prism could be the spirit of the listener."

Breathtaking.

With that, here is Spiegel im Spiegel

Giggly Anderboo

2011-08-18T16:54:00.000-04:00

A close friend of mine refers to Anderson Cooper as "Anderboo". She's even met him a couple of times.

The clip of Anderboo totally losing it and getting the giggles has gone viral today, but she sent it to me early this morning.

Ya gotta admit, it really is cute and funny.

"You're Soaking In It . . ."

2011-08-16T14:32:00.001-04:00

Last night, I had a very vivid dream that I was attending a dinner banquet of some sort and was seated next to Madge, the lady from the Palmolive commercials.

Remember her? She was the manicurist who always surprised her clients by dunking their hands in Palmolive dish detergent because, “It softens hands while you do dishes.”

Madge and I were having a wonderful time together at this banquet. We were coming up with hilarious remarks and trying to work in the phrase “You’re soaking in it” as much as we could. I woke up from the dream feeling like I had a new best friend. I wanted to have Madge as my next door neighbor.

I’m sure many of you have grown up seeing Madge in the Palmolive commercials. After all, she appeared in these commercials from 1966 through 1992 – twenty seven years!

Madge’s real name was Jan Miner and she was a Broadway and Off-Broadway actress during the 1960s and 70s. Originally from Boston, she was also a very prolific radio actress during the 40s and 50s.

The lucrative Palmolive commercials enabled her to accept the stage roles she most wanted, including a few Shakespearian roles.

"I'd dip my hands in Palmolive the rest of my life," Miner once said.

Madge left this world in 2004 at the age of 86. I’m sure her hands were soft and beautiful.

Afternoon View - A Gull

2011-08-14T19:05:00.000-04:00

Since Chicago is hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean, this pretty fellow cannot be a sea gull.

Is there such a thing as a lake gull?

Cursory Cursive

2011-08-11T13:40:00.020-04:00

Here’s some news that took me by surprise recently. Apparently, 46 states have discontinued the teaching of cursive writing for all students. Do you remember learning to write in cursive in the second grade? Well, kids won’t be doing that anymore.

I think I have mixed opinions about that. First of all, I’ve always been a little obsessed with my handwriting and still continue to try to improve it. I think it’s important – for me anyway. When I studied Russian in college, I was totally inept at the vocabulary and grammar, but my Russian cursive could put Lee Harvey Oswald to shame.

Here's an excerpt from a letter of mine to a Siberian pen-pal about ten years ago. (Mail to Krasnoyarsk was awfully iffy, but I could scan my handwritten letter, email it to him, and he could read it at an internet cafe.)

But here's my Russian cursive:

Now, isn't that elegant? The grammar is horrid, but it looks nice. (That's what a Russian friend told me.)

But you have to admit that it looks like it came from someone who was educated; who had a good handle on what they were expressing.
Like I said, I've always been a little obsessed with my handwriting.

Now, take a look at a hand-written note from teen idol, Justin Bieber:

This is normal handwriting from anyone under thirty. Their scrawl is hardly legible and it looks like that that of a second-grader. Yes, Bieber's penmanship is horrible but don’t EVEN get me started on his spelling. (In my opinion, he should cancel all his concerts until he learns the proper use of the apostrophe.)

But really -- does this look like someone who is intelligent; or who you'd want to hire to do anything on your behalf -- or someone you'd want your daughter to hitch her wagon to?
Take a look at the notes again. . . Really.

Justin:

Me, in a third language I'd learned, although badly:

Honestly. Would you want your son or daughter hitching their star with someone like Justin or the latter?

Call me old-fashioned. . .

So, why should kids have to learn to write in cursive? Other than taking essay tests in school, I can’t think of an instance when they would need that skill. We just don’t write anything anymore.

Lots of skills go by the wayside once technology makes their use obsolete. After all, how many people in my generation learned to extract a square root? (Or even know what that is, for that matter.) It’s awfully tedious and calculators freed us from having to learn it.

Believe it or not, I still write letters. I have a pen-pal to whom I’ve written for over thirty years. Writing. Letters only. We don’t even have each other’s email addresses. There are even snail mail clubs – groups of people who write letters to each other the old fashioned way. I’ll admit, I enjoy the retro appeal of it.

As a pianist, the fine motor skills of the hand that express nuances of thought and emotion pretty much tie in to expressing myself through pen and paper. A postage stamp sends it on its way.

Does anyone remember what it’s like to receive a handwritten letter in one’s mailbox anymore? Oh, to see that distinct handwriting from your loved-one or family member peering out from your mailbox . . .

I recently wrote letters to my niece and nephew, ages 13 and 10 just so they could experience that. In my letters to them, I explained that this was how we used to communicate; we didn’t have texting or emailing or twittering and phone calls were awfully expensive. I told both of them that I had in my possession, 865 letters written to me from their great-grandmother. Letters like this are a treasure;-- they're like supernatural documents of love from whence we came.

My niece and nephew were probably be quite perplexed at receiving these letters. Knowing my nephew, he probably felt like I'd given him homework to do.

Granted, these kids nowadays have skills that I have not. They can text like lightning; a hand-brain ability that is beyond my comprehension, but one that I can appreciate. They have an innate ability at troubleshooting and repairing PCs that absolutely blows my mind. Their handwriting may look like 2nd grade scrawl to me, but I have to admit that, maybe, these kids' brains make up for it.

The little darlings are exceedingly sharp.

But if my kid ever wrote a note like Bieber’s, he’d have his cell phone and all electronics taken away until he got that apostrophe thing nailed.

And if my teen-age daughter ever received a note from a guy written like Bieber's, -- oh my god -- I cannot imagine the uncontrolled arguing and screaming that would take place in our household.

Most of it, admittedly, would be mine.
_________________________

Afternoon Scene - Buildings

2011-08-08T16:59:00.001-04:00

You know, if you just look up, one can see some pretty interesting geometry.

