The other day my 4-year-old son, Braden, was watching some Christmas television show in which one of the characters wrote a letter to Santa Claus. Not previously knowing that was something he could do, Braden asked me for some paper and a pencil, as he too wanted to write a letter to the big guy in the North Pole.
I’m not going to be one of those parents who brags his 4-year-old can already read and write, because I’d be lying. My kid knows his letters most of the time, he can spell his name some of the time, and once in awhile he can even write it, but that’s it.
I’d love it if he could read and write, but he’s already light years ahead of where I was at his age. Not only didn’t I know the alphabet at 4, but I didn’t know it when I was 5 and in kindergarten, a grade I claim I flunked but my mother correctly says I was held back in to grasp the basics.
Intrigued by Braden’s sudden decision to use writing skills I didn’t know he had, I watched in amusement as he put his pencil to paper and wrote to Santa. When he was done, his letter was literally filled with a mess of letters. I asked him what those letters said.
“It says ‘I want Optimus Prime,’” he replied to complete predictability, as the Transformer toy is something he’s wanted for a long time.
“What else does it say?” I asked.
“It also says, ‘I want everything that I want,’” he said.
It was brilliant, I thought. What more could he have written to make his point any clearer? Absolutely nothing.
“I want everything that I want.” He knows what he wants, and he knows Santa knows what he wants. Why bother listing everything if Santa has the ability to read kids’ minds, as he correctly believes?
His short, simple statement also made me jealous. As a person who writes for a living, I’ve learned many times the best writers are the ones that can say the most with as few words as possible. It’s a goal I strive for, but often believe I sometimes miss. Thankfully I’ve got an editor and multiple proofers who trim my work whenever they deem it should be done.
Jealous is probably an understatement, because I’m not sure I’ve ever written anything that says as much as he did with those six words. Granted, he didn’t technically write those words, but his translation of his jumbled letters is enough for me.
My long windedness might stem from those years in elementary school after flunking kindergarten in which I went from being the stupid kid in class to the teacher’s pet. When school and learning clicked for me, sometime in first grade, learning became something I greatly enjoyed.
This enjoyment inspired me to go above and beyond the scope of given assignments. When a teacher assigned us to write a story using all of our spelling words, I wrote 20-page novellas. These Magnum opuses were always humorous, as in addition to being the teacher’s pet I was usually the class clown, and many were epic, as I would continue them the next week with the next set of spelling words.
I don’t have any copies of these stories for specific examples, but I’m pretty sure I was long winded. The poor teachers, already overworked and underpaid, probably hated sludging through my dribble. I probably got top marks, not for quality material, but just for my effort. What teacher wouldn’t give a kid who spent three hours on a story the best grade possible, even if said story could be condensed to two paragraphs in a more readable form?
It wasn’t until Mrs. Voeltner taught me in my high school journalism class that less is usually better.
That’s a lesson I still struggle with, but one Braden has apparently learned at a very young age. I don’t want to brag, but maybe he is a genius.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Holiday traveling experience doesn't have to be painful
Christmas, for many, means traveling. Some people travel long distances, by plane, while others travel shorter distances, by car, to nearby cities. Regardless of the distance, it still takes an effort on the part of the traveler to get where he or she needs to go. And it’s an effort many people don’t like, especially when the destination is a place they try to avoid the rest of the year.
Traveling sometimes has to take place in bad weather, like this year as it is expected to be, putting an even bigger damper on a downer day for those travelers who would rather stay home.
For those reluctant travelers, myself not included as I have a blast at gatherings of my family and my wife’s family, I offer 10 tips to make the journey more fun:
1.) Road-trip music. Load the iPod or your CD case with your favorites, but make sure they are fun for the entire family, as you don’t want to hear “Ughh. Not Bob Seger again.” “Old Time Rock and Roll” does tend to get old after several thousand listens.” This may be the only safe entertainment available to the driver, so other passengers need to respect it.
2.) Give your passengers cell phones and tell them to catch up with old friends. To be honest, I love it when my wife is talking with others, because then I can enjoy tip No. 1. And when she’s done talking with others, she provides me with good conversation about the conversations she has just had. Just make sure the person with the cell phone isn’t the driver, as this country already has too many cell phone-talking drivers.
3.) Play games. “I spot” is always fun with little kids, and a box of “Trivial Pursuit” cards can provide entertainment for older people. Just make sure you know the difference between “Moops” and “Moors” if you have the first edition of the First Genus.
4.) Campfire stories, but without the camping, fire, marshmallows and mosquitoes. My 4-year-old son loves to hear stories. I oftentimes have a hard time making them up, so I steal them from other sources, such as movies I’ve seen and books I’ve read. Someday, when he watches “Gremlins” for the first time, he’s going to think the producers of that movie stole my story.
5.) The “Quiet” Game. This game should be played when the passengers get too noisy or the kids are fighting. Nobody really likes it, but it can make for peaceful traveling. Plus, it can be fun trying to get others to break their silence. Just hope it’s not done by breaking wind. That’s never a good thing in close quarters.
6.) Portable DVD players are great for backseat passengers. Rent a good movie, or grab one from your collection, and watch away. For long trips, television show DVDs may be the best entertainment, especially if you need to catch up with shows you haven’t seen. Good suggestions: “True Blood,” “The Wire,” “Mad Men” and “Dexter.” For short trips, select a good film you’ve seen before but always enjoy watching. For some, that film will probably be “The Shawshank Redemption,” as it was recently named a film people never get tired of.
7.) Read a book. When I was a kid, I spent many long car trips reading, which helped instill a lifelong love of reading for me. Plus, it’s a great way to keep your focus away from the smelly person next to you on an airplane.
8.) Catch up on homework and office work. My wife, who is well on her way to getting her master’s degree, often studies as I drive. It’s as though she’s enrolled in a traveling college.
9.) Select a weird topic and talk about it. In the past, before having a kid, my wife and I often discussed names we’d choose for a kid. Through these talks, some of them lasting entire trips, we eventually came up with “Braden” for our son’s name. It’s a name that perfectly fits him, especially since it combines the names of our two fathers, Bradley and Dennis. It was recently named as the seventh most popular boys’ name for 2009, but we came up with it in 2005, long before it became common.
10.) Talk about what gifts may be waiting for you upon arrival to your destination. Although nobody likes to admit liking Christmas for the gifts, let’s be honest, gifts rule. Even the bad ones, as they can provide a humorous conversation for the ride home.
Remember to keep the traveling experience as fun as possible because headaches and misery may be in store for holiday grinches at their destinations.
Traveling sometimes has to take place in bad weather, like this year as it is expected to be, putting an even bigger damper on a downer day for those travelers who would rather stay home.
For those reluctant travelers, myself not included as I have a blast at gatherings of my family and my wife’s family, I offer 10 tips to make the journey more fun:
1.) Road-trip music. Load the iPod or your CD case with your favorites, but make sure they are fun for the entire family, as you don’t want to hear “Ughh. Not Bob Seger again.” “Old Time Rock and Roll” does tend to get old after several thousand listens.” This may be the only safe entertainment available to the driver, so other passengers need to respect it.
2.) Give your passengers cell phones and tell them to catch up with old friends. To be honest, I love it when my wife is talking with others, because then I can enjoy tip No. 1. And when she’s done talking with others, she provides me with good conversation about the conversations she has just had. Just make sure the person with the cell phone isn’t the driver, as this country already has too many cell phone-talking drivers.
3.) Play games. “I spot” is always fun with little kids, and a box of “Trivial Pursuit” cards can provide entertainment for older people. Just make sure you know the difference between “Moops” and “Moors” if you have the first edition of the First Genus.
4.) Campfire stories, but without the camping, fire, marshmallows and mosquitoes. My 4-year-old son loves to hear stories. I oftentimes have a hard time making them up, so I steal them from other sources, such as movies I’ve seen and books I’ve read. Someday, when he watches “Gremlins” for the first time, he’s going to think the producers of that movie stole my story.
5.) The “Quiet” Game. This game should be played when the passengers get too noisy or the kids are fighting. Nobody really likes it, but it can make for peaceful traveling. Plus, it can be fun trying to get others to break their silence. Just hope it’s not done by breaking wind. That’s never a good thing in close quarters.
6.) Portable DVD players are great for backseat passengers. Rent a good movie, or grab one from your collection, and watch away. For long trips, television show DVDs may be the best entertainment, especially if you need to catch up with shows you haven’t seen. Good suggestions: “True Blood,” “The Wire,” “Mad Men” and “Dexter.” For short trips, select a good film you’ve seen before but always enjoy watching. For some, that film will probably be “The Shawshank Redemption,” as it was recently named a film people never get tired of.
7.) Read a book. When I was a kid, I spent many long car trips reading, which helped instill a lifelong love of reading for me. Plus, it’s a great way to keep your focus away from the smelly person next to you on an airplane.
8.) Catch up on homework and office work. My wife, who is well on her way to getting her master’s degree, often studies as I drive. It’s as though she’s enrolled in a traveling college.
9.) Select a weird topic and talk about it. In the past, before having a kid, my wife and I often discussed names we’d choose for a kid. Through these talks, some of them lasting entire trips, we eventually came up with “Braden” for our son’s name. It’s a name that perfectly fits him, especially since it combines the names of our two fathers, Bradley and Dennis. It was recently named as the seventh most popular boys’ name for 2009, but we came up with it in 2005, long before it became common.
10.) Talk about what gifts may be waiting for you upon arrival to your destination. Although nobody likes to admit liking Christmas for the gifts, let’s be honest, gifts rule. Even the bad ones, as they can provide a humorous conversation for the ride home.
Remember to keep the traveling experience as fun as possible because headaches and misery may be in store for holiday grinches at their destinations.
'Best of' decade lists subject to change minute-by-minute
For some – me specifically – it’s fun reading end-of-the-year “best of” lists. I like reading other people’s opinions about what they consider to be the best albums, books, DVDs, films and television shows of the year. Often, I find good suggestions of things I should check out that I may have initially missed, and sometimes I discover reasons for reexamining something I may have dismissed earlier.
Years ending with a nine, like this one, are even better because many of these lists compilers spoil us with “best of” the decade lists. As I write this, I’m anxiously waiting for Rolling Stone to send me its latest issue with such a list, as I have my notebook and pen ready to make notes for things I need to check out.
While I wait, I’ve decided I’m going to make my own list, which I know will be outdated as soon as I write it. My opinion can change not just day-to-day, but sometimes minute-to-minute, depending on my mood.
Example: “The Dark Knight” was my favorite film in 2008, and while I still love it, I’ve literally been scared to watch it again since my initial viewing in the movie theater. I’m afraid that perfect viewing will be tarnished on subsequent viewings in which I discover flaws. As a result, I’m more apt to say “Iron Man,” which has a ton of flaws, was the best film of the year because I’ve watched it what feels like 16,000 times with my 4-year-old son who completely cherishes it as his favorite film.
So, at 4:30 p.m. on Monday, Dec. 7, my “best of” the decade list is this:
Best albums: This is probably the easiest category for me, as I simply compiled a list of my favorite artists and then listed the albums they made this decade. This list includes Bruce Springsteen, U2, Pearl Jam, Guns N’ Roses and Bob Dylan, and some of the best albums these five artists made this decade are Springsteen’s “The Rising,” U2’s “All That You Can’t Leave Behind,” Pearl Jam’s “Backspacer” and Dylan’s “Modern Times.”
From this list, U2’s “All That You Can’t Leave Behind” stands out as my favorite, mainly because of its resonance following 9-11, despite being recorded before the event. Songs like “Beautiful Day” and “New York” took on new meaning, which the best art could and should do to reflect the times.
I’ll also give a shout out to Wilco’s “Yankee Foxtrot Hotel” for albums by artists not on my top-five list. Wilco’s record label dumped the band when it received this album, forcing the band to put it online for its fans. Guess what? The fans loved it and the guys in Wilco didn’t have to worry about how they were going to put food on the table for their families anymore.
Best books: Since I can only put something on this list from the books I have read, which is miniscule compared to the list of books from this decade I still want to read, my list of the top three books includes “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy, a bleak page-turner, and “Fargo Rock City: A Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North Dakota” by Chuck Klosterman. This humorous memoir shows life can be fun in North Dakota, too.
My list is topped by Stevens Point author Patrick Rothfuss’ “The Name of the Wind,” a fantasy novel that pushes J.K. Rowlings’ “Harry Potter” series off my list. I don’t normally read this type of novel – “Harry Potter” was an exception for me because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about – but I read this one because of the local connection, and it was worth every bit of my time. It’ll be worth every bit of your time, too. Give it a try, if you haven’t already.
Best DVDs: Hands down, the director’s cuts of the three films in “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy beat everything and anything that stands in their paths. Quite a bit longer than the theatrical versions, these DVDs are enhanced by their extended playing times, unlike most director cuts. These are the definitive versions all fans should own.
Best films: And speaking of “The Lord of the Rings,” the final film in the trilogy, “Return of the King,” as well as the first film, “The Fellowship of the Ring,” tower above all. It’s funny, because these films came out around the same time as the “Star Wars” prequels came out, and while I eagerly awaited their releases, “The Lord of the Rings,” quietly at first, became everything I was hoping “Star Wars” would be: dramatic, action-packed, loaded with great story-telling and full of mind-blowing special effects.
Honorable mentions go to “Matrix,” the coolest film of the decade, and “High Fidelity,” a film that shows all of the highs and lows of relationships between males and females in a funny and believable way.
Best television shows: This is the hardest list to compile because this decade was truly a golden age for television. And with mankind’s advances in technology, people can stay tuned to any television show that comes out, unlike previous decades where shows had to be either watched live or taped on a not-completely reliable VCR.
Any of these shows could be at the top of my list on any given day: “The Office,” “Battlestar Galatica,” “Lost,” “Friday Night Lights,” “The Wire,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” “The Sopranos,” “Mad Men,” “Dexter” and my one guilty pleasure I’m not afraid to say, “Smallville.”
I’m finishing this column at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, Dec. 8, and I already want to make some changes. But I know when I proof this on Wednesday, Dec. 9, I may want to change my mind again. So I’ll leave it. It’ll be my personal “best of” the decade list for Tuesday through Wednesday, Dec. 8-9 (subject to change at author’s discretion).
Years ending with a nine, like this one, are even better because many of these lists compilers spoil us with “best of” the decade lists. As I write this, I’m anxiously waiting for Rolling Stone to send me its latest issue with such a list, as I have my notebook and pen ready to make notes for things I need to check out.
While I wait, I’ve decided I’m going to make my own list, which I know will be outdated as soon as I write it. My opinion can change not just day-to-day, but sometimes minute-to-minute, depending on my mood.
Example: “The Dark Knight” was my favorite film in 2008, and while I still love it, I’ve literally been scared to watch it again since my initial viewing in the movie theater. I’m afraid that perfect viewing will be tarnished on subsequent viewings in which I discover flaws. As a result, I’m more apt to say “Iron Man,” which has a ton of flaws, was the best film of the year because I’ve watched it what feels like 16,000 times with my 4-year-old son who completely cherishes it as his favorite film.
So, at 4:30 p.m. on Monday, Dec. 7, my “best of” the decade list is this:
Best albums: This is probably the easiest category for me, as I simply compiled a list of my favorite artists and then listed the albums they made this decade. This list includes Bruce Springsteen, U2, Pearl Jam, Guns N’ Roses and Bob Dylan, and some of the best albums these five artists made this decade are Springsteen’s “The Rising,” U2’s “All That You Can’t Leave Behind,” Pearl Jam’s “Backspacer” and Dylan’s “Modern Times.”
From this list, U2’s “All That You Can’t Leave Behind” stands out as my favorite, mainly because of its resonance following 9-11, despite being recorded before the event. Songs like “Beautiful Day” and “New York” took on new meaning, which the best art could and should do to reflect the times.
I’ll also give a shout out to Wilco’s “Yankee Foxtrot Hotel” for albums by artists not on my top-five list. Wilco’s record label dumped the band when it received this album, forcing the band to put it online for its fans. Guess what? The fans loved it and the guys in Wilco didn’t have to worry about how they were going to put food on the table for their families anymore.
Best books: Since I can only put something on this list from the books I have read, which is miniscule compared to the list of books from this decade I still want to read, my list of the top three books includes “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy, a bleak page-turner, and “Fargo Rock City: A Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North Dakota” by Chuck Klosterman. This humorous memoir shows life can be fun in North Dakota, too.
My list is topped by Stevens Point author Patrick Rothfuss’ “The Name of the Wind,” a fantasy novel that pushes J.K. Rowlings’ “Harry Potter” series off my list. I don’t normally read this type of novel – “Harry Potter” was an exception for me because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about – but I read this one because of the local connection, and it was worth every bit of my time. It’ll be worth every bit of your time, too. Give it a try, if you haven’t already.
Best DVDs: Hands down, the director’s cuts of the three films in “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy beat everything and anything that stands in their paths. Quite a bit longer than the theatrical versions, these DVDs are enhanced by their extended playing times, unlike most director cuts. These are the definitive versions all fans should own.
Best films: And speaking of “The Lord of the Rings,” the final film in the trilogy, “Return of the King,” as well as the first film, “The Fellowship of the Ring,” tower above all. It’s funny, because these films came out around the same time as the “Star Wars” prequels came out, and while I eagerly awaited their releases, “The Lord of the Rings,” quietly at first, became everything I was hoping “Star Wars” would be: dramatic, action-packed, loaded with great story-telling and full of mind-blowing special effects.
Honorable mentions go to “Matrix,” the coolest film of the decade, and “High Fidelity,” a film that shows all of the highs and lows of relationships between males and females in a funny and believable way.
Best television shows: This is the hardest list to compile because this decade was truly a golden age for television. And with mankind’s advances in technology, people can stay tuned to any television show that comes out, unlike previous decades where shows had to be either watched live or taped on a not-completely reliable VCR.
Any of these shows could be at the top of my list on any given day: “The Office,” “Battlestar Galatica,” “Lost,” “Friday Night Lights,” “The Wire,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” “The Sopranos,” “Mad Men,” “Dexter” and my one guilty pleasure I’m not afraid to say, “Smallville.”
I’m finishing this column at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, Dec. 8, and I already want to make some changes. But I know when I proof this on Wednesday, Dec. 9, I may want to change my mind again. So I’ll leave it. It’ll be my personal “best of” the decade list for Tuesday through Wednesday, Dec. 8-9 (subject to change at author’s discretion).
Friday, December 4, 2009
Santa delivers Black Friday Snuggie present
Thanks to a great Black Friday special, my wife, Jenny, was able to purchase Snuggies for two of us in the Steuck household, including our son, Braden.
For those who have never heard of a Snuggie, it can officially be defined as a blanket with sleeves, which allows people to read or do other things with their hands they may have not been able to do with them under the blanket. Unofficially, it can simply be defined as the product of a marketing genius.
That’s because, if you think about it, a blanket with sleeves is probably the most useless product anyone could own. An extra sweatshirt, or even the clever use of a regular blanket, is all anyone really needs to stay warm while doing tasks that require the use of hands.
But through the use of cheesy commercials that are unintentionally humorous, Snuggies have become a product people talk about, and products people talk about are sometimes the products people buy.
The first time I saw a Snuggie commercial several years ago I immediately realized I wanted one, but I didn’t want to pay $20. A fleece blanket, even one with sleeves, is not worth that price.