Morning Scene - Monday Blues

2011-08-08T07:57:00.002-04:00

I went into work early this morning and encountered this poor fellow on the way.

Dang . . .

Now, I totally can't get Rainy Days and Mondays out of my head.

Finger Food

2011-08-04T14:08:00.003-04:00

For years, I’ve had this weird proclivity of not liking to eat anything with my fingers. This applies mostly to any food item that’s the least bit oily or one that could leave anything on my fingers.

Getting anything oily on my fingers just sends shivers down my spine. Even watching someone eat fried chicken with their fingers causes me to look away. KFC commercials are usually difficult to watch.

Hamburgers, fries, pizza, chicken all get the knife and fork treatment. Popcorn usually gets eaten with a spoon. However, for things like potato chips, I keep a box of disposable latex gloves in the kitchen.

Here is how I eat sour cream and cheese chips without distress:

Oh, and I'm right-handed but eat with my left hand. I don't know why.

I recently bought my first bag of Cheetos but ended up throwing them away. I was at work, had no gloves and the cheese dust was driving me crazy.

I would say that picnics are particularly difficult, but, hello?
Eating outside?

What am I - - - homeless?

The Ivory Soap Experiment

2011-08-02T12:59:00.000-04:00

If I was baby-sitting for a kid, we would SO be doing this experiment.

You Don't Get a Letter

2011-07-28T19:43:00.005-04:00

This post may be a little politically incorrect, but I’m gonna “go there”.

Someone needs to put a stop to all the letters being glommed on to the LGBT moniker (Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender). I recently came across an event that was for LGBTQA. - - -

- - -Whaaat?

Here’s the explanation. The “Q” stood for “questioning” or rather, those who are unsure about their sexual orientation or identity. The “A” stood for “allies” – those who support the LGBT’s and, I guess, the Q’s as well.

“Now, wait a minute," I thought. "This is getting out of hand."

So, let’s do some trimming here, folks.

First of all, the “B”. I’m like Carrie Bradshaw; “bisexual” is just a train ticket on the way to “gay.” Out with it. (literally). Until you make up your mind and quit teasing everyone, you don't get a letter.

The “T”: A transgendered person is not the same animal as a homosexual. Gender identity and sexual orientation are two completely different things. Many transgendered people are homosexual, but many are not. Being homosexual in no way implies that one has gender identity issues. Automatically putting LG’s together with the T’s implies similarity, especially to those who are ignorant of both. We love you, but you don't get a letter.

To the Q’s, sure, you may be “questioning”, but I say, until you’ve rented a U-Haul way too soon after dating someone of the same sex, you’re just not one of us. Until you make your way over to the “B” and then solidly implant yourself to the “L” or the “G”, you don’t get a letter.

To the “allies”, sure, it’s great that you give your love and support. But to give you a letter seems like we’re too needy for acceptance. Yes, Fag Hags are a big part of our culture and we don’t know what we’d do without them. It’s great that you’re an ally, but you still fall in love with people who have different naughty bits than yours. You don’t get a letter.

So, what would be a good name? I have a simple solution.

It’s “Mo” – as is hoMOsexuals. No more of this lesbian or gay stuff. Just “Mo”.

Same-sex marriage? Nope. It’s now Mo marriage.

Gay rights? You got it. It’s now Mo rights.

Gay and lesbian scooter club; a Mo scooter club.

A gay prostitute: A Mo ho.

(See? I told you I was gonna “go there”.)

Someone who pretends to be gay but isn't: A faux Mo.

(Okay, I'll stop.)

So, let’s do some trimming of the PC stuff and keep things simple like they ought to be.

I have to admit. I’m sounding like a Mo Andy Rooney . . .

I Want A Scooter

2011-07-27T09:47:00.002-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, I saw the Tom Hanks film, “Larry Crowne” in which he played a middle aged man who decided to attend college for the first time. In order to save on commuting costs, he bought a scooter and ended up joining a scooter club comprised of young college students.

Somehow, that resonated with me. I wanted a scooter. Then, I began noticing scooters. At my workplace, there’s a covered parking space just for scoots. Some days, there might be a dozen of the cute little boogers out there.
See?

Aren’t they adorkable?

So, yes, I want a scooter. I really do. But I’m running into all sorts of roadblocks, over and over.

First, I thought I’d rent a scooter to see how I’d like it. However, it turns out that one must have a motorcycle license in order to rent one. I told the scooter-rental lady that I’d have absolutely no idea how to ride a motorcycle in order to pass the test. She said I could take the test on a scooter and that they’d rent one to me.

Well, first, you have to take a 20-hour course in order to take the test to get your motorcycle license. The nearest place one can take the course is at the University of Illinois in Champaign which is a hundred miles from here. Ugh! (That can’t be right.)

Then, I got to thinking, “Where would I even ride a scooter if I had one?” I live within ten blocks of everywhere I go. Work is six blocks away. Church is ten blocks. Grocery store is four blocks. Miss Healthypants is just a block away.

All those are places that I should be walking to; not with my butt sitting on a cushy motorized vehicle.

I looked for scooter clubs. Surely, I could do the Tom Hanks thing and buzz around the city with cool, fun scooter people.

I found a scooter club. Turns out, it’s a gay scooter club (naturally.) Remember the motorcycle club called the Hell’s Angel’s? Well, this one is called the “Hell’s Fairies.” I’m not joking. That is just too cute for words.

So, why would I buy a scooter?

My friend, Miss Healthypants has called me “Dooder” for the past ten years. I’m still a little unsure of how that got started. I call her “Poodle.” We’re Poodle-n-Dooder.

So, if I got a scooter, I would be . . .

Are you ready for this?

. . . “Scooter Dooder.”

And THAT, my friends, is why I should get a scooter.

Afternoon Scene - The Dog Pot

2011-07-23T20:11:00.005-04:00

Next to the church I attend is a "Dog Pot" -- a plastic bag dispenser for dog owners. You know -- so they'll have a plastic bag with which to tidy up after their dog leaves a huge, steaming pile next the church.

It's a handy idea. After all, who wants to step in a colossal mound of poo as you're hurrying in to church in your Manolo Blahniks?

The thing is, today was the first time I've ever actually seen plastic bags in the thing.

And look at this. There are detailed instructions how to use the plastic bag once you have it:

One would hope that any downtown dog owner would already have the plastic-bag-thing down pat.

100

2011-07-22T00:30:00.001-04:00

It's been hot here in the Windy City. I mean, really hot.

For the past two days, we've hit 100 degrees.

And it's not a "dry hot" either. No siree.

It's humid and oppressive. It's hard to breathe. Stepping outside at 5 pm feels like walking into a rice cooker.

Honestly, I don't ever remember feeling heat like this even in Texas.

The strange thing is, less than two months ago, we were experiencing wind chills of 32 degrees in late May. Here is a run-down of the typical "five seasons" here in Chicago:

October, November, December, January February, March: Winter

April, May, June: "Almost Spring"

July 1: Spring

July - August: Summer

September: Autumn

I'm looking forward to October when our Winter season arrives.

Morning Scene - Making Movies

2011-07-20T09:57:00.000-04:00

Three 18-wheelers are lined up along a small side-street in downtown Chicago. Someone's making another movie. (Last year, it was "Transformers".)

But it's supposed to be 99 degrees today and very humid.

I SO wouldn't want to be outside, hauling movie-making equipment in and out of these trucks.

Solving the National Deficit

2011-07-16T03:56:00.015-04:00

Texting still baffles me.

Used to be, I found that I'd never text anyone. No way, no how.

If someone texted me with the inane message, "Wat u up to"

I would simply call the sender with an actual phone call from my cell phone.

You know -- like God intended.
They would never answer.

WHY NOT??

You just sent a digital message to me that required you to poke at least eleven keystrokes onto your device, you dolt, and now you haven't the ability to hit one button that enables us to speak at 250 wpm?

Grrrrrr!

So, yes, there have been moments when I did text someone; tiny blurbs of info that I think someone should receive in digital form.

With one friend of mine, I'll text her with one word here and there to remind myself what we should remember to talk about when we DO talk.

She'll say, "Okay, you've got

'Amish' and 'beagle' and 'Sea-bean' and 'dog poo'. .

. . Go!"

And, we're off! . . it works.

That's one instance when texting has been beneficial.

But I walk down the street and, just about everyone I pass, I think, "They send text messages. What are they sending that they don't want to talk about?"

That's what texting seems to be all about; that young people are essentially reluctant to verbalize their thoughts to one another; just a huge, vacuous, digital vent.

Here are two proposals to solve the nation's deficit:

1) A ten-cent charge-per-keystroke to every text.

Hmm?

All revenue would go to the Social Security and Medicare treasury.

Spoiled children without an ability to control yourselves?

You've just caused our national revenue to skyrocket, you little darlings.

Make all cell phone calls free. (and voice mails -- and translate all voice mails into emails)

Let's actually speak to each other like human beings.

What an idea!

2) A Discourse Article Fee

Every time that anyone under the age of 30 uses the word, "like" as a useless discourse article, their cell phone charges them five dollars and adds it to the National Treasury.

"I just, like, asked him if he'd, like, take me to, like, the Justin Bieber concert and he was, like, 'Why should I, like, take you' and I was, like, 'cause you should, and then I was, like, . . ."

Booom!
Thirty-five dollars every fifteen seconds times forty-thousand.

Dang it.

I think I've just about solved the national financial crisis.

Garanimals for Men

2011-07-14T12:24:00.002-04:00

Recently, I was describing to my dear friend, Speck, what I wear to work, namely, that I only wear light blue shirts. I have a number of the same exact light blue, button-down shirts. Some guys only wear white shirts; I only wear light blue ones.

I went on to explain that I mix-and-match these with either black, gray, or navy slacks and a selection of ties. (Navy Dockers come out for Casual Fridays.)

“So, basically, you wear Garanimals,” she said.

Well, yes, I guess I do; the adult version. It keeps things simple. I’d be happy if we had uniforms to wear.

That got me to thinking. . .

I’m sure there are lots of other guys like me who don’t like to put a lot of thought into their work clothing. I should start a whole line of Garanimal-type business attire for men. It would be high quality, durable, long-lasting clothing that one can mix-and-match without a care in the world.

After all, why should little kids get all the breaks?

Piggy-Backing

2011-07-13T15:14:00.004-04:00

Here’s the scenario: You're at a conference and discussing, say, the thrilling topic of workforce development. Every time one attendee speaks, she always begins by saying, “I’d like to piggy-back onto what he said,”
or
“just to dove-tail onto what she said. . . .”

I’m thinking, “Why do you have to begin every statement with an announcement that you’re going to say something relevant to the topic at hand?”

Remember, we’re discussing budgets. It’s not like someone is going to dramatically segue into the topic of castrating weasels or something. “Okay, does anyone know of how many ways there are to castrate a weasel?”

Maybe I should just start blurting out, "Kangaroo! Kangaroo!" during a staff meeting. That sure wouldn't be 'dove-tailing' onto what the previous speaker said.

I thought of doing that that during a recent meeting and then I got the giggles

Why do people have to call attention to their input with all this ‘piggy-backing’ and ‘dove-tailing’ crap?

Little Bitty Home Town

2011-07-06T11:19:00.000-04:00

While in Texas, I took a drive to visit my Little Bitty Home Town, pop. 1,900. It sure brought back some fond memories.