On Thanksgiving, though, browsing through the following day’s Black Friday ads, I spotted Snuggies on sale at one store for $4. That’s less than a hamburger at a restaurant, less than a movie ticket and less than another useless product everyone wanted, Chia Pets. Four dollars is just four times the price of a candy bar nowadays (I remember when they used to be 50 cents, while my mother recalls candy bars being a nickel when she was a kid).
I avoid any shopping places on Black Friday, so Jenny does my shopping for me on this day if there is anything I want. She came back with not just one Snuggie, but two of them. Even better, they weren’t actual Snuggies; instead, they were the Snuggie knock-off – Cuddlies.
Normally, I’d want the real thing, but in this case, a knock-off of a useless product is perfectly acceptable. It’s just a blanket with sleeves after all. It’s not like it’s the 1980s, you’re 11 years old and you received a Transformer knock-off Go-Bot rather than the actual Transformer you really wanted. Sorry. Painful flashback.
That night we opened one of the Snuggies/Cuddlies and I put it on, half expecting a life-changing moment. Instead, I realized the blanket with sleeves does exactly what it’s advertised to do, and not more like I was expecting it to do.
It’s a blanket, and as such, it’s not meant to be worn around the house like a piece of clothing. So, when I put it on and came to that surprise realization, as it didn’t have anything going around my backside, disappointment set in. A Snuggie had to be used for more than just sitting.
To remedy this, I tied the blanket ends on my shoulders together behind my back, creating a reverse robe that sort of resembled a Jedi Knight outfit.
Since I looked kind of like Obi Wan Kenobi, Braden decided he too needed a Snuggie. We opened another package, put it on him and suddenly our apartment was filled with two Jedis. The only thing we needed were two lightsabers, although Jenny probably wouldn’t want us getting involved in a duel.
The only complaint I have about the Snuggie, after remedying its initial inability to cover my backside to give me mobility, is that it doesn’t have a front fly for guys to use the bathroom without either taking it off or raising it up. If briefs and boxers can come with such a fly, so should the Snuggie. “The blanket with sleeves, and a fly,” the marketing geniuses could boast, allowing them to sell even more of them.
I wore mine the entire evening, while Braden went to bed with his on. We took it off after he fell asleep, slightly worried it could pose a choking hazard; however, when he woke up in the middle of the night and realized it wasn’t on anymore, he started crying, wanting it back on. I put it back on, without tying the ends together.
I received another Snuggie, an actual one and not a rip-off, from my sister-in-law as a belated birthday present this week. Now everyone in our household has been Snuggified. Well, almost everyone. Apparently, the Snuggie company is now making them for pets, too. As much as I love our two cats, that’s something I will never buy. Unless Black Friday can come through with a great price again.
For those who have never heard of a Snuggie, it can officially be defined as a blanket with sleeves, which allows people to read or do other things with their hands they may have not been able to do with them under the blanket. Unofficially, it can simply be defined as the product of a marketing genius.
That’s because, if you think about it, a blanket with sleeves is probably the most useless product anyone could own. An extra sweatshirt, or even the clever use of a regular blanket, is all anyone really needs to stay warm while doing tasks that require the use of hands.
But through the use of cheesy commercials that are unintentionally humorous, Snuggies have become a product people talk about, and products people talk about are sometimes the products people buy.
The first time I saw a Snuggie commercial several years ago I immediately realized I wanted one, but I didn’t want to pay $20. A fleece blanket, even one with sleeves, is not worth that price.
On Thanksgiving, though, browsing through the following day’s Black Friday ads, I spotted Snuggies on sale at one store for $4. That’s less than a hamburger at a restaurant, less than a movie ticket and less than another useless product everyone wanted, Chia Pets. Four dollars is just four times the price of a candy bar nowadays (I remember when they used to be 50 cents, while my mother recalls candy bars being a nickel when she was a kid).
I avoid any shopping places on Black Friday, so Jenny does my shopping for me on this day if there is anything I want. She came back with not just one Snuggie, but two of them. Even better, they weren’t actual Snuggies; instead, they were the Snuggie knock-off – Cuddlies.
Normally, I’d want the real thing, but in this case, a knock-off of a useless product is perfectly acceptable. It’s just a blanket with sleeves after all. It’s not like it’s the 1980s, you’re 11 years old and you received a Transformer knock-off Go-Bot rather than the actual Transformer you really wanted. Sorry. Painful flashback.
That night we opened one of the Snuggies/Cuddlies and I put it on, half expecting a life-changing moment. Instead, I realized the blanket with sleeves does exactly what it’s advertised to do, and not more like I was expecting it to do.
It’s a blanket, and as such, it’s not meant to be worn around the house like a piece of clothing. So, when I put it on and came to that surprise realization, as it didn’t have anything going around my backside, disappointment set in. A Snuggie had to be used for more than just sitting.
To remedy this, I tied the blanket ends on my shoulders together behind my back, creating a reverse robe that sort of resembled a Jedi Knight outfit.
Since I looked kind of like Obi Wan Kenobi, Braden decided he too needed a Snuggie. We opened another package, put it on him and suddenly our apartment was filled with two Jedis. The only thing we needed were two lightsabers, although Jenny probably wouldn’t want us getting involved in a duel.
The only complaint I have about the Snuggie, after remedying its initial inability to cover my backside to give me mobility, is that it doesn’t have a front fly for guys to use the bathroom without either taking it off or raising it up. If briefs and boxers can come with such a fly, so should the Snuggie. “The blanket with sleeves, and a fly,” the marketing geniuses could boast, allowing them to sell even more of them.
I wore mine the entire evening, while Braden went to bed with his on. We took it off after he fell asleep, slightly worried it could pose a choking hazard; however, when he woke up in the middle of the night and realized it wasn’t on anymore, he started crying, wanting it back on. I put it back on, without tying the ends together.
I received another Snuggie, an actual one and not a rip-off, from my sister-in-law as a belated birthday present this week. Now everyone in our household has been Snuggified. Well, almost everyone. Apparently, the Snuggie company is now making them for pets, too. As much as I love our two cats, that’s something I will never buy. Unless Black Friday can come through with a great price again.
Thor the Bear doesn't have a chance on Point property
I learned last week a bear has been spotted on property my wife, Jenny, and I purchased in August on the north side of Stevens Point for our future home. As a fan of bears, this news elated me, although Jenny was less than thrilled.
I immediately took ownership of the bear, though it would probably dispute it, and gave it a name: Thor. That’s the name I wanted for our son, Braden, before he was born, but one Jenny shot down along with Raven for a girl. I understand her reasoning – Thor is a Norse god of thunder and our son is not, and Raven could be the name of a porn actress, which we both hope any future daughter will not become – so it was easy to go along with her safer choices, like Braden.
Thor may have just been passing through, as bears spotted in the city of Stevens Point are most likely doing, but I like to think he’s taken up residence on our 1.66-acre lot, especially since we won’t build our home there until 2010 and possibly 2011. If we’re not going to live there yet, I couldn’t be more honored to have a bear live there in our place.
I’ll admit, I haven’t seen Thor, nor do I know for sure it was actually on our property. I heard some neighbors spotted it in the vicinity, so I just made the assumption it’s living on our land. Why? Because with the exception of a few celebrities, zookeepers and that crazy guy in Alaska who has more than a dozen bears living on his property, most people can’t say they own a bear.
By taking ownership of Thor, I can join the ranks of these people. It’s definitely the coolest thing I own, unless my autographed photo of Martin Kove can be considered cooler. But only “Karate Kid” aficionados will know Kove is evil sensei John Kreese in the first three films of the series, so most people won’t think this possession is cool at all.
My wife, on the other hand, isn’t amused at all about a bear being spotted on our property. For her Facebook status, she posted: “was surprised to learn today that a bear has taken up residence on our land… apparently it likes the subdivision and lake as well. Scott has already given it a name… ‘Thor.’ I would prefer to call it ‘throw rug.’”
Within an hour after posting this status, several of her friends responded along the same lines, some saying bear meat makes for great sausage and their hides look great hanging on the wall. Another person said he would be happy to help her make it a throw rug.
I posted a response saying I wasn’t going to let any of these blood-thirsty crazies kill Thor without getting through me first. Nobody responded, so they were all probably laughing at my weak threat.
If I actually saw Thor on our property, I’d probably become one of them, as I’d most likely be scared enough to want it gone. The only time I’ve seen a bear in the wild happened in August, shortly after we bought the property, when traveling to Eagle River. A bear crossed the road in front of the car in front of us right before entering the city of Rhinelander, much to my amazement.
I’ve only touched a live bear once, at a zoo in Weyauwega, when the owner let me pet a cub. It was little, but it was still tougher than me, nearly knocking me down twice.
A stuffed bear also clawed me once. I could more accurately say I brushed my hand against its sharp claws, causing them to cut me, but that makes me appear as the weakling I actually am, so I’ll stick with saying a stuffed bear clawed me.
Other than that, all of my bear experiences have been confined to safely watching them from a distance at a variety of zoos.
Weirdly enough, Jenny has gone bear hunting before, so having a bear on our property should make her happy. Not that she could hunt it within the city limits, but because it demonstrates bear numbers are up, as the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources has said, and any future hunts are more than likely going to be successful.
Then again, maybe she wants it off our property so it will be on land where she can shoot it.
Poor Thor. It doesn’t stand a chance.
I immediately took ownership of the bear, though it would probably dispute it, and gave it a name: Thor. That’s the name I wanted for our son, Braden, before he was born, but one Jenny shot down along with Raven for a girl. I understand her reasoning – Thor is a Norse god of thunder and our son is not, and Raven could be the name of a porn actress, which we both hope any future daughter will not become – so it was easy to go along with her safer choices, like Braden.
Thor may have just been passing through, as bears spotted in the city of Stevens Point are most likely doing, but I like to think he’s taken up residence on our 1.66-acre lot, especially since we won’t build our home there until 2010 and possibly 2011. If we’re not going to live there yet, I couldn’t be more honored to have a bear live there in our place.
I’ll admit, I haven’t seen Thor, nor do I know for sure it was actually on our property. I heard some neighbors spotted it in the vicinity, so I just made the assumption it’s living on our land. Why? Because with the exception of a few celebrities, zookeepers and that crazy guy in Alaska who has more than a dozen bears living on his property, most people can’t say they own a bear.
By taking ownership of Thor, I can join the ranks of these people. It’s definitely the coolest thing I own, unless my autographed photo of Martin Kove can be considered cooler. But only “Karate Kid” aficionados will know Kove is evil sensei John Kreese in the first three films of the series, so most people won’t think this possession is cool at all.
My wife, on the other hand, isn’t amused at all about a bear being spotted on our property. For her Facebook status, she posted: “was surprised to learn today that a bear has taken up residence on our land… apparently it likes the subdivision and lake as well. Scott has already given it a name… ‘Thor.’ I would prefer to call it ‘throw rug.’”
Within an hour after posting this status, several of her friends responded along the same lines, some saying bear meat makes for great sausage and their hides look great hanging on the wall. Another person said he would be happy to help her make it a throw rug.
I posted a response saying I wasn’t going to let any of these blood-thirsty crazies kill Thor without getting through me first. Nobody responded, so they were all probably laughing at my weak threat.
If I actually saw Thor on our property, I’d probably become one of them, as I’d most likely be scared enough to want it gone. The only time I’ve seen a bear in the wild happened in August, shortly after we bought the property, when traveling to Eagle River. A bear crossed the road in front of the car in front of us right before entering the city of Rhinelander, much to my amazement.
I’ve only touched a live bear once, at a zoo in Weyauwega, when the owner let me pet a cub. It was little, but it was still tougher than me, nearly knocking me down twice.
A stuffed bear also clawed me once. I could more accurately say I brushed my hand against its sharp claws, causing them to cut me, but that makes me appear as the weakling I actually am, so I’ll stick with saying a stuffed bear clawed me.
Other than that, all of my bear experiences have been confined to safely watching them from a distance at a variety of zoos.
Weirdly enough, Jenny has gone bear hunting before, so having a bear on our property should make her happy. Not that she could hunt it within the city limits, but because it demonstrates bear numbers are up, as the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources has said, and any future hunts are more than likely going to be successful.
Then again, maybe she wants it off our property so it will be on land where she can shoot it.
Poor Thor. It doesn’t stand a chance.
Noetic science saves rehashed Dan Brown novel
I just completed Dan Brown’s latest novel, “The Lost Symbol,” and although I wasn’t all that impressed with the book, I very much liked the ending.
Without spoiling anything, I’ll just say the ending was simple, especially when compared to the ending of some of his other books, yet it packed a wallop I’m still thinking about four days later.
Still without spoiling anything, part of the ending, as well as the rest of the novel, revolved around something I had never heard about before called noetic science.
As defined by Cassandra Vieten, director of research at the Institute of Noetic Sciences, noetic science is “a multidisciplinary field that brings objective scientific tools and techniques together with subjective inner knowing to study the full range of human experience.”
Huh? In simpler terms noetic scientists try to measure things we’ve long regarded as immeasurable – things like prayer, intuition and life after death.
In one scene in “The Lost Symbol,” noetic scientist Katherine Solomon talks about an experiment she conducted that measured the weight of a man right before he died and then immediately after he died. She discovered his weight dropped a fraction of an ounce following his death, thus proving his soul had a measurable weight once it left his body.
Skeptics might think this is just fiction, which is justifiable since the claim appears in a fiction novel, but Brown is a knowledgeable author who knows how to find obscure facts and incorporate them into his books. It’s a good thing he does, because some of the outlandish and implausible events that take place in his books may make them unreadable without all of these juicy tidbits that are just plain fun to learn about.
Well before the term noetic science was coined, Dr. Duncan MacDougall conducted experiments in 1907 that determined a human soul weighed 21 grams. He also conducted the experiment on dogs and discovered their weight did not decrease after death. Some scientists have disputed his results, but it’s clear Brown was at least grounded in reality, and not fiction, when he wrote about the subject.
Brown also writes about the power of mass thinking in “The Lost Symbol” as an example of noetic science. Mass thinking is basically the ability for a lot of like-thinking people to make either positive or negative things occur. An example is the election of Barack Obama a year ago. The majority of people were in a hopeful mood, following a period in which many people had negative thoughts due to the collapse of the economy, and as a result they swept him and many hope-oriented candidates into office.
He says in the novel modern technologies such as Facebook and Twitter allow for a quick spread of mass thoughts, which could someday lead to a new age of enlightenment. Considering we’re only three years away from the date the ancient Mayan calendar ceases to exist – Dec. 21, 2012 – it’s hopeful to believe the world won’t end on this date, as some predict (see the new film “2012” for more about this apocalyptic end), but instead we’ll enter into this new age of enlightenment as others predict. I’m a positive thinker, so I’ll gladly choose this over a pending doom.
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t all that impressed with “The Lost Symbol,” mainly because it’s more of the same from the author. If you’ve read “The Da Vinci Code” or “Angels & Demons,” you’ve pretty much read this book already. Then again, if that’s what you want, you’ll definitely enjoy this one, too. I was just hoping for something more.
For me, it was difficult reading through some of the ridiculous events that take place in the book. Why do so many unbelievable things happen to the Robert Langdon character, and why hasn’t he learned his lesson by now? Stay in the classroom and don’t offer any help to suspicious people, you may find yourself wanting to tell him.
I’m not sure I would have ever gotten through the book without the bits about noetic science. Fortunately, I found that interesting enough to slog my way through it, even though it took me two months, whereas his other novels I breezed through in days.
It makes me wish noetic science was around when I was in high school. Then I may have continued to take science classes beyond biology and chemistry, and today instead of reading about it in tired novels, I could be one of those scientists on the frontier of some new discovery that could change the way people think about the world.
I know, that’s far-fetched. But probably not as far-fetched as most of the stuff happening in “The Lost Symbol.”
Without spoiling anything, I’ll just say the ending was simple, especially when compared to the ending of some of his other books, yet it packed a wallop I’m still thinking about four days later.
Still without spoiling anything, part of the ending, as well as the rest of the novel, revolved around something I had never heard about before called noetic science.
As defined by Cassandra Vieten, director of research at the Institute of Noetic Sciences, noetic science is “a multidisciplinary field that brings objective scientific tools and techniques together with subjective inner knowing to study the full range of human experience.”
Huh? In simpler terms noetic scientists try to measure things we’ve long regarded as immeasurable – things like prayer, intuition and life after death.
In one scene in “The Lost Symbol,” noetic scientist Katherine Solomon talks about an experiment she conducted that measured the weight of a man right before he died and then immediately after he died. She discovered his weight dropped a fraction of an ounce following his death, thus proving his soul had a measurable weight once it left his body.
Skeptics might think this is just fiction, which is justifiable since the claim appears in a fiction novel, but Brown is a knowledgeable author who knows how to find obscure facts and incorporate them into his books. It’s a good thing he does, because some of the outlandish and implausible events that take place in his books may make them unreadable without all of these juicy tidbits that are just plain fun to learn about.
Well before the term noetic science was coined, Dr. Duncan MacDougall conducted experiments in 1907 that determined a human soul weighed 21 grams. He also conducted the experiment on dogs and discovered their weight did not decrease after death. Some scientists have disputed his results, but it’s clear Brown was at least grounded in reality, and not fiction, when he wrote about the subject.
Brown also writes about the power of mass thinking in “The Lost Symbol” as an example of noetic science. Mass thinking is basically the ability for a lot of like-thinking people to make either positive or negative things occur. An example is the election of Barack Obama a year ago. The majority of people were in a hopeful mood, following a period in which many people had negative thoughts due to the collapse of the economy, and as a result they swept him and many hope-oriented candidates into office.
He says in the novel modern technologies such as Facebook and Twitter allow for a quick spread of mass thoughts, which could someday lead to a new age of enlightenment. Considering we’re only three years away from the date the ancient Mayan calendar ceases to exist – Dec. 21, 2012 – it’s hopeful to believe the world won’t end on this date, as some predict (see the new film “2012” for more about this apocalyptic end), but instead we’ll enter into this new age of enlightenment as others predict. I’m a positive thinker, so I’ll gladly choose this over a pending doom.
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t all that impressed with “The Lost Symbol,” mainly because it’s more of the same from the author. If you’ve read “The Da Vinci Code” or “Angels & Demons,” you’ve pretty much read this book already. Then again, if that’s what you want, you’ll definitely enjoy this one, too. I was just hoping for something more.
For me, it was difficult reading through some of the ridiculous events that take place in the book. Why do so many unbelievable things happen to the Robert Langdon character, and why hasn’t he learned his lesson by now? Stay in the classroom and don’t offer any help to suspicious people, you may find yourself wanting to tell him.
I’m not sure I would have ever gotten through the book without the bits about noetic science. Fortunately, I found that interesting enough to slog my way through it, even though it took me two months, whereas his other novels I breezed through in days.
It makes me wish noetic science was around when I was in high school. Then I may have continued to take science classes beyond biology and chemistry, and today instead of reading about it in tired novels, I could be one of those scientists on the frontier of some new discovery that could change the way people think about the world.
I know, that’s far-fetched. But probably not as far-fetched as most of the stuff happening in “The Lost Symbol.”