My grandparents owned the local dry-cleaning store and I worked there beginning at age 11. It was un-air conditioned. Seeing that the front doors were open, it looks like it still is:

During high school, I worked at the local bank part time. My little un-air conditioned office was up on the second floor in the corner.

I spent many an hour up there, posting checks to people's accounts. Nary a computer in sight. It was all done manually.

Here's the house where we lived:

Now for a really fun memory. . . When I was really little, my grandmother used to take my brother and me down to the edge of the San Antonio River. It was a place where a bridge used to be and had long been washed away. However, by the time I was about eight or nine years old, the little road that went down to the river had become grown over with trees and brush and was no longer accessible.

But now, it's been cleared away and there's a sidewalk down to the same spot on the river we used to go to. (The sidewalk is to let canoe travelers access the river)

I scurried down there - - and there it was! The same exact spot my grandmother used to take me as a child. The stumps from the old bridge were still there.

The thing was, I used to think that this river was SO deep and swift and frightening. My goodness, one can easily wade across it.

But here it is. You can almost hear the laughter of my grandmother and two little boys:

Then and Now

2011-07-03T23:36:00.001-04:00

Have you seen those photos of people who take photos of themselves in the same poses, say, thirty years later? Well, I got some dandy ones for you!

We had a large family gathering on the family ranch today and we decided to try our hand at it. I think we did remarkably well at it.

Here we are in 1963, just wee little tots. My cousin, Janna, is on the left, then me, my brother Brad, and my cousin, Than. That's our grandfather with us.

And, here we are 48 years later, lined up along a nearby water trough again and striking similar poses:

A few years later, my cousin, Jaci, was added to the brood. Here we are in 1967:

And again, I think we did a pretty good job of re-creating it.

I know we had a wonderful time doing this.

Morning Scene - Storms Over Gary

2011-07-01T11:47:00.000-04:00

This is the view from my boss's window, looking out across Lake Michigan. Normally, one can see the imposing skyline of Gary, Indiana, but storm clouds shroud our view of Michael Jackson's birthplace today.

Morning Scene - "And Your Little Dog, Too!"

2011-06-30T10:23:00.000-04:00

A women's bicycle with a wicker basket on the back? Where was Elmira Gultch? I found myself wanting to rescue Toto.
This had to be a prop for a Wizard of Oz production.

Flying the Friendly Skies

2011-06-29T13:50:00.008-04:00

On Saturday, I’ll be flying down to Texas for a week of visiting with family and friends. This flight will take me from Chicago to Houston, then on the little bitty scary airplane operated by Aero Horroroso (i.e. Colgan Air) that connects to my home town.

Flying always makes for great blog fodder. I’ve flown quite a bit over years and have some fun stories to tell. I don’t think any of them are quite like the passenger who recently decided to pee in the aisle during a flight, but some come close.

Once, I had just taken my seat when a young girl threw up right next to me. She was walking down the aisle with her parents and, blorpp! out came her lunch right there next to my aisle seat. She was probably scared about flying. I feel sorry for parents who have to go through things like that.

While waiting for a departing flight, I noticed a chipmunk crawl out from under a young woman’s sweater who was sleeping nearby. She woke up, thankfully, and put the little rodent into her carry-on. I'm almost positive it was, indeed, a chipmunk. Maybe she had a disability that required the use of an assistance-chipmunk.
One never knows.

While waiting for my plane to take off out of Houston, seated in my preferred aisle seat, the flight attendant escorted a young boy to the window seat next to me. I noticed he was crying a little bit.
Awww.

However, when the plane took off, he really let loose and began wailing. I was in a quandary. How do I assist the little guy without crossing over into a stranger-offering-candy situation? (A couple of thoughtful questions seemed to calm him down.)

And I remember my very first flight. I was twenty years old and flying back to college on Southwest Airlines from San Antonio to Dallas. The student fare was nineteen dollars back then. I sat in the back where I could smoke.

Can you imagine that?
A passenger smoking a cigarette?
Next to you on an airplane?

I’d almost prefer a guy peeing in the aisle.

Noon Scene - "Taste"

2011-06-28T13:54:00.000-04:00

Chicago's giant food-fair called "Taste of Chicago" opened today and I snapped this photo out of our office window just after the crowd flooded in.

Typically, right on schedule, Chicago is due for blistering heat in the forecast. "Taste" and "hellish temperatures" seem to go hand in hand. The idea of fighting my way through sweaty crowds to stand in a long line to get a puddle of goat curry . . .
mmm . . . not my cuppa tea.

Here's a shot of Millennium Park where "Taste" is held.

Did you know that Millennium Park is the world's largest rooftop garden? Seriously, it is. Much of its 24 acres sits atop parking garages, streets, and railway lines.

Arts & Crafts

2011-06-27T17:49:00.001-04:00

A have to admit that I have an aversion to “Arts & Crafts”.

I think it all started when I was with a friend of mine who wanted to “just stop by” Hobby Lobby because she wanted to make a Christmas wreath. It seemed like hree hours later and we were still in there. By that time and she had selected a Styrofoam ring and had finally moved on to the actual decorations.

I was dying to get out of there. A trip to an oral surgeon would have been less unpleasant for me. I still cringe whenever I pass by one of those places.

I remember making a bird-house-shaped thing out of a Reader’s Digest while in Vacation Bible School when I was nine. I spray-painted the finished product with orange paint and thought,

“This is . . . well. . . .

. . . stupid.”

So, yeah, the Arts & Crafts bug escapes me.

That is, until I learned how to make home-made envelopes.

My dear friend and blogger-buddy, Speck, developed a template that enables you to turn any sheet of paper into an envelope. It’s pretty ingenious and I don’t know how she came up with the formula, but here it is, step by step.

Thankfully, she also gets a thrill out of providing detailed, foolproof instructions. Thank God there are people like her in the world to make up for the people like me.

So, I made the template and am now able to turn any 11 x 8½ piece of paper into a 6½ x 4½ inch envelope.