Friday, November 13, 2009
Protesters would be better off by keeping quiet
Two weeks ago the HBO show “Curb Your Enthusiasm” generated some controversy when the star of the program, “Seinfeld” co-creator Larry David who plays himself on the show, accidentally urinated on a painting of Jesus. Catholic groups, as well as a Muslim group, protested the show, saying it crossed the line in mocking religion, as David’s urine was located in a place that caused a character on the show to believe Jesus was crying.
Instead of protesting, an act that has drawn the attention of a number of news media outlets, thus generating attention to the show, those groups should have stayed quiet to keep the spotlight off the show. It’s a mistake too many protesters have made to the detriment of their causes.
I saw the show when it first aired, and my personal opinion of it was that it was one of the show’s weaker episodes, an opinion I communicated to a co-worker who also watches it.
While I understood the show was essentially mocking people who believe Jesus or other religious figures can take the form of such random things as a Cheetoh or a piece of toast, the humor the show was trying to convey got lost in a tirade of other jokes it was spewing at the same time. “Curb” often does this, and most of the time the majority of the jokes work, with the end result being a show that is sometimes funnier than David’s other masterpiece, “Seinfeld.”
Once in a while, though, “Curb” overreaches and the end product is like that clunker of a “Seinfeld” episode when Jerry, George and Kramer went to Los Angeles and Kramer is mistaken for a serial killer in his pursuit of an acting career. I filed the “Curb” episode with David urinating on the Jesus painting into the clunker file, right next to this “Seinfeld” episode, thinking it’s one I’ll never need to watch again.
But then Deal Hudson, author and publisher of InsideCatholic.com, came out and questioned why the episode could publicly show that level of disrespect for Christian symbols, demanding an apology from the show’s producers.
And then Bill Donohue, president of the Catholic League, also criticized the episode, saying David intentionally mocks Catholics because he is Jewish.
Anyone that has ever watched the show knows David is an equal-opportunity mocker, as “Curb” grabs every opportunity to mock not just religion, including Judaism, but also every gender, race, sexuality, profession, belief and anything that can be targeted for mocking. This season’s mockery even included a way for him to find a way to dump a woman he was dating who got cancer.
HBO acknowledges this fact, issuing a statement in response to the controversy: “Anyone who follows ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ knows that the show is full of parody and satire. Larry David makes fun of everyone, most especially himself. The humor is always playful and certainly never malicious.”
When it’s on again, I plan on re-watching this controversial episode, as I know I’ll find it funnier than my first viewing just because of the controversy it generated. And I’m sure many others who never watched the show before might make it a point to watch the episode, just to see what all the controversy is about. Some of those people might discover the humor in the show and watch other episodes.
I highly doubt the protests against the show are going to cause regular viewers to suddenly stop watching it, which leads me to point out again that protests don’t work. It only helps the subject matter that is being protested.
How many people re-watched Janet Jackson’s “Nipplegate” performance from the Super Bowl after protests made it the top news story? Certainly millions more than would have had people simply said it was a boring performance.
How many people would have bothered to watch “Roseanne” when another woman kissed her? The show was on its final legs at that point, and though it was still popular, it achieved a huge ratings surge with people tuning in to see something others were protesting.
John Lennon once said in an interview that The Beatles were “more popular than Jesus.” In context, he was saying that Christianity was on a downtrend, as exemplified by the plausible fact a rock band seemed more popular than an entire religion. It was a statement that went unnoticed for four months, but when a teen magazine reprinted part of the quote, out of context, people went on the protest.
Beatles’ records were banned, burned and broken, and some radio stations refused to play the group’s music. Did the protests work? The fact that the group, which broke up nearly 40 years ago, was the biggest selling band of this decade demonstrates it didn’t.
I know I’m giving sound advice to would-be protesters of anything: don’t bother because it won’t work to your favor. I also know it’s advice that will go unheeded.
Instead of protesting, an act that has drawn the attention of a number of news media outlets, thus generating attention to the show, those groups should have stayed quiet to keep the spotlight off the show. It’s a mistake too many protesters have made to the detriment of their causes.
I saw the show when it first aired, and my personal opinion of it was that it was one of the show’s weaker episodes, an opinion I communicated to a co-worker who also watches it.
While I understood the show was essentially mocking people who believe Jesus or other religious figures can take the form of such random things as a Cheetoh or a piece of toast, the humor the show was trying to convey got lost in a tirade of other jokes it was spewing at the same time. “Curb” often does this, and most of the time the majority of the jokes work, with the end result being a show that is sometimes funnier than David’s other masterpiece, “Seinfeld.”
Once in a while, though, “Curb” overreaches and the end product is like that clunker of a “Seinfeld” episode when Jerry, George and Kramer went to Los Angeles and Kramer is mistaken for a serial killer in his pursuit of an acting career. I filed the “Curb” episode with David urinating on the Jesus painting into the clunker file, right next to this “Seinfeld” episode, thinking it’s one I’ll never need to watch again.
But then Deal Hudson, author and publisher of InsideCatholic.com, came out and questioned why the episode could publicly show that level of disrespect for Christian symbols, demanding an apology from the show’s producers.
And then Bill Donohue, president of the Catholic League, also criticized the episode, saying David intentionally mocks Catholics because he is Jewish.
Anyone that has ever watched the show knows David is an equal-opportunity mocker, as “Curb” grabs every opportunity to mock not just religion, including Judaism, but also every gender, race, sexuality, profession, belief and anything that can be targeted for mocking. This season’s mockery even included a way for him to find a way to dump a woman he was dating who got cancer.
HBO acknowledges this fact, issuing a statement in response to the controversy: “Anyone who follows ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ knows that the show is full of parody and satire. Larry David makes fun of everyone, most especially himself. The humor is always playful and certainly never malicious.”
When it’s on again, I plan on re-watching this controversial episode, as I know I’ll find it funnier than my first viewing just because of the controversy it generated. And I’m sure many others who never watched the show before might make it a point to watch the episode, just to see what all the controversy is about. Some of those people might discover the humor in the show and watch other episodes.
I highly doubt the protests against the show are going to cause regular viewers to suddenly stop watching it, which leads me to point out again that protests don’t work. It only helps the subject matter that is being protested.
How many people re-watched Janet Jackson’s “Nipplegate” performance from the Super Bowl after protests made it the top news story? Certainly millions more than would have had people simply said it was a boring performance.
How many people would have bothered to watch “Roseanne” when another woman kissed her? The show was on its final legs at that point, and though it was still popular, it achieved a huge ratings surge with people tuning in to see something others were protesting.
John Lennon once said in an interview that The Beatles were “more popular than Jesus.” In context, he was saying that Christianity was on a downtrend, as exemplified by the plausible fact a rock band seemed more popular than an entire religion. It was a statement that went unnoticed for four months, but when a teen magazine reprinted part of the quote, out of context, people went on the protest.
Beatles’ records were banned, burned and broken, and some radio stations refused to play the group’s music. Did the protests work? The fact that the group, which broke up nearly 40 years ago, was the biggest selling band of this decade demonstrates it didn’t.
I know I’m giving sound advice to would-be protesters of anything: don’t bother because it won’t work to your favor. I also know it’s advice that will go unheeded.
Poor sap without pillow can blame my wife
Somewhere, some poor sap is sleeping without a pillow, and it’s probably because my wife, Jenny, has it.
Not in a literal sense, as I can assure people all of the pillows on our bed were purchased by us and not taken from someone else’s bed. But – I counted them this morning while making the bed – we have nine full-sized pillows and two mini-pillows, a number well above the amount people are probably allotted by the pillow fairy, which means some poor sap must be without a pillow.
After the bed is made, and the pillows are propped up, more than half of our bed is covered in pillows. Our two cats, BigE and Priscilla, who like to sleep on the bed during the day, practically have to fight each other to claim rights to the small portion not covered by pillows.
Given Priscilla’s enormous size – she’s a big cat, although Jenny claims she is just big boned – BigE is left to find someplace else to nap, a place that’s not nearly as comfortable as our bed and a place that’s probably like the hard, pillowless place that the poor sap without a pillow has to sleep because my wife has too many pillows.
Jenny claims the pillows help her stay comfortable at night. She puts her head on at least three of them, and then surrounds her back and chest with four more, creating a barricade of pillows that leaves me six inches of bed space to sleep on. As someone who goes to bed several hours after Jenny, I often toss some of the pillows onto the floor to give me a few more inches of space to fit my big frame.
I refuse to put my head on more than one pillow because I have found the more parallel my head is with the mattress the more comfortable I am when I sleep. I can’t sleep without a pillow, though, as being directly parallel to the mattress creates an awkward feeling.
It’s an awkward feeling I hope that the poor sap without a pillow doesn’t mind. But I’m sure there is probably somebody out there that actually likes sleeping without one, much like Jenny likes sleeping with nine (plus two mini ones) of them.
She has told me she wouldn’t mind more pillows for the bed, a thought that scares me because physically there is little room for any more. Does it mean she’s trying to slowly weed me out of our bed and onto the couch? Does it mean she’s becoming a diva who wants to sleep on a bed of pillows, much like an ancient goddess would sleep on a bed of clouds?
Or does it just mean she likes the comfort pillows can provide?
I’ll vote for the latter, as I’m fairly confident she still likes having me around and isn’t ready to toss me away just yet, and her actions outside of sleeping are normally un-diva like.
And though I like to tease her about her love for pillows and the fact she doesn’t give me much of the bed to sleep on, I really don’t mind. When I returned home during my college years, I was relegated to staying in a small room without a real bed – just a twin-sized mattress on the floor – so I adjusted a long time ago to sleeping in places many others might find uncomfortable.
Sleeping in a bed of pillows with a lovely wife is almost like paradise. I’ll just keep my fingers crossed in hopes that the poor sap without a pillow isn’t sleeping in a nightmare-like place wishing he or she just had one pillow.
In all fairness, I’m giving Jenny some space to respond to my allegations/comments. This is what she had to say:
“There is nothing wrong with having lots of pillows, and I am not a diva. I use the pillows strategically. I typically have two under my head to reach the appropriate consistency for comfort. One goes upright against the headboard so I don’t bang my head, and to block the light from the alarm clock. I then use one to support my back.
“Another pillow is used to hug – that is a comfort thing. I’m too old to sleep with my cabbage patch doll that I’ve had since childhood.
“Another is used between my knees – a tip from the chiropractor – to help with back pain. That is seven.
“Others are used for a defense against the cats – I can throw them at the furry alarm clocks without harming them to make them stop running around at 3 a.m., or use it to push Priscilla to another spot on the bed, as she insists on sleeping right where my legs go, and when I try to move the 24-pounder in the middle of her “cat nap” she bites me and hisses. The pillow is protection.
“And finally, they can be used to muffle the sound of my husband, Darth Vader, sleeping next to me.”
If I were Darth Vader, though, I would use a simple mind trick to convince her she doesn’t need all those pillows.
Not in a literal sense, as I can assure people all of the pillows on our bed were purchased by us and not taken from someone else’s bed. But – I counted them this morning while making the bed – we have nine full-sized pillows and two mini-pillows, a number well above the amount people are probably allotted by the pillow fairy, which means some poor sap must be without a pillow.
After the bed is made, and the pillows are propped up, more than half of our bed is covered in pillows. Our two cats, BigE and Priscilla, who like to sleep on the bed during the day, practically have to fight each other to claim rights to the small portion not covered by pillows.
Given Priscilla’s enormous size – she’s a big cat, although Jenny claims she is just big boned – BigE is left to find someplace else to nap, a place that’s not nearly as comfortable as our bed and a place that’s probably like the hard, pillowless place that the poor sap without a pillow has to sleep because my wife has too many pillows.
Jenny claims the pillows help her stay comfortable at night. She puts her head on at least three of them, and then surrounds her back and chest with four more, creating a barricade of pillows that leaves me six inches of bed space to sleep on. As someone who goes to bed several hours after Jenny, I often toss some of the pillows onto the floor to give me a few more inches of space to fit my big frame.
I refuse to put my head on more than one pillow because I have found the more parallel my head is with the mattress the more comfortable I am when I sleep. I can’t sleep without a pillow, though, as being directly parallel to the mattress creates an awkward feeling.
It’s an awkward feeling I hope that the poor sap without a pillow doesn’t mind. But I’m sure there is probably somebody out there that actually likes sleeping without one, much like Jenny likes sleeping with nine (plus two mini ones) of them.
She has told me she wouldn’t mind more pillows for the bed, a thought that scares me because physically there is little room for any more. Does it mean she’s trying to slowly weed me out of our bed and onto the couch? Does it mean she’s becoming a diva who wants to sleep on a bed of pillows, much like an ancient goddess would sleep on a bed of clouds?
Or does it just mean she likes the comfort pillows can provide?
I’ll vote for the latter, as I’m fairly confident she still likes having me around and isn’t ready to toss me away just yet, and her actions outside of sleeping are normally un-diva like.
And though I like to tease her about her love for pillows and the fact she doesn’t give me much of the bed to sleep on, I really don’t mind. When I returned home during my college years, I was relegated to staying in a small room without a real bed – just a twin-sized mattress on the floor – so I adjusted a long time ago to sleeping in places many others might find uncomfortable.
Sleeping in a bed of pillows with a lovely wife is almost like paradise. I’ll just keep my fingers crossed in hopes that the poor sap without a pillow isn’t sleeping in a nightmare-like place wishing he or she just had one pillow.
In all fairness, I’m giving Jenny some space to respond to my allegations/comments. This is what she had to say:
“There is nothing wrong with having lots of pillows, and I am not a diva. I use the pillows strategically. I typically have two under my head to reach the appropriate consistency for comfort. One goes upright against the headboard so I don’t bang my head, and to block the light from the alarm clock. I then use one to support my back.
“Another pillow is used to hug – that is a comfort thing. I’m too old to sleep with my cabbage patch doll that I’ve had since childhood.
“Another is used between my knees – a tip from the chiropractor – to help with back pain. That is seven.
“Others are used for a defense against the cats – I can throw them at the furry alarm clocks without harming them to make them stop running around at 3 a.m., or use it to push Priscilla to another spot on the bed, as she insists on sleeping right where my legs go, and when I try to move the 24-pounder in the middle of her “cat nap” she bites me and hisses. The pillow is protection.
“And finally, they can be used to muffle the sound of my husband, Darth Vader, sleeping next to me.”
If I were Darth Vader, though, I would use a simple mind trick to convince her she doesn’t need all those pillows.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Mr. Coffee laughs as mishaps get best of owner
I have just one enemy: Mr. Coffee.
Twice this past week, this pain-in-the-butt coffee machine has managed to humiliate me and upset me enough to make me want to smash it to smithereens.
Mr. Coffee is simple to use; that’s why I liked it – key word being “liked.” Some coffee machines are too complicated, and although they might make better coffee, Mr. Coffee had the advantage that an idiot like me could figure out how to use it, as it only has five buttons and two moving parts.
But that simplicity is devious, especially in the hands of an idiot, like me.
On Saturday, making a fresh pot of coffee to complement the omelet breakfast I was making, I was surprised to see a half-empty (half-full for the optimists) decanter after it was done dripping. I had put a full decanter in the water reservoir, so it should have made a full one.
Examining it, I removed the decanter from the machine, only to have coffee come pouring out of the brew basket, all over the counter. It made a coffee mess I wasn’t too happy about having to clean up.
Upon further examination, the brew basket got plugged because I did not put the coffee filter in it correctly. It had folded over and some of the coffee grounds spilled into the brew basket, plugging it. When I removed the decanter, those grounds became unplugged, unleashing a torrent of coffee.
Sunday night my wife asked me to set up Mr. Coffee so it could serve her a fresh cup in the morning. I was happy to oblige, because a fresh cup for her also means a fresh cup for me, and black coffee in the morning is the perfect way to jumpstart the day.
The delay brew is easy to use with Mr. Coffee. One just needs to hit the delay brew button after putting water in the reservoir and the filter and coffee grounds in the brew basket. As long as the clock and timer are set correctly, coffee should be ready in the morning at the time it’s requested to be made.
When my wife went to get a cup in the morning, she didn’t find any coffee. She woke me up and asked if I noticed anything weird about the machine.
I was confused at first, thinking the brew basket had gotten plugged again. I was then worried I would be left with an even bigger mess than I had on Saturday if a full basket became quickly unplugged. As I got closer to it, my wife laughed at me when I saw a full pot of hot water.
A problem like this can occur when one of those key elements, like coffee grounds, is forgotten. In my case, I was so worried about the coffee filter not folding over like it had Saturday that I spent extra time making sure it was spread out nicely in the brew basket, and I completely forgot about the coffee grounds.
I honestly believe Mr. Coffee was laughing at me the entire time during both of my mistakes, as it probably doesn’t like me because I don’t like its decanter. I’ve cursed at the decanter many times because it takes a rocket scientist’s expertise to pour it correctly. If you pour it too fast or too slow, the coffee or water in it will drip down the side and miss its intended target completely.
I would have thought decanter makers would have perfected the design of it by now that one could pour it as quickly or as slowly as one should desire without worrying about where the liquid in it was going, but apparently this one job they have is too difficult. Mankind can invent an air mattress that uses a matching set of repelling magnets in the bed and floor below to float in the air and support 2,000 pounds, but it can’t invent a decanter that can pour correctly.
Mr. Coffee quickly took advantage of my two little mistakes to get revenge for my curses against its decanter, and it also gets the last laugh in knowing that no matter how much I want to pick it up and smash it to the ground, it knows I won’t because I love the product it makes too much.
Coffee addiction. Sometimes it will drive you mad.
Twice this past week, this pain-in-the-butt coffee machine has managed to humiliate me and upset me enough to make me want to smash it to smithereens.
Mr. Coffee is simple to use; that’s why I liked it – key word being “liked.” Some coffee machines are too complicated, and although they might make better coffee, Mr. Coffee had the advantage that an idiot like me could figure out how to use it, as it only has five buttons and two moving parts.
But that simplicity is devious, especially in the hands of an idiot, like me.
On Saturday, making a fresh pot of coffee to complement the omelet breakfast I was making, I was surprised to see a half-empty (half-full for the optimists) decanter after it was done dripping. I had put a full decanter in the water reservoir, so it should have made a full one.
Examining it, I removed the decanter from the machine, only to have coffee come pouring out of the brew basket, all over the counter. It made a coffee mess I wasn’t too happy about having to clean up.
Upon further examination, the brew basket got plugged because I did not put the coffee filter in it correctly. It had folded over and some of the coffee grounds spilled into the brew basket, plugging it. When I removed the decanter, those grounds became unplugged, unleashing a torrent of coffee.
Sunday night my wife asked me to set up Mr. Coffee so it could serve her a fresh cup in the morning. I was happy to oblige, because a fresh cup for her also means a fresh cup for me, and black coffee in the morning is the perfect way to jumpstart the day.
The delay brew is easy to use with Mr. Coffee. One just needs to hit the delay brew button after putting water in the reservoir and the filter and coffee grounds in the brew basket. As long as the clock and timer are set correctly, coffee should be ready in the morning at the time it’s requested to be made.
When my wife went to get a cup in the morning, she didn’t find any coffee. She woke me up and asked if I noticed anything weird about the machine.
I was confused at first, thinking the brew basket had gotten plugged again. I was then worried I would be left with an even bigger mess than I had on Saturday if a full basket became quickly unplugged. As I got closer to it, my wife laughed at me when I saw a full pot of hot water.
A problem like this can occur when one of those key elements, like coffee grounds, is forgotten. In my case, I was so worried about the coffee filter not folding over like it had Saturday that I spent extra time making sure it was spread out nicely in the brew basket, and I completely forgot about the coffee grounds.
I honestly believe Mr. Coffee was laughing at me the entire time during both of my mistakes, as it probably doesn’t like me because I don’t like its decanter. I’ve cursed at the decanter many times because it takes a rocket scientist’s expertise to pour it correctly. If you pour it too fast or too slow, the coffee or water in it will drip down the side and miss its intended target completely.
I would have thought decanter makers would have perfected the design of it by now that one could pour it as quickly or as slowly as one should desire without worrying about where the liquid in it was going, but apparently this one job they have is too difficult. Mankind can invent an air mattress that uses a matching set of repelling magnets in the bed and floor below to float in the air and support 2,000 pounds, but it can’t invent a decanter that can pour correctly.
Mr. Coffee quickly took advantage of my two little mistakes to get revenge for my curses against its decanter, and it also gets the last laugh in knowing that no matter how much I want to pick it up and smash it to the ground, it knows I won’t because I love the product it makes too much.
Coffee addiction. Sometimes it will drive you mad.
Don't be scared just because H1N1 is here
Prior to last week, I didn’t know anyone who had been diagnosed with H1N1, also known as the dreaded swine flu as many in the media have portrayed it. Since then, it seems like all sorts of people around me, including my own son, have gotten it. And guess what? It’s not as bad as I feared it would be.
I learned early last week the son of a former co-worker was sick for a week with H1N1. She told me her son was sicker than he’s ever been before, and the headache associated with it lasted for days. Her other son, however, only got mildly sick from it, she said.
As someone who’s never gotten the flu, and I’m knocking on wood right now, learning firsthand that people I know have been infected with it, and the sickness was bad for one of them, sent waves of fear through my body.
I didn’t want to get sick like that but, more importantly, I didn’t want my 4-year-old son, Braden, who’s exposed to dozens of kids nearly every day at daycare who pass germs back and forth to each other, to get sick like that. It’s a fear most parents probably understand.
It’s also a fear that became a reality last Friday when I got a call from my mother-in-law saying he suddenly developed a fever and a cough.
Braden was with his grandma, following a day at daycare, because my wife was in a wedding and I had to take photos at Empty Bowls the following day. The plan called for her to watch him so my wife could attend the wedding rehearsal in Winneconne Friday night and I could do my job the following morning. I would then meet Braden and his grandma in the early afternoon so all of us could go to the wedding together.
Those plans changed, of course, when Braden got sick. My wife still did the wedding stuff she needed to do, and I still took the Empty Bowls photos, but following that I picked him up and took him home, skipping the wedding entirely.
Fortunately, Braden wasn’t as sick as I feared he could be. After taking some medicine, his fever dropped, and at times he was as energetic as he normally is, which is to say he could wear me out in just a few minutes worth of playtime with him.
His appetite diminished greatly, though. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because at 4 I feel like he’s already eating our paychecks away. I didn’t think that would happen until he became a teenager, but the boy can eat with the best of them, as some days it seems like he can out eat me, and I’m 200 pounds heavier than him.
Hoping it may have been a one-day thing, that night, after my wife returned from the wedding, his fever returned. His temperature spiked to more than 102 degrees, causing him to sweat while sleeping in his bed. This in turn caused him to get the chills, which in turn caused both my wife and me to worry.
We called an on-duty nurse at Marshfield Clinic at 11:30 p.m. to see if we should come in, or what actions we should take. She returned our call at 12:30 a.m., apologizing for the length of time it took to get back to us but noting it was because of the large amount of people like us calling with similar questions.
She said we should continue to monitor him, and if the cough or fever continues for several more days we should bring him to the doctor.
The next day the fever went down and his energy returned again, although a family plan to see “Where the Wild Things Are” was cancelled. That was a good thing, as the film wasn’t appropriate for a 4-year old (see my review on page 12) nor as good as I had hoped it would be.
We kept him out of daycare, as we were told we should by the nurse and common sense, but since Braden’s cough continued for several more days, I took him to a pediatrician at Marshfield Clinic Tuesday.
After examining him and having a chest X-ray taken to make sure he didn’t have pneumonia, a doctor said Braden more than likely had H1N1, as that is the only flu going around right now, but he was well on his way to recovery. Staying home several more days was all he needed to do.
In addition to Braden, three of his cousins have gotten the flu, as well as a number of other children we know. Fortunately, my wife and I have stayed H1N1-free, despite close contact with him – again, I’m knocking on wood – and I’m thankful Braden’s experience with it was fairly mild compared to what it could have been like.
And hopefully by sharing this experience, others who haven’t come into contact with it won’t be as scared as I had been.
I learned early last week the son of a former co-worker was sick for a week with H1N1. She told me her son was sicker than he’s ever been before, and the headache associated with it lasted for days. Her other son, however, only got mildly sick from it, she said.
As someone who’s never gotten the flu, and I’m knocking on wood right now, learning firsthand that people I know have been infected with it, and the sickness was bad for one of them, sent waves of fear through my body.
I didn’t want to get sick like that but, more importantly, I didn’t want my 4-year-old son, Braden, who’s exposed to dozens of kids nearly every day at daycare who pass germs back and forth to each other, to get sick like that. It’s a fear most parents probably understand.
It’s also a fear that became a reality last Friday when I got a call from my mother-in-law saying he suddenly developed a fever and a cough.
Braden was with his grandma, following a day at daycare, because my wife was in a wedding and I had to take photos at Empty Bowls the following day. The plan called for her to watch him so my wife could attend the wedding rehearsal in Winneconne Friday night and I could do my job the following morning. I would then meet Braden and his grandma in the early afternoon so all of us could go to the wedding together.
Those plans changed, of course, when Braden got sick. My wife still did the wedding stuff she needed to do, and I still took the Empty Bowls photos, but following that I picked him up and took him home, skipping the wedding entirely.
Fortunately, Braden wasn’t as sick as I feared he could be. After taking some medicine, his fever dropped, and at times he was as energetic as he normally is, which is to say he could wear me out in just a few minutes worth of playtime with him.
His appetite diminished greatly, though. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because at 4 I feel like he’s already eating our paychecks away. I didn’t think that would happen until he became a teenager, but the boy can eat with the best of them, as some days it seems like he can out eat me, and I’m 200 pounds heavier than him.
Hoping it may have been a one-day thing, that night, after my wife returned from the wedding, his fever returned. His temperature spiked to more than 102 degrees, causing him to sweat while sleeping in his bed. This in turn caused him to get the chills, which in turn caused both my wife and me to worry.
We called an on-duty nurse at Marshfield Clinic at 11:30 p.m. to see if we should come in, or what actions we should take. She returned our call at 12:30 a.m., apologizing for the length of time it took to get back to us but noting it was because of the large amount of people like us calling with similar questions.
She said we should continue to monitor him, and if the cough or fever continues for several more days we should bring him to the doctor.
The next day the fever went down and his energy returned again, although a family plan to see “Where the Wild Things Are” was cancelled. That was a good thing, as the film wasn’t appropriate for a 4-year old (see my review on page 12) nor as good as I had hoped it would be.
We kept him out of daycare, as we were told we should by the nurse and common sense, but since Braden’s cough continued for several more days, I took him to a pediatrician at Marshfield Clinic Tuesday.
After examining him and having a chest X-ray taken to make sure he didn’t have pneumonia, a doctor said Braden more than likely had H1N1, as that is the only flu going around right now, but he was well on his way to recovery. Staying home several more days was all he needed to do.
In addition to Braden, three of his cousins have gotten the flu, as well as a number of other children we know. Fortunately, my wife and I have stayed H1N1-free, despite close contact with him – again, I’m knocking on wood – and I’m thankful Braden’s experience with it was fairly mild compared to what it could have been like.
And hopefully by sharing this experience, others who haven’t come into contact with it won’t be as scared as I had been.
Friday, October 16, 2009
'Boo who?': Simple joke can be potent weapon
I like to think of myself as a comedian, but the truth is I only have one joke in my repertoire. However, that one joke is a powerful weapon that can reduce one person I know to tears.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Why are you crying?”
I know. It’s about as simple as they come, and even little kids know that one. And honestly, the only reason I remember it is because I taught it to my 4-year-old son, Braden, as a joke he can say to amuse people. And coming from the mouths of a youngster and his goofball father makes it dangerous.
That’s because he often screws it up.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo who?” he says, going directly to the next line of the person he is telling it to.
This mix-up on his part gives the intended subject a chance to improvise. “Boo who who?”
Braden, realizing the joke is different now, starts laughing and doesn’t say his next line. His laughter is infectious, though, and results in both parties going into hysterics.
Once in awhile, I start the joke, and he still goofs it up in a funnier way.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Why you crying?” he asks, stealing what is supposed to be my next line.
“I’m not. I’m a ghost.”
It’s silly, and not even that funny nor witty of a response, but he loves it. “You should be crying,” he’ll say when he’s done laughing.
“Braden,” I’ll tell him. “I didn’t say boo who, because you skipped my line, so I’m not crying.”
“Oh. Say it,” he’ll demand.
So I do, and he finishes the joke properly, laughing the entire time.
We’ll often repeat the joke several times, each of us exchanging leads and more often than not getting it wrong in hilariously different ways. As someone who can get quickly tired of repeated questions he often asks me – “Is the cemetery where people died?” he’ll ask anytime we drive past one – this joke amuses me every time, even when repeated four or five times.
Maybe that’s because my main mission in life is to make people laugh – yes, I was the class clown – because whether or not someone is laughing at or with you, it means that person probably enjoys your company. And for people like me, who can’t stand it when someone doesn’t like me, that feeling is addictive.
Fortunately, my addiction serves me well, unlike most addictions. It’s the reason I write this column, it’s the reason I don’t have any enemies (or at least I don’t think I have any) and it’s the reason I’m happily married.
My wife could probably find plenty of reasons to be upset with me on any given day, but those stupid things I say and do often disappear the several times an hour I make her laugh.
If I were a marriage counselor, I would tell couples to enroll in a comedy class, which would probably be much cheaper than my service. Learn how to make each other laugh, even if you only have one joke in your arsenal.
After all, that’s all you really need, especially if it’s a good one.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Why are you crying?”
I know. It’s about as simple as they come, and even little kids know that one. And honestly, the only reason I remember it is because I taught it to my 4-year-old son, Braden, as a joke he can say to amuse people. And coming from the mouths of a youngster and his goofball father makes it dangerous.
That’s because he often screws it up.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo who?” he says, going directly to the next line of the person he is telling it to.
This mix-up on his part gives the intended subject a chance to improvise. “Boo who who?”
Braden, realizing the joke is different now, starts laughing and doesn’t say his next line. His laughter is infectious, though, and results in both parties going into hysterics.
Once in awhile, I start the joke, and he still goofs it up in a funnier way.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Boo.”
“Why you crying?” he asks, stealing what is supposed to be my next line.
“I’m not. I’m a ghost.”
It’s silly, and not even that funny nor witty of a response, but he loves it. “You should be crying,” he’ll say when he’s done laughing.
“Braden,” I’ll tell him. “I didn’t say boo who, because you skipped my line, so I’m not crying.”
“Oh. Say it,” he’ll demand.
So I do, and he finishes the joke properly, laughing the entire time.
We’ll often repeat the joke several times, each of us exchanging leads and more often than not getting it wrong in hilariously different ways. As someone who can get quickly tired of repeated questions he often asks me – “Is the cemetery where people died?” he’ll ask anytime we drive past one – this joke amuses me every time, even when repeated four or five times.
Maybe that’s because my main mission in life is to make people laugh – yes, I was the class clown – because whether or not someone is laughing at or with you, it means that person probably enjoys your company. And for people like me, who can’t stand it when someone doesn’t like me, that feeling is addictive.
Fortunately, my addiction serves me well, unlike most addictions. It’s the reason I write this column, it’s the reason I don’t have any enemies (or at least I don’t think I have any) and it’s the reason I’m happily married.
My wife could probably find plenty of reasons to be upset with me on any given day, but those stupid things I say and do often disappear the several times an hour I make her laugh.
If I were a marriage counselor, I would tell couples to enroll in a comedy class, which would probably be much cheaper than my service. Learn how to make each other laugh, even if you only have one joke in your arsenal.
After all, that’s all you really need, especially if it’s a good one.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Chili hating doesn't last long for new connoisseur
October should be designated as National Chili Month.
It’s that time of year when the weather noticeably changes, for the worse, and to combat this, many people make chili. Or at least the ones who think warm chili will warm the body, and a warm body means a warm, happy soul, so probably say some scientists who have done this type of research for the chili industry.
I’m among those who would agree with these scientists who are paid to come up with this exact theory, although I didn’t always agree with it.
As a kid I hated chili, especially chili with kidney beans in it. The very thought of putting something named after a body part that’s specific purpose is to separate toxins and other wastes from the blood grossed me out, and I literally gagged every time someone made me put it in my mouth.
I managed to avoid chili in the older years of my youth until my senior year in college when I was at my grandparents’ house and they served some chili.
By this point I knew it was rude to gag on my food and even ruder to not eat something they specially made for me. Putting on my best smile, and bracing my stomach for a potential gut-wrenching incident, I put the chili in my mouth and swallowed.
I didn’t gag, and it didn’t come right back up after hitting my stomach. Instead, it actually tasted good, and the kidney beans were something I could tolerate without a problem.
I’m not sure what caused my taste buds to like chili and kidney beans, but I appreciated whatever caused it, much like I did when my taste buds suddenly decided in adulthood they liked nuts after going through my youth avoiding cookies and brownies with nuts in them or when they developed an appreciation for potato pancakes. They still don’t like liver or cooked, mushy peas, but I won’t be offended if they never do.
My newfound appreciation for chili became a full-fledged love when the Rotary Club I belonged to in Wautoma held a chili cook-off during a Winterfest event the club threw one winter. I was put in charge of the event and was delighted when more than 15 people entered their chili recipes in it.
I allowed everybody attending the event to taste the chili and vote on their favorite, and was happy when my favorite one won. But all of the entries were good and I learned chili doesn’t come in just the traditional recipe I was used to eating. Some were hotter than others, some thicker, some used less of a tomato-base, and others were loaded with noodles and meat.
Tasting those chili recipes inspired me to become more daring when making chili. In fact, every time I make chili I use a different recipe. And finding different recipes is a breeze with the Internet. I simply type in “slow cooker chili recipes” on Google and select the first recipe that sounds appealing, or at least uses ingredients I either have or know where to find in the store. And trust me, some recipes contain ingredients I can’t pronounce, much less know what general vicinity they would be looked for in the store.
The chili in my slow cooker as I write this uses several ingredients I’ve never used before in a chili, including cornmeal, French onion soup and barbecue sauce. Cornmeal helps make a great bread, French onion soup is always good, and nothing beats barbecue sauce on chicken, except chicken that is Kentucky fried. I don’t think it’s possible to Kentucky fry chili, although I could be wrong, as it seems like vendors at fairs have found ways to fry all sorts of foods never deemed possible before, like Twinkies and Snicker bars.
The more I think about it, though, Kentucky Fried Chili sounds like a great franchise restaurant possibility. Maybe with my next batch I’ll have to get creative and come up with a way to make this possible. It could be a million dollar idea from someone who used to hate chili. That sounds good to me.
It’s that time of year when the weather noticeably changes, for the worse, and to combat this, many people make chili. Or at least the ones who think warm chili will warm the body, and a warm body means a warm, happy soul, so probably say some scientists who have done this type of research for the chili industry.
I’m among those who would agree with these scientists who are paid to come up with this exact theory, although I didn’t always agree with it.
As a kid I hated chili, especially chili with kidney beans in it. The very thought of putting something named after a body part that’s specific purpose is to separate toxins and other wastes from the blood grossed me out, and I literally gagged every time someone made me put it in my mouth.
I managed to avoid chili in the older years of my youth until my senior year in college when I was at my grandparents’ house and they served some chili.
By this point I knew it was rude to gag on my food and even ruder to not eat something they specially made for me. Putting on my best smile, and bracing my stomach for a potential gut-wrenching incident, I put the chili in my mouth and swallowed.
I didn’t gag, and it didn’t come right back up after hitting my stomach. Instead, it actually tasted good, and the kidney beans were something I could tolerate without a problem.
I’m not sure what caused my taste buds to like chili and kidney beans, but I appreciated whatever caused it, much like I did when my taste buds suddenly decided in adulthood they liked nuts after going through my youth avoiding cookies and brownies with nuts in them or when they developed an appreciation for potato pancakes. They still don’t like liver or cooked, mushy peas, but I won’t be offended if they never do.
My newfound appreciation for chili became a full-fledged love when the Rotary Club I belonged to in Wautoma held a chili cook-off during a Winterfest event the club threw one winter. I was put in charge of the event and was delighted when more than 15 people entered their chili recipes in it.
I allowed everybody attending the event to taste the chili and vote on their favorite, and was happy when my favorite one won. But all of the entries were good and I learned chili doesn’t come in just the traditional recipe I was used to eating. Some were hotter than others, some thicker, some used less of a tomato-base, and others were loaded with noodles and meat.
Tasting those chili recipes inspired me to become more daring when making chili. In fact, every time I make chili I use a different recipe. And finding different recipes is a breeze with the Internet. I simply type in “slow cooker chili recipes” on Google and select the first recipe that sounds appealing, or at least uses ingredients I either have or know where to find in the store. And trust me, some recipes contain ingredients I can’t pronounce, much less know what general vicinity they would be looked for in the store.
The chili in my slow cooker as I write this uses several ingredients I’ve never used before in a chili, including cornmeal, French onion soup and barbecue sauce. Cornmeal helps make a great bread, French onion soup is always good, and nothing beats barbecue sauce on chicken, except chicken that is Kentucky fried. I don’t think it’s possible to Kentucky fry chili, although I could be wrong, as it seems like vendors at fairs have found ways to fry all sorts of foods never deemed possible before, like Twinkies and Snicker bars.
The more I think about it, though, Kentucky Fried Chili sounds like a great franchise restaurant possibility. Maybe with my next batch I’ll have to get creative and come up with a way to make this possible. It could be a million dollar idea from someone who used to hate chili. That sounds good to me.
Wisdom teeth extraction comes with painful price
My easiest trip to the dentist office occurred two weeks ago when I had my wisdom teeth removed; the pain didn’t come until the following day.
Some history: Like Jerry Seinfeld, I’m a bit of an anti-dentite. I have painful memories as a youngster of getting a silver cap placed on a molar. Too much sugar, I guess.
Growing up less fortunate in that my parents didn’t have health insurance or much money, trips to the dentist were few and far between. I didn’t mind, but when I did go, it often involved drilling and pain, which could have been avoided if I had gone more often.
I paid a heavy price in adulthood for not seeing a dentist for regular cleanings in my youth. Excruciating tooth aches eventually led to root canals for many of my molars, including my wisdom teeth.
Root canals sound as painful as they feel. Although advances in dental technology and procedures have eased the pain, sitting on a dentist chair for two hours and holding your mouth open the entire time while the dentist and his assistant probe into the deepest parts of your tooth is not a pleasant experience. Doing it for three appointments triples anti-dentite feelings.