After you make the template, here’s how it looks.

Draw around your template: (In this case, I had swiped a catering menu from Au Bon Pain.)

Cut it out

Fold it up

And you have an envelope! Isn’t that incredible???

I became a man unchained. I began turning everything into envelopes. Cereal boxes, magazine covers, book jackets, music manuscripts, maps - - everything was a potential envelope.

I refrained from ripping the Heimlich maneuver poster off the wall at work.

But isn’t this the coolest think ever? And besides, in this age of texting and emailing, how many people receive a hand-written letter in the mail these days?

I told Speck that I was still uncomfortable with the Arts & Crafts thing. She said I could call it “Office Paper Engineering.”

I like that.

Former Football Star Enables Gay Marriage

2011-06-25T04:56:00.017-04:00

I have to admit, the moment I read David Tyree's comments about gay marriage, I had this satire piece waiting in the wings.

Here you go: (It was fun)

BUFFALO NY - Former Giant's Star Enables Gay Marriage.

Evangelical Christians across the nation are casting blame and sole responsibility on ex-Giant’s receiver, David Tyree, for New York’s Senate passage of same-sex marriage bill due to his winning catch during the fourth quarter of Superbowl’s XLII.

Earlier in the week, the former Giant’s superstar explained that he would gladly “give up” his Superbowl win in order to see the gay marriage bill defeated.

The retired athlete took it even further last week when he said he would have traded his iconic catch and victory over the Patriots if it meant that gay marriage would be banned.

The New York gay marriage bill was passed by the Senate, 33-29, and was immediately signed by Governor Andrew Cuomo in Albany.

Pat Robertson of the Christian Broadcast Network attributes the passage of gay marriage in New York solely on Tyree’s shoulders:

“The fact that this outstanding Christian athlete would have given up such a victory to see gay marriage defeated only shows that, had he not made that winning catch, we would be seeing the defeat of this abominable law being passed in the great state of New York.”

Robertson sighed and thought for a moment.

“Clearly, the fact that this man said he’d trade his winning of the Superbowl so that gay marriage would be defeated, but went on to catch the winning pass, has indeed brought on the ability of men to have anal, matrimonial sex in this country.”

Governor Rick Perry of Texas, while speaking to a large delegation from the Fellowship Of Christian Athletes explained that, “All across this Christian state on every Friday night, millions of high school football fans offer prayers for the victory and the benevolence of God on their teams."

"While David Tyree was willing to give up a championship interception in order to thwart gay marriage . . . "

. . .The governor hesitated for a few moments, and continued,

"I feel confident that none of my constituency would prevent their sons from being anally assaulted in a state of matrimony for the sake of giving up state-division playoffs!"

Sudden cheers and a deafening applause bolted from the crowd of over twenty thousand.

Gay Pride parades are typically held on the weekend of June 29, the date of the Stonewall riots that signaled the beginning of the Gay Pride movement in 1969.

Due to David Tyree's recent statements in influencing a positive vote for gay marriage, the former Giant's star has received over eight hundred invitations to be Master of Ceremonies in various Pride parades across the nation scheduled for June 25 and 26.

Lunchtime Scene - Tempura Ass

2011-06-25T02:51:00.001-04:00

I recently stopped in on a Chinese buffet for lunch near my workplace. Check out the labeling on the sneeze-shield:

Yes, ha-ha-ha, the ten-year-old in me had to come back the next day to get a photo of it for you.

If I was a new restaurant owner in China, I wonder how many people would be making fun of my Chinese labeling and blogging about it?

At least these folks knew to place a period when abbreviating "Assortment."

That's pretty impressive when you think about it.

Morning Scene - Anticipation

2011-06-22T14:53:00.001-04:00

Boy, these folks are sure anxious about their bus arriving. Seeing that they’re all dressed alike in navy slacks and blue shirts, my guess is that they’re all employees from an out-of-town company.

If they were from Chicago, they’d all be looking at their smart phones on the CTA Bus Tracker application. It’s a really cool application (and online service) where one can see when any bus will be arriving.

Actually looking down the street for one’s bus is SO last decade.

Google-Views

2011-06-17T12:30:00.004-04:00

Ya gotta admit, the “street view” function on Google Maps is pretty amazing. Once you become adept at working it, you can find all sorts of things.

I went back and found places from my past. Some of these elicited great memories; others, not so much. Life is like that, you know.

Here’s the house we lived in back in the sixties.

I loved this house. It had a sunken living room with dark blue carpet. One of my Facebook friends from childhood knows the people that live in this house and she’s going to contact them to see if they’ll let me come over for a visit when I go down to Texas in a couple of weeks. How cool is that?

Here’s an areal view of the lake that was on our family property.

It’s pretty much dried up now, but back in the late sixties we had a boat and would actually go water skiing on this lake. Well actually, I went skiing once and it scared me to death. Imagine a shy, skinny nine-year-old flailing behind a boat at five hundred miles per hour. It was not pretty. I remember watching Neal Armstrong walk on the moon in the house you see next to the lake, drinking this new drink called GatorAide and listening to Simon & Garfunkel a lot. My first cousin-once-removed now owns the place.

Here’s the dorm where I lived in college.

Butler Hall was the first co-ed dorm on campus; boys in one wing, girls in the other. But we shared a common lobby and laundry room which was so radical for 1978. I was an R.A. in this dorm and lived on the first floor which was partially underground, like a cave. The first floor of Butler Hall was known as “The Pharmacy”, evidencing the fact that I was quite useless as an R.A.

Here’s the house in Toronto where I lived when I was a seminarian.

Let’s just say there was a whole lotta dysfunction going on in this house and leave it at that. My room was on the tippy top on the left. See my window?

And yes, I Google-stalked my ex. He now owns a big house in a fancy neighborhood.

Dang.