The root canals didn’t work as well as hoped, as another dentist told me I should just have my wisdom teeth removed.
The thought of having someone remove some of my teeth brought forth visions of the scene in the film “Castaway” when Tom Hanks’ character yanked out his own ailing tooth and then passed out. I can watch any horror film and not be bothered by gruesome murders or buckets of blood, but watching him do that nearly caused me to pass out.
Others, including my wife, assured me that wisdom teeth removal is painless, so I agreed to go forward with the procedure, much to my reluctance.
I had hoped it could be postponed, though. Several days before having it done, I developed a minor cold, and not wanting to get the dentist sick I called and asked if it should be delayed. No such luck, as I was told the dentist could still do it.
The night before the procedure, several co-workers told me horror stories involving their own extractions. One told me she woke up in the middle of it, and another said she remembers looking at herself in the mirror on the ride home and seeing blood drooling out of her mouth.
By the time I sat in the dentist chair, constant worrying about it had already numbed me enough that I didn’t feel the dentist slip an IV in my hand that soon put me to sleep. It would have been a great sleep if I didn’t wake up in the middle of it, just like one of my co-workers had.
I remember the dentist doing something inside my mouth, but thankfully that’s all, as they must have upped the IV medication to put me back to sleep. I was still half asleep when it was over and when I left the dentist’s office because I don’t remember them taking me to my wife’s vehicle in a wheelchair, or her leaving me in the car while she filled a pain pill prescription at the pharmacy.
That night went quickly. I watched the season premiere of “The Office,” but when I watched it again a couple of days later I discovered I missed most of the episode the first-time around. I went to bed earlier than normal that night, thinking the experience was the easiest one I’ve ever had at a dentist’s office.
It wasn’t until the next day that the pain finally came. It wasn’t a horrible pain, but it was annoying enough that I actually had to take the pain pills and I continued to do so for a week. As a firm believer in avoiding any medication whenever possible, I was happy to go against my principles to be a little more comfortable.
Two weeks later, the pain is gone, but I still haven’t gotten used to the feeling of having just gum where I once had teeth.
In talking about the experience with my mother, I asked her about the time I had a silver cap placed on a tooth. She claims this never took place, that I’m having memories about an event that never occurred. We could have never afforded it, she said.
I remember it, though, and also recall when this baby tooth fell out as I got older. I thought I could get rich selling the silver from the cap.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my anti-dentite feelings have been brewing for so long they’re creating false memories. Besides, I would have been able to afford more dental visits if I really did possess the silver from a capped tooth. And then I wouldn’t have had to have my wisdom teeth out.
Some history: Like Jerry Seinfeld, I’m a bit of an anti-dentite. I have painful memories as a youngster of getting a silver cap placed on a molar. Too much sugar, I guess.
Growing up less fortunate in that my parents didn’t have health insurance or much money, trips to the dentist were few and far between. I didn’t mind, but when I did go, it often involved drilling and pain, which could have been avoided if I had gone more often.
I paid a heavy price in adulthood for not seeing a dentist for regular cleanings in my youth. Excruciating tooth aches eventually led to root canals for many of my molars, including my wisdom teeth.
Root canals sound as painful as they feel. Although advances in dental technology and procedures have eased the pain, sitting on a dentist chair for two hours and holding your mouth open the entire time while the dentist and his assistant probe into the deepest parts of your tooth is not a pleasant experience. Doing it for three appointments triples anti-dentite feelings.
The root canals didn’t work as well as hoped, as another dentist told me I should just have my wisdom teeth removed.
The thought of having someone remove some of my teeth brought forth visions of the scene in the film “Castaway” when Tom Hanks’ character yanked out his own ailing tooth and then passed out. I can watch any horror film and not be bothered by gruesome murders or buckets of blood, but watching him do that nearly caused me to pass out.
Others, including my wife, assured me that wisdom teeth removal is painless, so I agreed to go forward with the procedure, much to my reluctance.
I had hoped it could be postponed, though. Several days before having it done, I developed a minor cold, and not wanting to get the dentist sick I called and asked if it should be delayed. No such luck, as I was told the dentist could still do it.
The night before the procedure, several co-workers told me horror stories involving their own extractions. One told me she woke up in the middle of it, and another said she remembers looking at herself in the mirror on the ride home and seeing blood drooling out of her mouth.
By the time I sat in the dentist chair, constant worrying about it had already numbed me enough that I didn’t feel the dentist slip an IV in my hand that soon put me to sleep. It would have been a great sleep if I didn’t wake up in the middle of it, just like one of my co-workers had.
I remember the dentist doing something inside my mouth, but thankfully that’s all, as they must have upped the IV medication to put me back to sleep. I was still half asleep when it was over and when I left the dentist’s office because I don’t remember them taking me to my wife’s vehicle in a wheelchair, or her leaving me in the car while she filled a pain pill prescription at the pharmacy.
That night went quickly. I watched the season premiere of “The Office,” but when I watched it again a couple of days later I discovered I missed most of the episode the first-time around. I went to bed earlier than normal that night, thinking the experience was the easiest one I’ve ever had at a dentist’s office.
It wasn’t until the next day that the pain finally came. It wasn’t a horrible pain, but it was annoying enough that I actually had to take the pain pills and I continued to do so for a week. As a firm believer in avoiding any medication whenever possible, I was happy to go against my principles to be a little more comfortable.
Two weeks later, the pain is gone, but I still haven’t gotten used to the feeling of having just gum where I once had teeth.
In talking about the experience with my mother, I asked her about the time I had a silver cap placed on a tooth. She claims this never took place, that I’m having memories about an event that never occurred. We could have never afforded it, she said.
I remember it, though, and also recall when this baby tooth fell out as I got older. I thought I could get rich selling the silver from the cap.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my anti-dentite feelings have been brewing for so long they’re creating false memories. Besides, I would have been able to afford more dental visits if I really did possess the silver from a capped tooth. And then I wouldn’t have had to have my wisdom teeth out.
Friday, September 25, 2009
House guest overcomes extinction for exciting weekend
My household had a special guest this past weekend.
She stayed at our home from Friday until Monday, didn’t say a word and didn’t eat a thing.
Technically, she’s been extinct for more than 100 million years, except for that brief time period Steven Spielberg and Michael Crichton brought her species back during “Jurassic Park” and its horrible sequels.
Our guest was a plush dinosaur named Sarah, and she belongs to my son Braden’s 4-year-old kindergarten classroom at the Stevens Point Christian Academy.
Each weekend Sarah goes home with a student in the class, and all adventures Sarah takes with that student and his or her family is supposed to be recorded in a journal that accompanies the dinosaur.
Earlier in the week my wife, Jenny, and I heard rumors Sarah would be coming home with Braden for the weekend, although those rumors originated with Braden, and trusting a 4-year-old about exciting news is something that should be done with caution, because in his mind everything should be exciting and taking place as soon as possible.
That’s why we are going to wait until we’re at the airport in January to let him know we’re going to Disney World in Florida. We made the mistake of telling him several months ago we would be going back to Wisconsin Dells in October, and now every day we receive dozens of the same inquiries from him: “When are we going to the hotel with the big bucket?”
The “hotel with the big bucket” is The Wilderness, and the bucket he is referring to is literally a big bucket in two of the water parks there that dumps hundreds of gallons of water on people below it every few minutes after it fills up. The bucket completely fascinates him, although he’s too scared to actually stand under it.
Since we don’t want a “big bucket” scenario while waiting for Florida, and also since we haven’t officially booked it yet, telling Braden about Florida isn’t an option. Fortunately, having Sarah at our house provided enough excitement for him last weekend that we didn’t hear about the “hotel with the big bucket” that much.
Sarah went on several adventures with Braden during the weekend. We took the dinosaur to Harvest Fest and Art in the Park in Stevens Point on Saturday, but the real fun came later that day when Jenny and I handed Braden and Sarah off to Grandma and Grandpa Timm who live near Pine River in Waushara County.
With his grandparents, Braden and the dinosaur went to the West Bloomfield tractor pull. There they had the joy of watching tractors pull something called the “Eliminator,” a name that sounds much more exciting than the actual thing. ZZ Top named an album “Eliminator” and I have a feeling James Cameron switched the name of his classic film “The Terminator” from “The Eliminator” after he realized star Arnold Schwarzenegger sounded much cooler saying “Terminator” than “Eliminator.” Maybe this name could be brought back for the next sequel: “Terminator: Eliminator” sounds like a must-see film.
The next morning Braden and Sarah went to church and Sunday school with Grandma and Grandpa Timm, and afterward they ate at the church during a pot-luck social. I’m pretty sure Sarah didn’t socialize much, but from what I understand Braden let everyone know about his bathroom endeavor in announcing it to Grandma Timm. Nothing is more social than telling the people you’re with that you have to go No. 2.
By the time Braden and Sarah made it back home Sunday evening, both were No. 2ed out. Before going to bed Jenny helped Braden write in Sarah’s journal, letting his class know all about Sarah’s adventures.
They probably didn’t know she would have one last adventure – making it to the pages of The Portage County Gazette.
She stayed at our home from Friday until Monday, didn’t say a word and didn’t eat a thing.
Technically, she’s been extinct for more than 100 million years, except for that brief time period Steven Spielberg and Michael Crichton brought her species back during “Jurassic Park” and its horrible sequels.
Our guest was a plush dinosaur named Sarah, and she belongs to my son Braden’s 4-year-old kindergarten classroom at the Stevens Point Christian Academy.
Each weekend Sarah goes home with a student in the class, and all adventures Sarah takes with that student and his or her family is supposed to be recorded in a journal that accompanies the dinosaur.
Earlier in the week my wife, Jenny, and I heard rumors Sarah would be coming home with Braden for the weekend, although those rumors originated with Braden, and trusting a 4-year-old about exciting news is something that should be done with caution, because in his mind everything should be exciting and taking place as soon as possible.
That’s why we are going to wait until we’re at the airport in January to let him know we’re going to Disney World in Florida. We made the mistake of telling him several months ago we would be going back to Wisconsin Dells in October, and now every day we receive dozens of the same inquiries from him: “When are we going to the hotel with the big bucket?”
The “hotel with the big bucket” is The Wilderness, and the bucket he is referring to is literally a big bucket in two of the water parks there that dumps hundreds of gallons of water on people below it every few minutes after it fills up. The bucket completely fascinates him, although he’s too scared to actually stand under it.
Since we don’t want a “big bucket” scenario while waiting for Florida, and also since we haven’t officially booked it yet, telling Braden about Florida isn’t an option. Fortunately, having Sarah at our house provided enough excitement for him last weekend that we didn’t hear about the “hotel with the big bucket” that much.
Sarah went on several adventures with Braden during the weekend. We took the dinosaur to Harvest Fest and Art in the Park in Stevens Point on Saturday, but the real fun came later that day when Jenny and I handed Braden and Sarah off to Grandma and Grandpa Timm who live near Pine River in Waushara County.
With his grandparents, Braden and the dinosaur went to the West Bloomfield tractor pull. There they had the joy of watching tractors pull something called the “Eliminator,” a name that sounds much more exciting than the actual thing. ZZ Top named an album “Eliminator” and I have a feeling James Cameron switched the name of his classic film “The Terminator” from “The Eliminator” after he realized star Arnold Schwarzenegger sounded much cooler saying “Terminator” than “Eliminator.” Maybe this name could be brought back for the next sequel: “Terminator: Eliminator” sounds like a must-see film.
The next morning Braden and Sarah went to church and Sunday school with Grandma and Grandpa Timm, and afterward they ate at the church during a pot-luck social. I’m pretty sure Sarah didn’t socialize much, but from what I understand Braden let everyone know about his bathroom endeavor in announcing it to Grandma Timm. Nothing is more social than telling the people you’re with that you have to go No. 2.
By the time Braden and Sarah made it back home Sunday evening, both were No. 2ed out. Before going to bed Jenny helped Braden write in Sarah’s journal, letting his class know all about Sarah’s adventures.
They probably didn’t know she would have one last adventure – making it to the pages of The Portage County Gazette.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Pet peeves must serve some purpose
When did we become a nation of cud chewers?
I’m referring to the seemingly millions of people who don’t know how to chew gum.
Everywhere I go, especially a certain chain store, it seems most everyone has a big wad of gum in their mouth, and their chompers go up and down on it, showing everyone not just their teeth and tongue, but also their tonsils and other things in their mouth I don’t want to see.
I know, it’s a stupid pet peeve I should learn how to get rid of, but for some reason I can’t shake it. I find it disgusting, appalling and rude, and it takes every bit of my energy to keep myself refrained from telling the cud chewers to either close their mouths or spit it out.
It’s particularly irritating at that certain chain store because it seems like it’s the employees doing the cud chewing. When I worked at that store many years ago, our managers told us it wasn’t allowed, because it’s unprofessional and gross. I guess it’s acceptable now, because even the managers appear to be cud chewing.
I understand the desire to have fresh, clean breath, but seriously, buy a Tic Tac or a mint. It’s more effective and less gross.
Yes, I sound like a grouchy old man when it comes to gum chewing, but a big part of me thinks this society has lost its pride in itself, and people chewing gum like cows chewing cud is a reflection of this belief.
Honestly, I wish it didn’t bother me, but for some reason it does. I guess that’s why it’s a pet peeve. If someone has a cure for them, I would love a dose of that medicine, because I have other pet peeves – people yawning wide enough to land Air Force One in their mouths, bad drivers and loud cell phone talkers – I’d love to get rid of.
My wife, Jenny, would also appreciate it if I eliminated my disdain for these pet peeves, as she often feels the brunt of their displeasure for me. If she yawns, I roll my eyes. If she chews gum, and she does chew it respectfully, I get annoyed. If someone else annoys me with a pet peeve, I’ll make under-the-breath comments that she tells me to stop. Her biggest pet peeve is probably my lack of tolerance for my pet peeves.
It used to be my lack of ability to fold a towel correctly, but I learned how to do it. In return, I developed a pet peeve about her lack of ability to put a towel back on the rack correctly for reuse. She’ll throw it on the rack all bunched up, and as a result it’s often wet and kind of gross.
She laughs at me when I tell her she should learn how to put it on the rack correctly, but she keeps doing it because she knows it doesn’t really bother me like my other pet peeves. And in reality, it doesn’t. That’s what a fresh towel is for.
But I truly can’t stand my other pet peeves. I’m cringing in my mind just writing this column and thinking about them.
Mankind is probably meant to have pet peeves, so we can correct the things we do wrong. At least that’s what I’d like to believe. I would love it if a certain chain store’s manager would come to the realization the employees there look unprofessional chewing gum because of mine or someone else’s pet peeve. I know that probably would never happen, but it gives me hope my pet peeves serve some purpose besides annoying me.
And then this nation of cud chewers and wide yawners could show a little pride in itself.
In all fairness to Jenny, she asked for an opportunity to respond. This is what my wife had to say:
“I concur that my pet peeves generally surround Scott’s inability to deal with his pet peeves in a manner that is less than curmudgeonly. I enjoy chewing gum, but have virtually abandoned it in an attempt to avoid marriage counseling over a seemingly small issue that clearly disturbs my husband a great deal. As a result, towels are used as passive-aggressive response to fill the void in my life that was once filled by gum chewing. I take some small personal satisfaction in his grumbling over damp towels as I mourn the loss of my gum. I request all readers to please forgo gum chewing while in Scott’s presence, not for his sake, but rather for my sanity, as I will hear about it.”
I’m referring to the seemingly millions of people who don’t know how to chew gum.
Everywhere I go, especially a certain chain store, it seems most everyone has a big wad of gum in their mouth, and their chompers go up and down on it, showing everyone not just their teeth and tongue, but also their tonsils and other things in their mouth I don’t want to see.
I know, it’s a stupid pet peeve I should learn how to get rid of, but for some reason I can’t shake it. I find it disgusting, appalling and rude, and it takes every bit of my energy to keep myself refrained from telling the cud chewers to either close their mouths or spit it out.
It’s particularly irritating at that certain chain store because it seems like it’s the employees doing the cud chewing. When I worked at that store many years ago, our managers told us it wasn’t allowed, because it’s unprofessional and gross. I guess it’s acceptable now, because even the managers appear to be cud chewing.
I understand the desire to have fresh, clean breath, but seriously, buy a Tic Tac or a mint. It’s more effective and less gross.
Yes, I sound like a grouchy old man when it comes to gum chewing, but a big part of me thinks this society has lost its pride in itself, and people chewing gum like cows chewing cud is a reflection of this belief.
Honestly, I wish it didn’t bother me, but for some reason it does. I guess that’s why it’s a pet peeve. If someone has a cure for them, I would love a dose of that medicine, because I have other pet peeves – people yawning wide enough to land Air Force One in their mouths, bad drivers and loud cell phone talkers – I’d love to get rid of.
My wife, Jenny, would also appreciate it if I eliminated my disdain for these pet peeves, as she often feels the brunt of their displeasure for me. If she yawns, I roll my eyes. If she chews gum, and she does chew it respectfully, I get annoyed. If someone else annoys me with a pet peeve, I’ll make under-the-breath comments that she tells me to stop. Her biggest pet peeve is probably my lack of tolerance for my pet peeves.
It used to be my lack of ability to fold a towel correctly, but I learned how to do it. In return, I developed a pet peeve about her lack of ability to put a towel back on the rack correctly for reuse. She’ll throw it on the rack all bunched up, and as a result it’s often wet and kind of gross.
She laughs at me when I tell her she should learn how to put it on the rack correctly, but she keeps doing it because she knows it doesn’t really bother me like my other pet peeves. And in reality, it doesn’t. That’s what a fresh towel is for.
But I truly can’t stand my other pet peeves. I’m cringing in my mind just writing this column and thinking about them.
Mankind is probably meant to have pet peeves, so we can correct the things we do wrong. At least that’s what I’d like to believe. I would love it if a certain chain store’s manager would come to the realization the employees there look unprofessional chewing gum because of mine or someone else’s pet peeve. I know that probably would never happen, but it gives me hope my pet peeves serve some purpose besides annoying me.
And then this nation of cud chewers and wide yawners could show a little pride in itself.
In all fairness to Jenny, she asked for an opportunity to respond. This is what my wife had to say:
“I concur that my pet peeves generally surround Scott’s inability to deal with his pet peeves in a manner that is less than curmudgeonly. I enjoy chewing gum, but have virtually abandoned it in an attempt to avoid marriage counseling over a seemingly small issue that clearly disturbs my husband a great deal. As a result, towels are used as passive-aggressive response to fill the void in my life that was once filled by gum chewing. I take some small personal satisfaction in his grumbling over damp towels as I mourn the loss of my gum. I request all readers to please forgo gum chewing while in Scott’s presence, not for his sake, but rather for my sanity, as I will hear about it.”
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Beatlemania returns with hefty price tag
Fans of The Beatles had a lot to look forward to this week, but those fans who are also fans of money were put in a major dilemma where one of their loves had to be put on the backseat.
Even though John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr last performed together as a band 40 years ago, and two of them – Lennon and Harrison – are dead, Beatlemania pops up every few years, usually the result of some sort of new Beatle-related merchandise, film, television special or new album that becomes available.
The last time this happened was in 2000 when “1,” an album featuring 27 of their No. 1 hits, was released. Since then it’s sold more than 10 million copies, making it the best-selling album of the decade, a remarkable fact that attests to the group’s popularity.