You see, when he broke up with me 24 years ago, his life should have spiraled downhill and he should be homeless and penniless now – not owning a house like this.

Google-stalking your ex from 24 years ago. How sad is that?

Don’t any of you dare say you haven’t done it.

More Nostalgia

2011-06-13T13:01:00.003-04:00

When I was a kid, my favorite toys were the ones that “did” things with a lot of mechanical movement. G.I. Joe or Lincoln Logs left me completely uninterested, but give me an electric train, Hot Wheels, or an Erector Set, and I was one happy kid.

When I was seven, one of my favorite toys was a board game called “Mousetrap.” The thing was, the board game itself was boring. The real fun was setting up the mouse trap mechanisms and watching the thing in action. You’d turn a crank which kicked a bucket which dumped a ball bearing onto a course which activated a bigger ball which fell onto a see-saw which caused a cage to tumble down to trap the mouse.

Here’s a hilarious (and accurate) video about the Mousetrap game:

Isn’t that fun? Do any of you remember the Mouse Trap game?

Like I said, I loved mechanical toys. As I thought back on the ones I liked best, I happen to remember a race car set that didn’t use electricity, but was gravity-propelled. I loved that race car set. You would shove a lever which caused a hook to propel the cars really fast up an incline. What was the name of that race car set?

After some googling, I found it!

The Johnny Lightning 500

Here’s a video of it. (They guy operates it toward the end of the short video, so you get to see it in action)

Isn’t that neat-o?

I got my Johnny Lightning when I was about ten or eleven years old.

But the next year, Johnny Lightning upped the ante and came out with some cool variations. There was one I had to have. You would propel the car down the track, it would race straight up about two feet in the air, go through two loop-the-loops and return back down to the course circuit.

Again, I couldn’t remember the name of it. A Hurricane?

Googling . . .

Ta-daaahh!
It was the Johnny Lightning Rocket 500 Cyclone Set

And I found it on eBay. This had to be THE coolest race track ever!

I was about twelve when I got this set. It was one thrilling toy to play with, let me tell you.

I can see why kids nowadays have an obesity problem, sitting on their butts with an X-Box the way they do. Back in my day, we actually had to crawl around on shag carpeting, retrieving toy cars that had flown off the track.

The eBay seller says it still works. Hmmmm.

Sure, I’d love to play with it again, but it’s pretty pricey. I think I’ll save my money and just enjoy the memory of being twelve again.

You can’t put a price on that.

M Burger!

2011-06-11T20:58:00.005-04:00

We Chicagoans are pretty lucky folk when it comes to food. Yes, we have Chicago deep dish pizza (a heavenly creation if there ever was one) and just about every other type of cuisine this world has to offer.

But recently, we got "M Burger."

Some folks that I sing with at church choir treated me to my first M Burger after church the other day. They were amazed that I hadn't had one yet.

Apparently, when M Burger opened in Chicago, it caught on and there were lines around the block. The thing is, there are only two MBurger establishments in Chicago and both of them are teeny-tiny places.

So, what makes an MBurger so incredible?

First, the meat is fresh and it's char-grilled to order. Next, it's topped with sharp cheddar. It also contains their own special sauce and (here's the clincher) slices of thick, sweet, smokey bacon. Aside from all that, the M Burger employees are always super-duper friendly. They know they're onto a good thing.

You put all that together, and you've got the M Burger experience.

I was singing for a wedding this afternoon and during the ceremony I realized I had hardly eaten anything all day. I was one hungry puppy. Then, I realized that one of the two M Burger places was on my way home. Finally, the couple said their "I do's", I shucked my choir robe and headed to ground zero of hamburger heaven.

See? It's just an inconspicuous, tiny place.

Once inside, there's probably only room for about eight people to sit. (I was standing by the front door when I took this photo.)

I rushed home with two M Burgers - -

And here they are:

(Que heavenly angels singing here)

So, if you're ever in Chicago, visit the Sears Tower, go to a Cubs game, eat a deep dish pizza.

But also have yourself an M Burger.

Nostalgia

2011-06-10T13:44:00.002-04:00

Have you ever longed for items from your youth? My teenage years took place in the 1970s which was a decade that saw a lot of strange fads come and go. And yes, I took part in them all. I was recently cruising on eBay and thought it would be fun to obtain some of the following items I enjoyed during the Seventies:

Pet Rock

Yes, I had a Pet Rock. Its name was Sebastian. I don’t recall whatever happened to him. Rocks stay around for millions of years which is comforting. Somewhere, somehow, I’m sure Sebastian is around.

Klackers

During lunch hours on any school yard in 1972, one would hear the periodic klack, klack, klacky-klacky-klack of these ceramic-like balls on the end of strings that you’d clack back and forth. There was many an urban legend about these things shattering. Everyone knew a friend of a friend of someone who was blinded by these things.. I don’t ever recall seeing any news report about that actually happening or that they were recalled. Most likely, we just got bored with them. My brother threw mine high up in a tree where they remained for years.

Mood Ring

For about a month, we all had mood rings. For a 16 year old, it was a bona-fide way to detect if your girlfriend/boyfriend was horny.
Or not.

8-Track Tapes

Oh, the joy of slapping in that pink square of plastic into your tape deck as you roared off from the school parking lot to the wailing, screeching sounds of Led Zeppelin. And then hearing that jarring *cha-click* as it changed tracks right after Stairway to Heaven.

1976 Honda Civic

Yes, that was my first car. I loved that car. I had a blue one just like the one in the photo. Price? $3,300 brand new. That's a lot of hours working at Dairy Queen. I still have dreams that I’ve somehow kept it after all these years and am still driving it. I even installed an 8-Track tape deck in mine which blew out the electrical system.

Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill

The first alcohol I ever drank was this stuff. It was the epitome of pink bubble-gum wine. I loved it. Back in 1975, it was a dollar a bottle.
Stairway to Heaven never sounded better. . .