This time Beatlemania can be attributed to the release of remastered CDs of their 14 albums. With a crisper and fuller sound than the original CDs that came out in 1987, the new versions should leave thousands of people happy who have been clamoring for better-sounding versions for decades now.
A videogame, “The Beatles: Rock Band,” released on the same day as the CDs, is also stirring up Beatlemania. It’s the first videogame to feature the legendary rock band, and like some of the other popular music videogames, people can “play” along to Beatles’ songs on fake, plastic guitars and fake, plastic drums while singing the songs on real, albeit not loud, microphones.
Both items come with hefty price tags. A box set containing all of the remastered CDs retails for approximately $200, while the videogame sells for $60. Experts are predicting the two surviving Beatles, and the widows of the dead ones, will make $1.6 billion from the two items.
That’s enough to run a small nation, or a fairly large hamburger stand in a large nation like this one.
The Beatles, and I love them to death, probably won’t get any of my money, as I can’t justify spending that much on CDs I already own or on a videogame that would be fun for a while but would probably get old fast.
It would be nice to have better-sounding Beatles’ CDs, but my stereo speakers are small and don’t have the power to make them sound any better than my now out-of-date Beatles’ CDs. If I had that type of extra cash lying around, I’d buy new speakers, but then I wouldn’t have any money to buy the new CDs. I’d be stuck listening to weak CDs on a good system, which is just as bad as listening to good CDs on a bad system.
Besides, the place I listen to the most music is at work in front of my computer, and those speakers, which are connected to my iPod, are computer speakers, which are even worse than my stereo speakers.
The only place the new CDs would make any difference to me would be in my car, and even then I usually have a 4-year-old in the vehicle who prefers Tom Petty, an artist greatly influenced by The Beatles. I can’t win.
I might rent “The Beatles: Rock Band,” and hopefully I can beat it during the span of a five-day rental. I’d be happy, although The Beatles and widows might miss the $60 I would have spent buying the game.
But as a bigger fan of money, I’m going to wait another few years for the next Beatlemania merchandise to appear. I dished out money in the 1990s for the “Anthology” series, although I haven’t listened to any of those CDs in more than 10 years, but I could be inspired to spend a few Beatles’ bucks again, for the right product.
Or maybe for a reunion concert. Granted, that would be hard for them to do, but technology may find a way to bring John and George back in some sort of creepy way. It might have to bring all four back if it’s not invented any time soon.
But it might keep Beatlemania around forever. That wouldn’t be a bad thing; just an expensive one.
Even though John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr last performed together as a band 40 years ago, and two of them – Lennon and Harrison – are dead, Beatlemania pops up every few years, usually the result of some sort of new Beatle-related merchandise, film, television special or new album that becomes available.
The last time this happened was in 2000 when “1,” an album featuring 27 of their No. 1 hits, was released. Since then it’s sold more than 10 million copies, making it the best-selling album of the decade, a remarkable fact that attests to the group’s popularity.
This time Beatlemania can be attributed to the release of remastered CDs of their 14 albums. With a crisper and fuller sound than the original CDs that came out in 1987, the new versions should leave thousands of people happy who have been clamoring for better-sounding versions for decades now.
A videogame, “The Beatles: Rock Band,” released on the same day as the CDs, is also stirring up Beatlemania. It’s the first videogame to feature the legendary rock band, and like some of the other popular music videogames, people can “play” along to Beatles’ songs on fake, plastic guitars and fake, plastic drums while singing the songs on real, albeit not loud, microphones.
Both items come with hefty price tags. A box set containing all of the remastered CDs retails for approximately $200, while the videogame sells for $60. Experts are predicting the two surviving Beatles, and the widows of the dead ones, will make $1.6 billion from the two items.
That’s enough to run a small nation, or a fairly large hamburger stand in a large nation like this one.
The Beatles, and I love them to death, probably won’t get any of my money, as I can’t justify spending that much on CDs I already own or on a videogame that would be fun for a while but would probably get old fast.
It would be nice to have better-sounding Beatles’ CDs, but my stereo speakers are small and don’t have the power to make them sound any better than my now out-of-date Beatles’ CDs. If I had that type of extra cash lying around, I’d buy new speakers, but then I wouldn’t have any money to buy the new CDs. I’d be stuck listening to weak CDs on a good system, which is just as bad as listening to good CDs on a bad system.
Besides, the place I listen to the most music is at work in front of my computer, and those speakers, which are connected to my iPod, are computer speakers, which are even worse than my stereo speakers.
The only place the new CDs would make any difference to me would be in my car, and even then I usually have a 4-year-old in the vehicle who prefers Tom Petty, an artist greatly influenced by The Beatles. I can’t win.
I might rent “The Beatles: Rock Band,” and hopefully I can beat it during the span of a five-day rental. I’d be happy, although The Beatles and widows might miss the $60 I would have spent buying the game.
But as a bigger fan of money, I’m going to wait another few years for the next Beatlemania merchandise to appear. I dished out money in the 1990s for the “Anthology” series, although I haven’t listened to any of those CDs in more than 10 years, but I could be inspired to spend a few Beatles’ bucks again, for the right product.
Or maybe for a reunion concert. Granted, that would be hard for them to do, but technology may find a way to bring John and George back in some sort of creepy way. It might have to bring all four back if it’s not invented any time soon.
But it might keep Beatlemania around forever. That wouldn’t be a bad thing; just an expensive one.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
New clothes, crying part of back-to-school ritual for some parents
I took my 4-year-old son, Braden, to school for the first time, kind of, Tuesday, Sept. 1.
I add “kind of” because his school, Canaland Christian Academy and Daycare, is the same one he’s been going to for the past two years, so the change wasn’t that big for him nor my wife, Jenny, and me.
Now, instead of attending the daycare portion exclusively, for two hours a day he attends 4-year-old Kindergarten (4K) at the Academy through the Stevens Point Area School District.
This means a licensed teacher provides classroom curriculum to Braden designed to help him learn some of the basics I didn’t learn until my second year in kindergarten.
Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m a kindergarten flunkey.
I like to think my parents were attempting to start the 4K trend well before the age of 4K, because I was only 4 when I started school in the late 1970s, when most of my peers were 5. But in reality I know I probably wasn’t a trendsetter, but rather one of the reasons a law was passed restricting kids from starting school too early.
It’s a good law, as I recall little about my first day of school on my first attempt at kindergarten. In fact, I don’t remember much about that first year, except crying a lot. My shoes are knotted: waaaahh; I can’t use the scissors correctly: waaahh; you want me to repeat the alphabet: waaahh; one through 10, not a problem, but after that: waaahh.
I’m sure it was a miserable experience, but fortunately I’ve repressed most of those memories and hope I never have to pay a psychologist to bring them back.
My second attempt at kindergarten was a treat, though. The things I failed to learn the first time around were a breeze the second time. I shot to the head of the class where I usually remained for the rest of my academic career, proving those formative years are likely the most important in a child’s life, even if the instruction he or she is given is so basic.
It’s my hope 4K will help Braden with the basics like my failed attempt at kindergarten helped me, so next year when he’s in kindergarten he’ll be the Albert Einstein of the classroom. I’m sure all of the parents are hoping for the same thing, though, so I’ll settle for the Stephen Hawking, just to be a little more original.
Getting him started on this endeavor began in the stores, as Jenny did the shopping for his school supplies and new clothes. I never understood the whole “buy new clothes” thing for going back to school, as the clothes he has been wearing all summer are still suitable for wearing to school.
But nearly everyone does it for their kids. When one of Braden’s teachers told me “It seems like everyone has new shoes today” after Braden pointed out to her that he was wearing new shoes, she was making an observation that couldn’t be anymore true. Each kid, no matter how grubby he or she normally is, looks like the All-American Kid that first day.
Perhaps it would be wiser to put your kid in news clothes and shoes the week after school starts, and then more people would notice, if that’s your goal. Of course, people might think your kid is a dirtball that first week, and initial impressions are defining no matter whether or not they are correct. But if that doesn’t bother you, I say wait a week. You’d probably find better deals on clothing at the store anyway.
As confused as I am about having to put a child in new clothes the first day of school, I’m even more confused about why parents cry when they take kids to school for the first time. It’s cause for celebration, especially if it reduces daycare expenses.
That doesn’t happen to us this year, as the amount of time in 4K is limited, but next year when he starts kindergarten our childcare expenses will virtually disappear. Jenny and I may have to take the day off and have some sort of daycare bill-burning party.
Maybe the parents who cry are just too happy about this, so maybe I’ll be crying, too. Unless Braden is too much like me and flunks 4K. Then my tears will be the tears of one more year of childcare.
I add “kind of” because his school, Canaland Christian Academy and Daycare, is the same one he’s been going to for the past two years, so the change wasn’t that big for him nor my wife, Jenny, and me.
Now, instead of attending the daycare portion exclusively, for two hours a day he attends 4-year-old Kindergarten (4K) at the Academy through the Stevens Point Area School District.
This means a licensed teacher provides classroom curriculum to Braden designed to help him learn some of the basics I didn’t learn until my second year in kindergarten.
Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m a kindergarten flunkey.
I like to think my parents were attempting to start the 4K trend well before the age of 4K, because I was only 4 when I started school in the late 1970s, when most of my peers were 5. But in reality I know I probably wasn’t a trendsetter, but rather one of the reasons a law was passed restricting kids from starting school too early.
It’s a good law, as I recall little about my first day of school on my first attempt at kindergarten. In fact, I don’t remember much about that first year, except crying a lot. My shoes are knotted: waaaahh; I can’t use the scissors correctly: waaahh; you want me to repeat the alphabet: waaahh; one through 10, not a problem, but after that: waaahh.
I’m sure it was a miserable experience, but fortunately I’ve repressed most of those memories and hope I never have to pay a psychologist to bring them back.
My second attempt at kindergarten was a treat, though. The things I failed to learn the first time around were a breeze the second time. I shot to the head of the class where I usually remained for the rest of my academic career, proving those formative years are likely the most important in a child’s life, even if the instruction he or she is given is so basic.
It’s my hope 4K will help Braden with the basics like my failed attempt at kindergarten helped me, so next year when he’s in kindergarten he’ll be the Albert Einstein of the classroom. I’m sure all of the parents are hoping for the same thing, though, so I’ll settle for the Stephen Hawking, just to be a little more original.
Getting him started on this endeavor began in the stores, as Jenny did the shopping for his school supplies and new clothes. I never understood the whole “buy new clothes” thing for going back to school, as the clothes he has been wearing all summer are still suitable for wearing to school.
But nearly everyone does it for their kids. When one of Braden’s teachers told me “It seems like everyone has new shoes today” after Braden pointed out to her that he was wearing new shoes, she was making an observation that couldn’t be anymore true. Each kid, no matter how grubby he or she normally is, looks like the All-American Kid that first day.
Perhaps it would be wiser to put your kid in news clothes and shoes the week after school starts, and then more people would notice, if that’s your goal. Of course, people might think your kid is a dirtball that first week, and initial impressions are defining no matter whether or not they are correct. But if that doesn’t bother you, I say wait a week. You’d probably find better deals on clothing at the store anyway.
As confused as I am about having to put a child in new clothes the first day of school, I’m even more confused about why parents cry when they take kids to school for the first time. It’s cause for celebration, especially if it reduces daycare expenses.
That doesn’t happen to us this year, as the amount of time in 4K is limited, but next year when he starts kindergarten our childcare expenses will virtually disappear. Jenny and I may have to take the day off and have some sort of daycare bill-burning party.
Maybe the parents who cry are just too happy about this, so maybe I’ll be crying, too. Unless Braden is too much like me and flunks 4K. Then my tears will be the tears of one more year of childcare.
New clothes, crying part of back to school ritual for some parents
I took my 4-year-old son, Braden, to school for the first time, kind of, Tuesday, Sept. 1.
I add “kind of” because his school, Canaland Christian Academy and Daycare, is the same one he’s been going to for the past two years, so the change wasn’t that big for him nor my wife, Jenny, and me.
Now, instead of attending the daycare portion exclusively, for two hours a day he attends 4-year-old Kindergarten (4K) at the Academy through the Stevens Point Area School District.
This means a licensed teacher provides classroom curriculum to Braden designed to help him learn some of the basics I didn’t learn until my second year in kindergarten.
Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m a kindergarten flunkey.
I like to think my parents were attempting to start the 4K trend well before the age of 4K, because I was only 4 when I started school in the late 1970s, when most of my peers were 5. But in reality I know I probably wasn’t a trendsetter, but rather one of the reasons a law was passed restricting kids from starting school too early.
It’s a good law, as I recall little about my first day of school on my first attempt at kindergarten. In fact, I don’t remember much about that first year, except crying a lot. My shoes are knotted: waaaahh; I can’t use the scissors correctly: waaahh; you want me to repeat the alphabet: waaahh; one through 10, not a problem, but after that: waaahh.
I’m sure it was a miserable experience, but fortunately I’ve repressed most of those memories and hope I never have to pay a psychologist to bring them back.
My second attempt at kindergarten was a treat, though. The things I failed to learn the first time around were a breeze the second time. I shot to the head of the class where I usually remained for the rest of my academic career, proving those formative years are likely the most important in a child’s life, even if the instruction he or she is given is so basic.
It’s my hope 4K will help Braden with the basics like my failed attempt at kindergarten helped me, so next year when he’s in kindergarten he’ll be the Albert Einstein of the classroom. I’m sure all of the parents are hoping for the same thing, though, so I’ll settle for the Stephen Hawking, just to be a little more original.
Getting him started on this endeavor began in the stores, as Jenny did the shopping for his school supplies and new clothes. I never understood the whole “buy new clothes” thing for going back to school, as the clothes he has been wearing all summer are still suitable for wearing to school.
But nearly everyone does it for their kids. When one of Braden’s teachers told me “It seems like everyone has new shoes today” after Braden pointed out to her that he was wearing new shoes, she was making an observation that couldn’t be anymore true. Each kid, no matter how grubby he or she normally is, looks like the All-American Kid that first day.
Perhaps it would be wiser to put your kid in news clothes and shoes the week after school starts, and then more people would notice, if that’s your goal. Of course, people might think your kid is a dirtball that first week, and initial impressions are defining no matter whether or not they are correct. But if that doesn’t bother you, I say wait a week. You’d probably find better deals on clothing at the store anyway.
As confused as I am about having to put a child in new clothes the first day of school, I’m even more confused about why parents cry when they take kids to school for the first time. It’s cause for celebration, especially if it reduces daycare expenses.
That doesn’t happen to us this year, as the amount of time in 4K is limited, but next year when he starts kindergarten our childcare expenses will virtually disappear. Jenny and I may have to take the day off and have some sort of daycare bill-burning party.
Maybe the parents who cry are just too happy about this, so maybe I’ll be crying, too. Unless Braden is too much like me and flunks 4K. Then my tears will be the tears of one more year of childcare.
I add “kind of” because his school, Canaland Christian Academy and Daycare, is the same one he’s been going to for the past two years, so the change wasn’t that big for him nor my wife, Jenny, and me.
Now, instead of attending the daycare portion exclusively, for two hours a day he attends 4-year-old Kindergarten (4K) at the Academy through the Stevens Point Area School District.
This means a licensed teacher provides classroom curriculum to Braden designed to help him learn some of the basics I didn’t learn until my second year in kindergarten.
Yes, I’ll admit it, I’m a kindergarten flunkey.
I like to think my parents were attempting to start the 4K trend well before the age of 4K, because I was only 4 when I started school in the late 1970s, when most of my peers were 5. But in reality I know I probably wasn’t a trendsetter, but rather one of the reasons a law was passed restricting kids from starting school too early.
It’s a good law, as I recall little about my first day of school on my first attempt at kindergarten. In fact, I don’t remember much about that first year, except crying a lot. My shoes are knotted: waaaahh; I can’t use the scissors correctly: waaahh; you want me to repeat the alphabet: waaahh; one through 10, not a problem, but after that: waaahh.
I’m sure it was a miserable experience, but fortunately I’ve repressed most of those memories and hope I never have to pay a psychologist to bring them back.
My second attempt at kindergarten was a treat, though. The things I failed to learn the first time around were a breeze the second time. I shot to the head of the class where I usually remained for the rest of my academic career, proving those formative years are likely the most important in a child’s life, even if the instruction he or she is given is so basic.
It’s my hope 4K will help Braden with the basics like my failed attempt at kindergarten helped me, so next year when he’s in kindergarten he’ll be the Albert Einstein of the classroom. I’m sure all of the parents are hoping for the same thing, though, so I’ll settle for the Stephen Hawking, just to be a little more original.
Getting him started on this endeavor began in the stores, as Jenny did the shopping for his school supplies and new clothes. I never understood the whole “buy new clothes” thing for going back to school, as the clothes he has been wearing all summer are still suitable for wearing to school.
But nearly everyone does it for their kids. When one of Braden’s teachers told me “It seems like everyone has new shoes today” after Braden pointed out to her that he was wearing new shoes, she was making an observation that couldn’t be anymore true. Each kid, no matter how grubby he or she normally is, looks like the All-American Kid that first day.
Perhaps it would be wiser to put your kid in news clothes and shoes the week after school starts, and then more people would notice, if that’s your goal. Of course, people might think your kid is a dirtball that first week, and initial impressions are defining no matter whether or not they are correct. But if that doesn’t bother you, I say wait a week. You’d probably find better deals on clothing at the store anyway.
As confused as I am about having to put a child in new clothes the first day of school, I’m even more confused about why parents cry when they take kids to school for the first time. It’s cause for celebration, especially if it reduces daycare expenses.
That doesn’t happen to us this year, as the amount of time in 4K is limited, but next year when he starts kindergarten our childcare expenses will virtually disappear. Jenny and I may have to take the day off and have some sort of daycare bill-burning party.
Maybe the parents who cry are just too happy about this, so maybe I’ll be crying, too. Unless Braden is too much like me and flunks 4K. Then my tears will be the tears of one more year of childcare.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Kids are funny
NOT MY MUMMY: A 2-year-old boy was intrigued by a Halloween display at a craft and hobby store in Plover featuring a life-sized mummy.
Approaching the mummy, which softly groans when people get near it, the boy jumped when its groan got louder as he got closer. The boy refused to get any closer to the mummy, preferring to hide behind his father’s leg.
* * *
BUTT KISSING: A teacher at a Stevens Point daycare couldn’t help but laugh when a 2-year-old boy told him to kiss his butt.
The child had fallen onto his backside from a slide and, as he normally does, asked the nearest adult to kiss his oww wee to “make it feel better.”
“Kiss my butt,” he told the teacher.
“He was so serious,” the teacher told the boy’s father. “It was hilarious.”
* * *
FUTURE PUPPY: The 2-year-old son of a Portage County Gazette staff member quickly denied his father’s hopes for him. The father, excited about the new Fox television show “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles,” asked the boy if he would like to be a Terminator when he grows up.
“No, I want to be a puppy,” said the boy.
Foolish questions get foolish answers.
* * *
STUCK IN THE SNOW: The wife of a Portage County Gazette staffer forgot to look at the end of the driveway before backing out of it in order to go to work Monday morning. Much to her surprise, a snowplow had left a pile too big for her little Plymouth Neon to drive through. She wasn’t able to begin her commute to work until 45 minutes later, after receiving a tow out of the snow pile by a passing Good Samaritan.
* * *
PUZZLING COMMENT: A parent’s ear was blistered when his 3-year-old son uttered a phrase that seemed to contain a profanity. When the son repeated the comment to his mother, both parents became alarmed because they weren’t really sure what the son was saying but it sounded like a profanity to them.
Using the suspected profanity, the parents asked the son if that was what he said, but the son said it wasn’t, repeating it once again.
Now the parents are afraid to press the issue, fearing the son may continue to repeat the phrase in public, which would be embarrassing.
* * *
MOVING TO THE PARK: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette employee was excited when he and his parents moved to Plover after a year of daily commuting from Wautoma. His excitement wasn’t due to the end of 90 minutes worth of daily driving, it was because he mistook his father’s explanation that they were moving to a location near a park as to they were moving to a park. The boy was saddened when he discovered their new living room did not contain playground equipment.
* * *
FAKING IT EARLY: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer asked for a cough drop after seeing his father take one for a cold. His father told him it’s only for people who have a cough. “Cough, cough,” the boy faked in an attempt to get one. Laughing at the ploy, the father gave the boy a cough drop – for preventative measures.
* * *
NO. 2 AT THE DINNER TABLE: The same boy decided to bring the subject of No. 2 up at the dinner table, saying a food smelled like it. His mother told him that he shouldn’t talk about that while eating. The boy continued to talk about it as he kept repeating that you only talk about No. 2 at the potty.
* * *
PLAYING WITH MRS. PIENTKA: When asked about his day at his daycare, the 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer always says he played with his teacher, Mrs. Pientka. Knowing the teacher wasn’t there one day, his father asked the question again, expecting a different answer. He got one, but it wasn’t much different. “I didn’t play with Mrs. Pientka today,” he responded.
* * *
GIRAFFE BOY: The wife of a Gazette staffer caught their 3-year-old son eating leaves directly from a tree one day. “What are you doing?” she asked the boy. “You shouldn’t be eating leaves.”
“But mommy, I’m a giraffe,” the boy replied.
Seeing it would be difficult to argue his logic, the mother said he should be a boy and have some people food if he was hungry.
* * *
‘OH SUZANNA’: While in the midst of being naughty, the 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer diverted attention away from his behavior by suddenly breaking out a verse of “Oh Suzanna,” much to his parents’ surprise. “For I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee,” the boy sang. The parents were unaware he knew such a complicated song, one he must have learned at his daycare.
* * *
HAMBURGER, CHEESEBURGER – TWO DIFFERENT FOODS: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer tried to use a technicality to get out of eating a meal. When told he needed to finish his hamburger before he could have a treat, the boy said he already did. “What’s that then?” his father asked, pointing to the burger.
“It’s a cheeseburger,” he replied. “Can I have my treat now?”
* * *
RACING DADDY: A father was surprised to learn he won a race he didn’t know he was in Tuesday, Dec. 9. Coming home from work with his 3-year-old son in the car, the father was dumbfounded when the boy shouted “Yeah, you won.”
When the father asked him about it, the boy said the father beat the car in the other lane. As far as the father knew, he was just routinely driving past the other car on four-lane Post Road in Plover, but was happy to please his son with the victory.
* * *
CHEAPSKATE GRANDMA: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer took a trip to the store with his grandmother last week. When they arrived the boy told her he’ll “pay the money.”
Thinking the boy was talking about a parking meter, she told him there were none and they didn’t need to pay anything.
The boy persisted, so to quiet him she said she didn’t have any money.
When they got to the entrance at the store, the boy ran to the person manning the Red Kettle there and said they couldn’t pay because his grandmother “didn’t have any money.”
Without missing a beat, the man told the boy that was OK, because a lot of people don’t have any money right now.
The embarrassed grandmother managed to find a couple of quarters in her purse to give to her grandson to put in the Red Kettle.
* * *
NO BOINKING: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer got his first real bed this past weekend, when his parents upgraded his toddler bed to a twin bed.
The first thing he did after it was set up was bounce on it, proclaiming he was “boinking” on his bed. His father immediately told him there would be no “boinking” on this bed.
His grandmother, in the room at the time, said she hopes there isn’t any “boinking” on the bed until he’s married.
* * *
BOYS WILL BE BOYS, AS LONG AS THEY CAN CRAWL IN PUDDLES: The same boy appreciated the warm weather this past week that caused much of the snow to melt and create massive puddles everywhere in the parking lot at his apartment building.
While his father grilled outside, the boy splashed and ran through the puddles, and when the father wasn’t looking, he decided it was exciting to crawl through them. Much to his father’s displeasure, yet amusement.
* * *
PROFOUND THINKING FOR 4-YEAR-OLD: A Gazette staffer was surprised by a profound thought from his 4-year-old son this week. While driving past a cemetery in Plover, the boy pointed to some gravestones and asked what they were.
“They’re gravestones,” the father said.
“Are they like pyramids?” the boy asked.
At first the father laughed at the boy’s notion, but then he realized gravestones serve as markers for a person’s final resting spot, much like pyramids marked the location where ancient Egyptian pharaohs hoped to enter the afterlife.
* * *
A NEW HUNTING SEASON: The Easter Bunny needs to look out. The 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer told his parents he couldn’t wait to go Easter Bunny hunting.
He meant to say Easter egg hunting.
* * *
NOT SO FAST: The 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer tried to make an upcoming family vacation even bigger. The family is going to Wisconsin Dells for four days, and excited about the event, he invited his friends at daycare to come along.
“We can all go down the water slide,” he told several boys after giving them an invitation.
The parents of the boy aren’t planning on taking any extra guests.
* * *
WORN IN, NOT OUT: After a long day of swimming and playing in Wisconsin Dells last weekend, the 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer was asked if he was worn out. “No, I’m worn in,” he replied. Whatever that means?
* * *
LOOK MA, NO GAS: The mother of a Gazette staffer hates growing older. Worried she’ll forget to pay for her gas recently, she went through all of the motions at the gas station and even got reassurance from the attendant the gas used by her pump was paid for.
Driving away, she noticed she had as much gas in her tank as she had before she got to the gas station. Apparently, she forgot to put any gas in her vehicle, and the attendant said the gas was paid for because it belonged to the person who was at the pump before her.
* * *
KIDS LEARN EARLY: At the young age of 4, the son of a Gazette staffer wasn’t happy about not receiving any presents on Mother’s Day. “Where’s my presents?” he asked when he saw his mother opening one.
“It’s Mother’s Day – you don’t get one today,” he was told.
“Why can’t it be Mother’s Kid’s Day?” the boy quickly retorted.
Surprised the boy was asking the age-old question all children eventually learn to ask on the Mother’s Day and Father’s Day holidays, his parents gave him the familiar answer they heard when they were children: “Every day is Kid’s Day.”
Approaching the mummy, which softly groans when people get near it, the boy jumped when its groan got louder as he got closer. The boy refused to get any closer to the mummy, preferring to hide behind his father’s leg.
* * *
BUTT KISSING: A teacher at a Stevens Point daycare couldn’t help but laugh when a 2-year-old boy told him to kiss his butt.
The child had fallen onto his backside from a slide and, as he normally does, asked the nearest adult to kiss his oww wee to “make it feel better.”
“Kiss my butt,” he told the teacher.
“He was so serious,” the teacher told the boy’s father. “It was hilarious.”
* * *
FUTURE PUPPY: The 2-year-old son of a Portage County Gazette staff member quickly denied his father’s hopes for him. The father, excited about the new Fox television show “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles,” asked the boy if he would like to be a Terminator when he grows up.
“No, I want to be a puppy,” said the boy.
Foolish questions get foolish answers.
* * *
STUCK IN THE SNOW: The wife of a Portage County Gazette staffer forgot to look at the end of the driveway before backing out of it in order to go to work Monday morning. Much to her surprise, a snowplow had left a pile too big for her little Plymouth Neon to drive through. She wasn’t able to begin her commute to work until 45 minutes later, after receiving a tow out of the snow pile by a passing Good Samaritan.
* * *
PUZZLING COMMENT: A parent’s ear was blistered when his 3-year-old son uttered a phrase that seemed to contain a profanity. When the son repeated the comment to his mother, both parents became alarmed because they weren’t really sure what the son was saying but it sounded like a profanity to them.
Using the suspected profanity, the parents asked the son if that was what he said, but the son said it wasn’t, repeating it once again.
Now the parents are afraid to press the issue, fearing the son may continue to repeat the phrase in public, which would be embarrassing.
* * *
MOVING TO THE PARK: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette employee was excited when he and his parents moved to Plover after a year of daily commuting from Wautoma. His excitement wasn’t due to the end of 90 minutes worth of daily driving, it was because he mistook his father’s explanation that they were moving to a location near a park as to they were moving to a park. The boy was saddened when he discovered their new living room did not contain playground equipment.
* * *
FAKING IT EARLY: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer asked for a cough drop after seeing his father take one for a cold. His father told him it’s only for people who have a cough. “Cough, cough,” the boy faked in an attempt to get one. Laughing at the ploy, the father gave the boy a cough drop – for preventative measures.
* * *
NO. 2 AT THE DINNER TABLE: The same boy decided to bring the subject of No. 2 up at the dinner table, saying a food smelled like it. His mother told him that he shouldn’t talk about that while eating. The boy continued to talk about it as he kept repeating that you only talk about No. 2 at the potty.
* * *
PLAYING WITH MRS. PIENTKA: When asked about his day at his daycare, the 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer always says he played with his teacher, Mrs. Pientka. Knowing the teacher wasn’t there one day, his father asked the question again, expecting a different answer. He got one, but it wasn’t much different. “I didn’t play with Mrs. Pientka today,” he responded.
* * *
GIRAFFE BOY: The wife of a Gazette staffer caught their 3-year-old son eating leaves directly from a tree one day. “What are you doing?” she asked the boy. “You shouldn’t be eating leaves.”
“But mommy, I’m a giraffe,” the boy replied.
Seeing it would be difficult to argue his logic, the mother said he should be a boy and have some people food if he was hungry.
* * *
‘OH SUZANNA’: While in the midst of being naughty, the 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer diverted attention away from his behavior by suddenly breaking out a verse of “Oh Suzanna,” much to his parents’ surprise. “For I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee,” the boy sang. The parents were unaware he knew such a complicated song, one he must have learned at his daycare.
* * *
HAMBURGER, CHEESEBURGER – TWO DIFFERENT FOODS: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer tried to use a technicality to get out of eating a meal. When told he needed to finish his hamburger before he could have a treat, the boy said he already did. “What’s that then?” his father asked, pointing to the burger.
“It’s a cheeseburger,” he replied. “Can I have my treat now?”
* * *
RACING DADDY: A father was surprised to learn he won a race he didn’t know he was in Tuesday, Dec. 9. Coming home from work with his 3-year-old son in the car, the father was dumbfounded when the boy shouted “Yeah, you won.”
When the father asked him about it, the boy said the father beat the car in the other lane. As far as the father knew, he was just routinely driving past the other car on four-lane Post Road in Plover, but was happy to please his son with the victory.
* * *
CHEAPSKATE GRANDMA: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer took a trip to the store with his grandmother last week. When they arrived the boy told her he’ll “pay the money.”
Thinking the boy was talking about a parking meter, she told him there were none and they didn’t need to pay anything.
The boy persisted, so to quiet him she said she didn’t have any money.
When they got to the entrance at the store, the boy ran to the person manning the Red Kettle there and said they couldn’t pay because his grandmother “didn’t have any money.”
Without missing a beat, the man told the boy that was OK, because a lot of people don’t have any money right now.
The embarrassed grandmother managed to find a couple of quarters in her purse to give to her grandson to put in the Red Kettle.
* * *
NO BOINKING: The 3-year-old son of a Gazette staffer got his first real bed this past weekend, when his parents upgraded his toddler bed to a twin bed.
The first thing he did after it was set up was bounce on it, proclaiming he was “boinking” on his bed. His father immediately told him there would be no “boinking” on this bed.
His grandmother, in the room at the time, said she hopes there isn’t any “boinking” on the bed until he’s married.
* * *
BOYS WILL BE BOYS, AS LONG AS THEY CAN CRAWL IN PUDDLES: The same boy appreciated the warm weather this past week that caused much of the snow to melt and create massive puddles everywhere in the parking lot at his apartment building.
While his father grilled outside, the boy splashed and ran through the puddles, and when the father wasn’t looking, he decided it was exciting to crawl through them. Much to his father’s displeasure, yet amusement.
* * *
PROFOUND THINKING FOR 4-YEAR-OLD: A Gazette staffer was surprised by a profound thought from his 4-year-old son this week. While driving past a cemetery in Plover, the boy pointed to some gravestones and asked what they were.
“They’re gravestones,” the father said.
“Are they like pyramids?” the boy asked.
At first the father laughed at the boy’s notion, but then he realized gravestones serve as markers for a person’s final resting spot, much like pyramids marked the location where ancient Egyptian pharaohs hoped to enter the afterlife.
* * *
A NEW HUNTING SEASON: The Easter Bunny needs to look out. The 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer told his parents he couldn’t wait to go Easter Bunny hunting.
He meant to say Easter egg hunting.
* * *
NOT SO FAST: The 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer tried to make an upcoming family vacation even bigger. The family is going to Wisconsin Dells for four days, and excited about the event, he invited his friends at daycare to come along.
“We can all go down the water slide,” he told several boys after giving them an invitation.
The parents of the boy aren’t planning on taking any extra guests.
* * *
WORN IN, NOT OUT: After a long day of swimming and playing in Wisconsin Dells last weekend, the 4-year-old son of a Gazette staffer was asked if he was worn out. “No, I’m worn in,” he replied. Whatever that means?
* * *
LOOK MA, NO GAS: The mother of a Gazette staffer hates growing older. Worried she’ll forget to pay for her gas recently, she went through all of the motions at the gas station and even got reassurance from the attendant the gas used by her pump was paid for.
Driving away, she noticed she had as much gas in her tank as she had before she got to the gas station. Apparently, she forgot to put any gas in her vehicle, and the attendant said the gas was paid for because it belonged to the person who was at the pump before her.
* * *
KIDS LEARN EARLY: At the young age of 4, the son of a Gazette staffer wasn’t happy about not receiving any presents on Mother’s Day. “Where’s my presents?” he asked when he saw his mother opening one.
“It’s Mother’s Day – you don’t get one today,” he was told.
“Why can’t it be Mother’s Kid’s Day?” the boy quickly retorted.
Surprised the boy was asking the age-old question all children eventually learn to ask on the Mother’s Day and Father’s Day holidays, his parents gave him the familiar answer they heard when they were children: “Every day is Kid’s Day.”
Demanding people, unusual vegetables differ on newsworthiness scale
The job of a newspaper reporter can be interesting at times, especially when people bring items they deem newsworthy to us, regardless of whether or not we, the professionals, believe it to be worthy of putting in the pages of The Gazette.
As long as it’s local with relevance to at least one reader, the staff at The Gazette will make every effort to let others know about it, either through a longer piece a reporter will write or through a brief news item in one of the many capsules we run weekly.
But every once in a while someone will call and make a demand of us that we can’t or won’t honor. I received one of these requests earlier this week when a business owner in a neighboring county wanted me to come and hear her story in order for me to write about it in this paper.
Apparently, another newspaper in that person’s county ran an article or something criticizing her business, causing her to receive harassing phone calls and other communication from people in her community.
The woman’s babble made no sense to me, as I wasn’t familiar with her, her business or the people in her community, nor had I read the original article about her business. The lady may or may not have a story, but I didn’t care because her situation had no local connection whatsoever.
I told her The Gazette is a local paper that covers local news, so we weren’t interested in going out of our way for a story in another county. She didn’t like what I had to say and hung up on me, which, by the way, is not the first time someone has ever hung up on me.
Curiosity had bitten me a little bit, so I e-mailed a friend of mine that worked at the paper she was referring to, asking about the situation. He e-mailed me back and said the lady was upset because the article talked about an occurrence in which she allegedly swore at and threatened a customer, facts he said were backed up by a police report.
It sounded like she was serving up a really big batch of poor customer service, and to counter this bad publicity she thought she could get another newspaper to give her some good press. It’s not the first time The Gazette has been called upon to counter something that may have appeared in another media outlet, but this was a situation that we neither wanted to rectify nor thought we should.
Situations like this are unusual, but another one that occurred later in the week isn’t unusual at all, nor as controversial. The situation is one we like to call “People with Vegetables.”
It’s simple. Someone calls us, or stops at our office, because he or she has an abnormally large, unusually-shaped or extraordinary vegetable, fruit or plant.
Unlike the previous situation, The Gazette is more than happy to accommodate giving a little press to “People with Vegetables,” usually in the form of a photo and caption, even though we’ve seen such a large number of these most unusual items that to us they are no longer unusual.
In my 12-year journalism career, I’ve seen quite a few of these vegetables, fruits and plants: big mushrooms, oddly-shaped cucumbers, tall sunflowers, plants that bloom at the wrong time of the year, super-sized pumpkins and even potatoes shaped like presidents.
Though they may no longer be unusual to me, I know others might find them interesting. So it’s somewhat easy to keep our pride in check and report about them to others.
But doing so isn’t something they teach in college, nor are there lessons in handling people who think we should drop what we are doing and listen to their story, even if it has no relevance to what we do. Someday I’m going to go back to college, not as a student but as a teacher, and present these valuable lessons to journalism students.
These lessons are ones many days I wish I had received.
As long as it’s local with relevance to at least one reader, the staff at The Gazette will make every effort to let others know about it, either through a longer piece a reporter will write or through a brief news item in one of the many capsules we run weekly.
But every once in a while someone will call and make a demand of us that we can’t or won’t honor. I received one of these requests earlier this week when a business owner in a neighboring county wanted me to come and hear her story in order for me to write about it in this paper.
Apparently, another newspaper in that person’s county ran an article or something criticizing her business, causing her to receive harassing phone calls and other communication from people in her community.
The woman’s babble made no sense to me, as I wasn’t familiar with her, her business or the people in her community, nor had I read the original article about her business. The lady may or may not have a story, but I didn’t care because her situation had no local connection whatsoever.
I told her The Gazette is a local paper that covers local news, so we weren’t interested in going out of our way for a story in another county. She didn’t like what I had to say and hung up on me, which, by the way, is not the first time someone has ever hung up on me.
Curiosity had bitten me a little bit, so I e-mailed a friend of mine that worked at the paper she was referring to, asking about the situation. He e-mailed me back and said the lady was upset because the article talked about an occurrence in which she allegedly swore at and threatened a customer, facts he said were backed up by a police report.
It sounded like she was serving up a really big batch of poor customer service, and to counter this bad publicity she thought she could get another newspaper to give her some good press. It’s not the first time The Gazette has been called upon to counter something that may have appeared in another media outlet, but this was a situation that we neither wanted to rectify nor thought we should.
Situations like this are unusual, but another one that occurred later in the week isn’t unusual at all, nor as controversial. The situation is one we like to call “People with Vegetables.”
It’s simple. Someone calls us, or stops at our office, because he or she has an abnormally large, unusually-shaped or extraordinary vegetable, fruit or plant.
Unlike the previous situation, The Gazette is more than happy to accommodate giving a little press to “People with Vegetables,” usually in the form of a photo and caption, even though we’ve seen such a large number of these most unusual items that to us they are no longer unusual.