Sigh . . . Good Times . . .

New Luggage

2011-06-06T23:16:00.003-04:00

When one travels as much as I do for work, having the perfect piece of luggage can make you exceedingly happy. (And no, I don't get to travel to anyplace exciting. In two weeks, I'm off to Peoria once again.)

I often have to wear a suit during my travels, so it's necessary to have a garment bag. I bought a rolling garment bag a few years ago and got pretty thrilled over that. That is, until the telescoping handle wouldn't telescope down anymore and I couldn't take it on airplanes.

I'm a guy, so I don't need much in the way of luggage. A suit, a pair of cargo pants, couple of shirts, socks. I've been known to stuff clean underpants in my laptop case.

So, the garment bag was a bit "much". What to do?

A friend of mine called me with the solution. (She was as excited as I am now.)

Lookie here at my new piece of luggage.

First of all, it will fit on the airplane as a carry-on. That's nice.

Next, it's a pretty color of blue. That's a HUGE prerequisite for me with just about everything I own. It has to be blue.

See? It opens up and has lots of room and pockets for things.

No more underpants popping out of my laptop case during presentations in Springfield.

But wait! Are you ready for this?

The inner lining of the top is also a garment bag!

Oh. My. GOD!

My suit fits perfectly.

And it is expandable, so you can fit lots more stuff in there. A small child, perhaps.

If you want one of these (they also come in black) you can order it here from Amazon.

For those of you who know me, you know I can't stand having anything superfluous in my apartment. I'm the opposite of a hoarder. So, my old garment bag and my carry-on have already been placed in the stairwell of my apartment building.

The maintenance guy will take them away if someone else doesn't.

Man, I can't wait for my trip to Peoria now!

You Just Never Know . . .

2011-06-01T15:07:00.002-04:00

My morning got off to a rough start. I had trouble sleeping the night before which caused be to wake up groggy and grouchy. My hair looked like a sea creature striking a defensive posture.

I ambled into work and trudged into the break room with my coffee cup only to find that someone had drunk the last of the coffee and didn’t bother to make anymore. That meant that I had to make a pot of coffee!

Oh, the humanity!

I initiated the launch sequence of the coffee maker, left my coffee mug on the counter by the machine and returned to my office to check my emails. When I returned for my fresh cup of coffee, my coffee mug was gone! It was my favoritest mug. (It was big and had a pretty blue interior.) I had paid ten dollars for it at Starbucks and someone had taken it!

I was really upset. There are about three dozen bastard mugs in the cupboard, but someone wanted mine and took it. I had to use one of the smaller, non-blue coffee mugs.

Grrrr!

I started to email an all-points bulletin labeled “High Importance” to “All Staff” about my mug, but restrained myself.

Later in the day, I went back to make my daily mug of jasmine green tea and noticed that someone had left the dishwasher open. (The nerve of these people!)

As I went to slam it shut, there was my mug in the dishwasher – placed right where a dirty mug left on a countertop should have been placed.

I’m sure whoever took the time to place it there did so, begrudgingly, thinking that one of their co-workers was an inconsiderate slob.

It just goes to show – prejudging a situation is seldom accurate or productive.

Anyway, I’ve got my beloved coffee mug back. Life can continue.

Afternoon Scene - Cool Memorial Day

2011-05-30T02:38:00.002-04:00

Our long, cold season called "Almost Spring" seems to be lingering longer than ever this year. Here it is, Memorial Day, and just three days ago, we were experiencing record-low wind chills of 33 degrees. I've been wearing my long, furry dress coat all week.

Yesterday started out chilly and windy. It was "Rogation Sunday" in the Episcopal tradition which, ironically, is a Sunday set aside to recognize God's hand in causing seeds to sprout and stuff like that. (Little evidence of that going on here, God, eh?) During church, a whopper of a thunderstorm blew in.

Then another.

And another.

When I got home, the chilly, low-pressure air was sucking in warmer stuff from the lake. Usually, it goes the other way around.

Here are some cool pics from my balcony:

God's Happy People

2011-05-28T17:44:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, my friend, Iwanski, took some great photos of these really happy people who were having an anti-gay rally downtown. You can view his photos (and really hilarious captions) here.

Now, just look at these people.

Don't they look like they're having fun?

No?

I just don't understand these folks who protest against gay marriage. They say they want to "protect marriage!" And that marriage should be "one woman and one man."

Fine.

What's stopping any one man and one woman from getting married?

Nothing will change for men and women who want to do so.

Here's some advice for these happy folks: If you're against gay marriage, then by all means, don't marry someone of the same sex!

As I was looking at them, I noticed one woman and thought, "She looks just like a Far Side cartoon character."

Really! Take a look:

Here's the happy crowd.

Here's a Far Side cartoon:

The woman

The cartoon character:

Yes, we may encounter their nonsense here and there, but can you imagine what it must be like to live in their heads twenty-four-seven?

Morning Scene - Working from Home

2011-05-25T10:35:00.001-04:00

Today’s morning scene is from my balcony. There’s a 100 percent chance of thunderstorms in the forecast, I’ve got a ton of reports and data to compile, therefore, I am SO working from home today.

Working from home is great. I have my snooty Italian roast coffee made in a French press, I’m working in my comfy cargo pants, lunch is nearby and doesn’t cost ten bucks, and one can forget about performing “courtesy flushes.”

Let the good times roll. . . .

Morning Scene - Fog

2011-05-20T12:48:00.000-04:00

I looked out the window at work this morning and there was a typical Springtime scene in Chicago:
Fog rolling in from the lake on a cool, sunny day.

It reminds me of that poem by Carl Sandburg:

Fog comes on little cat feet
And sits on silent haunches over harbor and city;
And then moves on.