In my 12-year journalism career, I’ve seen quite a few of these vegetables, fruits and plants: big mushrooms, oddly-shaped cucumbers, tall sunflowers, plants that bloom at the wrong time of the year, super-sized pumpkins and even potatoes shaped like presidents.
Though they may no longer be unusual to me, I know others might find them interesting. So it’s somewhat easy to keep our pride in check and report about them to others.
But doing so isn’t something they teach in college, nor are there lessons in handling people who think we should drop what we are doing and listen to their story, even if it has no relevance to what we do. Someday I’m going to go back to college, not as a student but as a teacher, and present these valuable lessons to journalism students.
These lessons are ones many days I wish I had received.
Favre situation offers plenty of taunting opportunities
Am I a mean person because I occasionally like to taunt people?
When word leaked Tuesday, Aug. 18, that Brett Favre was about to sign with the Minnesota Vikings, I immediately sent an e-mail to former co-workers of mine who are Green Bay Packers fanatics and former obsessed fans of Favre.
The e-mail simply stated: “It’s a lovely day seeing Brett sign with Minnesota. Vikings 42 Packers 17 (first game). Vikings 56 Packers 3 (second game).”
Personally, I hate the Vikings and I do like the Packers; however, I grew up on Brett Favre, and in my humble opinion, he got shafted by the organization last year when he wanted to return after basically being forced to retire by Packers general manager Ted Thompson and his staff.
At my former job, at another newspaper in central Wisconsin, I had to listen to Brett Favre and Packers talk all day. They made him out to be a god, and whenever I pointed out he had some flaws – only one championship, a prescription drug addiction, plenty of interceptions – they scolded me for blasphemy.
When I once suggested that Arnold Schwarzenegger would beat him in a fight, they argued Favre was more street smart and would destroy the Terminator. I couldn’t win when it came to criticizing the quarterback.
That didn’t stop me from trying. At every possible moment I taunted them when he lost a game, threw an interception or did something foolish. It wasn’t because I actually disliked him, but because I enjoyed getting them all fired up in rebutting my arguments.
But when Favre retired, and then wanted to unretire, their entire attitude changed. He was no longer a god, but rather an over-the-hill icon who should step aside and allow someone else to take the reins.
This sudden change in attitude surprised me, as it meant I could no longer taunt them like I continued to do even after changing jobs.
Unless, of course, I took a new approach, and that new approach is to taunt them by being pro-Favre and anti-Packer.
It’s tough being anti-Packer, but it’s quite fun being pro-Favre. It was great last year, until an injury ruined the final part of his season with the New York Jets, because I was able to send my former co-workers plenty of e-mails when the Jets were doing well and the Packers were playing like the team I was expecting them to be without Favre.
I expect more of the same this year, especially when Favre unhinges the Packers season when he blows them away Oct. 5. I’m already contemplating things I can do when this happens.
I could send them a cheesehead with a Minnesota-clad Favre doll staking a hole through it with a Viking spear.
I could write a letter on Favre’s behalf asking for all his memorabilia back, as he’ll be able to sell it for top dollar in Minnesota where the people there truly appreciate him.
I could write an obituary for the Green Bay Packers and say the organization is survived by Favre, a legend that brought life back to the organization after dying in the 1970s and 1980s and who could have kept it alive for at least two more seasons now.
There’s plenty I can do, and all will give me great pleasure. I just better hope Favre lives up to my expectations, or I’ll have to eat my own taunts.
When word leaked Tuesday, Aug. 18, that Brett Favre was about to sign with the Minnesota Vikings, I immediately sent an e-mail to former co-workers of mine who are Green Bay Packers fanatics and former obsessed fans of Favre.
The e-mail simply stated: “It’s a lovely day seeing Brett sign with Minnesota. Vikings 42 Packers 17 (first game). Vikings 56 Packers 3 (second game).”
Personally, I hate the Vikings and I do like the Packers; however, I grew up on Brett Favre, and in my humble opinion, he got shafted by the organization last year when he wanted to return after basically being forced to retire by Packers general manager Ted Thompson and his staff.
At my former job, at another newspaper in central Wisconsin, I had to listen to Brett Favre and Packers talk all day. They made him out to be a god, and whenever I pointed out he had some flaws – only one championship, a prescription drug addiction, plenty of interceptions – they scolded me for blasphemy.
When I once suggested that Arnold Schwarzenegger would beat him in a fight, they argued Favre was more street smart and would destroy the Terminator. I couldn’t win when it came to criticizing the quarterback.
That didn’t stop me from trying. At every possible moment I taunted them when he lost a game, threw an interception or did something foolish. It wasn’t because I actually disliked him, but because I enjoyed getting them all fired up in rebutting my arguments.
But when Favre retired, and then wanted to unretire, their entire attitude changed. He was no longer a god, but rather an over-the-hill icon who should step aside and allow someone else to take the reins.
This sudden change in attitude surprised me, as it meant I could no longer taunt them like I continued to do even after changing jobs.
Unless, of course, I took a new approach, and that new approach is to taunt them by being pro-Favre and anti-Packer.
It’s tough being anti-Packer, but it’s quite fun being pro-Favre. It was great last year, until an injury ruined the final part of his season with the New York Jets, because I was able to send my former co-workers plenty of e-mails when the Jets were doing well and the Packers were playing like the team I was expecting them to be without Favre.
I expect more of the same this year, especially when Favre unhinges the Packers season when he blows them away Oct. 5. I’m already contemplating things I can do when this happens.
I could send them a cheesehead with a Minnesota-clad Favre doll staking a hole through it with a Viking spear.
I could write a letter on Favre’s behalf asking for all his memorabilia back, as he’ll be able to sell it for top dollar in Minnesota where the people there truly appreciate him.
I could write an obituary for the Green Bay Packers and say the organization is survived by Favre, a legend that brought life back to the organization after dying in the 1970s and 1980s and who could have kept it alive for at least two more seasons now.
There’s plenty I can do, and all will give me great pleasure. I just better hope Favre lives up to my expectations, or I’ll have to eat my own taunts.
Fattening videogame systems can now help people lose weight
In January I wrote in this column that one of my New Year’s Resolutions was to lose weight, and I’m happy to report that one of the things that helped make me overweight is now one of the things that’s helping me to lose it.
Back in the early 1980s, my grandparents introduced me to my first videogame system when they purchased an Atari system for their home. My sister and I spent many hours there playing “Pac-Man,” “Space Invaders,” “Centipede,” “Lost Luggage” and even “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial,” a game based on the film of the same name that is considered one of the biggest videogame flops in history because it sold only a fraction of the cartridges made for retail. The rest were buried in some pit in Arizona.
My grandparents were farmers, and the concept of them having something as technologically advanced as a videogame system was mind-blowing at the time. They probably bought it to keep us grandkids occupied when we came over, but my grandpa seemed to play it as much as I did, so he may have bought it for himself.
By the end of the decade, our home had its first videogame system, the Nintendo Entertainment System. My sister and I, along with our father, spent hours playing “Super Mario Brothers,” “The Legend of Zelda,” “Duck Hunt,” “Metroid” and a ton of other classics.
I spent so much time playing them I got fat. Whereas before getting the Nintendo I spent hours outside playing, as we didn’t have cable or air conditioning, after getting it my primary favorite location was on the chair or couch in front of the television playing videogames.
Videogames had some benefits – I learned all the rules to many sports I didn’t care about before, like football, baseball, hockey and even golf, and my hand and eye coordination improved greatly – the negatives greatly outweighed them, as my new videogame-playing body greatly outweighed my old one.
It’s a situation that only got worse as videogame companies came out with new systems and games. I bought them all: the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, the Nintendo 64, the Sony Playstation and Playstation 2. For every dollar I invested in these systems and games, I probably gained an ounce or two of weight.
I lost the extra weight one summer when I put the videogames away and started running, but it came back within five years after I gave running up in favor of more videogames.
Last summer, having become bored with my Playstation 2, I purchased a current generation system, the Nintendo Wii, as well as a game for it, “Wii Fit,” with a goal of using it to help me lose weight, as this system and its games rely on motion activation to play. Players are required to get off their butts and actively move in order to use it, and with “Wii Fit” people can do everything from yoga to skiing.
The problem is most games can still be played by sitting on your butt and wiggling the controller, and “Wii Fit” is great for improving balance but not for actually working out.
It wasn’t until EA came out with “EA Sports Active” in May that I actually started using my videogame system to actually lose weight.
The game, which comes with a leg strap and resistance band, requires people to run, jump, lunge, crunch, lift, curl, shoot baskets, hit tennis balls, play volleyball, pitch baseballs, roller skate and even dance, through a wide variety of exercises.
The Wii controller, as well as its accompanying nunchuck, keeps track of your movements as you follow along to the game to make sure you are doing everything properly, and the resistance band adds an element that makes those movements a little more difficult.
It’s also Oprah Winfrey-approved, as her fitness guru, Bob Greene, puts people through a 30-day challenge in the game. He sets up a variety of exercises that require between 20 and 40 minutes a day to complete, and which burn between 120 and 250 calories a workout.
I completed the 30-day challenge this week, and although I only lost five pounds, I believe that’s because I gained 10 pounds in muscle mass during that time, which limited my actual weight loss. As I continue, I believe I’ll lose a lot more weight.
In addition to some great workouts, the game also has people keep track of their lifestyle habits, such as how much sleep you get, how much water you drink, how many fast food meals you eat, what your stress and energy levels are at, and how many vegetables you eat.
I discovered that by taking this survey every day I made sure I ate more vegetables, I ate a lot less fast food meals, I drank more water and I got more sleep. I felt guilty when I had to take the survey and didn’t meet the game’s expectations.
Now that videogames are helping me get in shape, I’m hoping someone will invent a game that can put hair back on my balding head.
Back in the early 1980s, my grandparents introduced me to my first videogame system when they purchased an Atari system for their home. My sister and I spent many hours there playing “Pac-Man,” “Space Invaders,” “Centipede,” “Lost Luggage” and even “E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial,” a game based on the film of the same name that is considered one of the biggest videogame flops in history because it sold only a fraction of the cartridges made for retail. The rest were buried in some pit in Arizona.
My grandparents were farmers, and the concept of them having something as technologically advanced as a videogame system was mind-blowing at the time. They probably bought it to keep us grandkids occupied when we came over, but my grandpa seemed to play it as much as I did, so he may have bought it for himself.
By the end of the decade, our home had its first videogame system, the Nintendo Entertainment System. My sister and I, along with our father, spent hours playing “Super Mario Brothers,” “The Legend of Zelda,” “Duck Hunt,” “Metroid” and a ton of other classics.
I spent so much time playing them I got fat. Whereas before getting the Nintendo I spent hours outside playing, as we didn’t have cable or air conditioning, after getting it my primary favorite location was on the chair or couch in front of the television playing videogames.
Videogames had some benefits – I learned all the rules to many sports I didn’t care about before, like football, baseball, hockey and even golf, and my hand and eye coordination improved greatly – the negatives greatly outweighed them, as my new videogame-playing body greatly outweighed my old one.
It’s a situation that only got worse as videogame companies came out with new systems and games. I bought them all: the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, the Nintendo 64, the Sony Playstation and Playstation 2. For every dollar I invested in these systems and games, I probably gained an ounce or two of weight.
I lost the extra weight one summer when I put the videogames away and started running, but it came back within five years after I gave running up in favor of more videogames.
Last summer, having become bored with my Playstation 2, I purchased a current generation system, the Nintendo Wii, as well as a game for it, “Wii Fit,” with a goal of using it to help me lose weight, as this system and its games rely on motion activation to play. Players are required to get off their butts and actively move in order to use it, and with “Wii Fit” people can do everything from yoga to skiing.
The problem is most games can still be played by sitting on your butt and wiggling the controller, and “Wii Fit” is great for improving balance but not for actually working out.
It wasn’t until EA came out with “EA Sports Active” in May that I actually started using my videogame system to actually lose weight.
The game, which comes with a leg strap and resistance band, requires people to run, jump, lunge, crunch, lift, curl, shoot baskets, hit tennis balls, play volleyball, pitch baseballs, roller skate and even dance, through a wide variety of exercises.
The Wii controller, as well as its accompanying nunchuck, keeps track of your movements as you follow along to the game to make sure you are doing everything properly, and the resistance band adds an element that makes those movements a little more difficult.
It’s also Oprah Winfrey-approved, as her fitness guru, Bob Greene, puts people through a 30-day challenge in the game. He sets up a variety of exercises that require between 20 and 40 minutes a day to complete, and which burn between 120 and 250 calories a workout.
I completed the 30-day challenge this week, and although I only lost five pounds, I believe that’s because I gained 10 pounds in muscle mass during that time, which limited my actual weight loss. As I continue, I believe I’ll lose a lot more weight.
In addition to some great workouts, the game also has people keep track of their lifestyle habits, such as how much sleep you get, how much water you drink, how many fast food meals you eat, what your stress and energy levels are at, and how many vegetables you eat.
I discovered that by taking this survey every day I made sure I ate more vegetables, I ate a lot less fast food meals, I drank more water and I got more sleep. I felt guilty when I had to take the survey and didn’t meet the game’s expectations.
Now that videogames are helping me get in shape, I’m hoping someone will invent a game that can put hair back on my balding head.
Positive thinking helps when life throws hardballs
It’s difficult writing a humor column when life throws hardballs, as it has over the past two weeks when my father-in-law, Brad, found out he has colon cancer and, following a surgery to remove it, it was revealed the cancer had spread.
But laughter and finding positives in this unfair world can be good medicines that may help him beat this.
He received a good dose of positive when his nephew, Ryan, came through on a promise people only fulfill in movies or television.
Ryan, a senior at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and an all-around great kid, races vehicles at the Slinger Super Speedway on the weekends in his quest to someday join his heroes – people like Dale Earnhardt – as a NASCAR racer. It’s a dream he’s had as long as I’ve known him, and probably long before that, too.
He visited his uncle in the hospital on Saturday and told Brad he was going to win the next day’s race for him.
Ryan has placed second in a couple of races, but he has never captured a checkered flag. Making a statement like that would be bold even for racers that have won dozens of races, but coming from someone who hasn’t completely proved himself on the track yet is beyond bold. It’s audacious.
I’d bet even overly-confident football player Terrell Owens and just-as-cocky NASCAR racer Tony Stewart would never promise to catch a touchdown pass or win a race for someone, knowing the odds are greatly stacked against them doing so.
Only Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig in the film “The Pride of the Yankees” could make such a promise – to hit two homeruns for a sick boy – and fulfill it. Well, Cosmo Kramer made a similar promise on Yankee Paul O’Neill’s behalf in an episode of “Seinfeld,” but that was only because he was trying to get back an autographed photo he accidentally gave to the boy.
Ryan not only came through on his promise, winning the 18-lap Thunderstock division race Sunday, Aug. 2, but he did so in a determined and convincing fashion, leading from start to finish.
The first thing he did after getting out of his vehicle was to call his uncle in the hospital and let him know he captured the checkered flag.
I get goose bumps every time I think about this feat, and it gives me, and others, hope that even if the odds are stacked against him, Brad will pull a Ryan and beat those odds.
Technically, we don’t even know what the battle will be like, as he hasn’t started chemotherapy yet and his doctor is still trying to determine the next course of action.
No matter what the doctor determines, we are optimistic Brad will be a good fighter. It’s in his genes. His cousin, Bob, was given months to live after being diagnosed with cancer. Bob’s still around, not only beating the odds he was given but smashing them into oblivion.
Bob visited his cousin this week in the hospital, living proof that positive thoughts work.
I know if anyone can beat cancer, it’s Brad. The guy has a stare he gives to people who wrong him or his family that would send even the strongest and mightiest of people whimpering back to their mamas. I’ve only seen this stare when he’s told me stories about others wronging him, and it scares the heck out of me. I bet he’ll stare his cancer down and every last cancer cell will bolt out of his body.
Also working in his favor is his own good, positive attitude. For him, he has said this is just another “bump in the road.” He even took time to show my 4-year-old son and his grandchild, Braden, his big band aid and talk about the special machines he’s hooked up to at the hospital. So if his toughness doesn’t beat it, his positive attitude probably will.
Or maybe just some good old-fashioned laughing will. Braden has become a master at making people laugh, so if we get him to see his grandpa enough that will be the ultimate medicine no doctor can prescribe.
But laughter and finding positives in this unfair world can be good medicines that may help him beat this.
He received a good dose of positive when his nephew, Ryan, came through on a promise people only fulfill in movies or television.
Ryan, a senior at the Milwaukee School of Engineering and an all-around great kid, races vehicles at the Slinger Super Speedway on the weekends in his quest to someday join his heroes – people like Dale Earnhardt – as a NASCAR racer. It’s a dream he’s had as long as I’ve known him, and probably long before that, too.
He visited his uncle in the hospital on Saturday and told Brad he was going to win the next day’s race for him.
Ryan has placed second in a couple of races, but he has never captured a checkered flag. Making a statement like that would be bold even for racers that have won dozens of races, but coming from someone who hasn’t completely proved himself on the track yet is beyond bold. It’s audacious.
I’d bet even overly-confident football player Terrell Owens and just-as-cocky NASCAR racer Tony Stewart would never promise to catch a touchdown pass or win a race for someone, knowing the odds are greatly stacked against them doing so.
Only Gary Cooper as Lou Gehrig in the film “The Pride of the Yankees” could make such a promise – to hit two homeruns for a sick boy – and fulfill it. Well, Cosmo Kramer made a similar promise on Yankee Paul O’Neill’s behalf in an episode of “Seinfeld,” but that was only because he was trying to get back an autographed photo he accidentally gave to the boy.
Ryan not only came through on his promise, winning the 18-lap Thunderstock division race Sunday, Aug. 2, but he did so in a determined and convincing fashion, leading from start to finish.
The first thing he did after getting out of his vehicle was to call his uncle in the hospital and let him know he captured the checkered flag.
I get goose bumps every time I think about this feat, and it gives me, and others, hope that even if the odds are stacked against him, Brad will pull a Ryan and beat those odds.
Technically, we don’t even know what the battle will be like, as he hasn’t started chemotherapy yet and his doctor is still trying to determine the next course of action.
No matter what the doctor determines, we are optimistic Brad will be a good fighter. It’s in his genes. His cousin, Bob, was given months to live after being diagnosed with cancer. Bob’s still around, not only beating the odds he was given but smashing them into oblivion.
Bob visited his cousin this week in the hospital, living proof that positive thoughts work.
I know if anyone can beat cancer, it’s Brad. The guy has a stare he gives to people who wrong him or his family that would send even the strongest and mightiest of people whimpering back to their mamas. I’ve only seen this stare when he’s told me stories about others wronging him, and it scares the heck out of me. I bet he’ll stare his cancer down and every last cancer cell will bolt out of his body.
Also working in his favor is his own good, positive attitude. For him, he has said this is just another “bump in the road.” He even took time to show my 4-year-old son and his grandchild, Braden, his big band aid and talk about the special machines he’s hooked up to at the hospital. So if his toughness doesn’t beat it, his positive attitude probably will.
Or maybe just some good old-fashioned laughing will. Braden has become a master at making people laugh, so if we get him to see his grandpa enough that will be the ultimate medicine no doctor can prescribe.
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