May 21, 2011

2011-05-18T13:48:00.000-04:00

I really hope that Harold Camping and all his followers will watch this video on May 22nd:

Working in Your Pajamas

2011-05-16T10:06:00.000-04:00

About a month ago, I gave a presentation in Wisconsin on finding work opportunities for people with disabilities in rural areas. (Apparently, with a raging case of pneumonia.) I recently got the results from those surveys that are handed out to the participants and, apparently, they really liked the last part of my presentation that I called “The Holy Grail: Working From Home.”

I had done quite a bit of research on work-from-home opportunities and I found it pretty interesting as well. With so many people looking for work these days, I thought I’d pass along this info to all of you, my dear reader-puppies.

We’re all familiar with companies who have sent their jobs off-shore to India. But nowadays, many employers are moving their call centers back to the U.S. now that these jobs can be done from home. (Very little overhead for the employers.) It’s called “Homeshoring” or “home shoring” or “homesourcing” or even “rural shoring”.

Sure, everyone would like to work from home in their PJs and lots of Nasty People have realized that. There are LOTS of scams out there. If you see an advertisement saying that you can earn $5,000 a month from home, it’s a scam. Bottom line, if it sounds too good to be true . . . .well, you know the rest.

Another scam is to get you to pay a chunk of money up front for the “opportunity” to apply for these jobs.

That’s a scam. Hello!!
Employers pay employees. Not the other way around.

(Note: Sometimes, an employer will require a small fee for a background check, but if it’s legitimate, that’s only after a job has been offered.)

But there are many legitimate companies out there that employ people to work from home. For example, whenever you call Jet Blue, you’re speaking to someone working from home. Probably in their PJs. Same for 1-800-Flowers. When you go to the drive-thru at McDonald’s, there’s a chance that the person on the squawk-box is someone working from home. Chances are, it’s someone who uses a wheelchair.

No, you won’t be making five-thousand bucks a month. The pay isn’t that great, but you’ll have no commuting costs, won’t have to buy business attire, and hey, if you’re unemployed, it’s a job.

So, here are some legitimate employers who hire people to work from home.

Thank you for your attention and have a great day.

Oh! And please spend about five minutes to complete the survey before you leave for the networking session in the Sheboygan Ballroom. Thank you.

Home Call Center Jobs
http://www.homecallcenterjobs.com/

http://www.surveylot.com/
Surveys, mystery shopper

http://www.wahm.com/
(Stands for work at home mother. It is gender neutral.)

http://www.marketforce.com/

http://www.certifiedfieldassociates.com/

Jet Blue
http://www.jetblue.com/about/work/

Alpine Access
http://www.alpineaccess.com/en/

LiveOps
http://www.liveops.com/

Billing Services Group
http://www.bsgclearing.com/products/voicelog/?/voicelog/

West at Home
http://www.westathome.com/

TeleCare Corp
http://www.telecarecorp.com/page3-56/JobSearch

1-800-Flowers
http://ww10.1800flowers.com/template.do?id=template8&page=9000&conversionTag=true

Working in your PJs

2011-05-12T14:01:00.000-04:00

About a month ago, I gave a presentation somewhere in Wisconsin on finding work opportunities for people with disabilities in rural areas. (Little did I know I had a raging case of pneumonia while doing it.) I recently got the results from those surveys that are handed out to the participants and, apparently, they really liked the last part of my presentation that I called “The Holy Grail: Working From Home.”

I had done quite a bit of research on work-from-home opportunities and I found it pretty interesting as well. With so many people looking for work these days, I thought I’d pass along this info to all of you, my dear reader-puppies.

We’re all familiar with companies who have sent their jobs off-shore to India. But nowadays, many employers are moving their call centers back to the U.S. now that these jobs can be done from home. (Very little overhead for the employers.) It’s called “Homeshoring” or “home shoring” or “homesourcing” or even “rural shoring”.

Sure, everyone would like to work from home in their PJs and lots of Nasty People have realized that. There are LOTS of scams out there. If you see an advertisement saying that you can earn $5,000 a week from home, it’s a scam. Bottom line, if it sounds too good to be true . . . .well, you know the rest.

Another scam is to get you to pay a chunk of money up front for the “opportunity” to apply for these jobs.

That’s an evil, nasty scam.
Hello!! Employers pay employees. Not the other way around.

(Note: Sometimes, an employer will require a small fee for a background check, but if it’s legitimate, that’s only after a job has been offered.)

But there are many legitimate companies out there that employ people to work from home.

For example, whenever you call Jet Blue, you’re speaking to someone working from home. Probably in their PJs. Same for 1-800-Flowers. When you go to the drive-thru at McDonald’s, there’s a chance that the person on the squawk-box is someone working from home. Chances are, it’s someone who uses a wheelchair.

No, you won’t be making five-thousand bucks a week. The pay isn’t that great, but you’ll have no commuting costs, won’t have to purchase business attire, and hey, if you’re unemployed, it’s a job.

So, here are some legitimate employers who hire people to work from home.

Thank you for your attention and have a great day.

Oh! And please spend about five minutes to complete the survey before you leave for the networking session in the Sheboygan Ballroom. Thank you.

Home Call Center Jobs:
http://www.homecallcenterjobs.com/

http://www.surveylot.com/ (Surveys, mystery shoppers)

http://www.wahm.com/
(Stands for work at home mother. It's gender neutral.)

http://www.marketforce.com/

http://www.certifiedfieldassociates.com/

Jet Blue
http://www.jetblue.com/about/work/

Alpine Access
http://www.alpineaccess.com/en/

LiveOps
http://www.liveops.com/

Billing Services Group
http://www.bsgclearing.com/products/voicelog/?/voicelog/

West at Home
http://www.westathome.com/

TeleCare Corp
http://www.telecarecorp.com/page3-56/JobSearch

1-800-Flowers
http://ww10.1800flowers.com/template.do?id=template8&page=9000&conversionTag=true