Me and My Plaid-Ensconced Nether Regions Dance Briefly with Nostalgia

          As you may or may not know, my eight year old son Jake is currently home schooled.  Recently, my mom bestowed upon me, a couple of boxes of what she referred to as “material for homeschooling.”  Knowing that my mom’s description of various things often does not at all match up to what she has described them,  I  shoved the huge, long file boxes into the trunk of my car and promptly forgot about them, moving on to much more imperative matters e.g., the classification of my lint collection according to color, mass and texture. 

                Fast forward a few months and you find a somewhat stymied me, trying to cram some bags of clothes for the “needy” into the trunk of my car.  Why won’t they go?!?  Don’t they understand that they are destined to be worn by Kansas City’s derelict population?  Ok, I admit it.  Odds are that they will more likely end up draped across the ultra cool limbs of angst ridden teenagers who are just a little too hip to shop at the likes of Target.  (Or… SHUDDER… Old Navy!)  Nevermind that said teenagers would never use a word like, “hip.”    Stay with me here!  You’re getting sidetracked.  The point is that the clothes did NOT want to go.  Or so I thought.  That was, until I searched underneath the bag and realized that the file boxes that I had so casually shoved towards the back of the trunk were still secreted away there, just waiting for the treasures within to be discovered.

                After giving the boxes a good scolding for attempting to prevent the clothes from realizing their ultimate destiny, I gingerly lifted one of the lids, reached inside with the hopes of grasping some small treasure and I pulled out a treasure indeed!  It was a children’s reader entitled, “Reading All around You,” and I knew that this was an important little reader as soon as I saw that it was published by the XEROX Company in 1974.  Maybe you didn’t hear me… THE XEROX COMPANY!  I’ll tell you, I made a decision right then and there: I sat down, allowed my eyes to roll backwards into my skull and headed straight for the door to my childhood memories.  I can always locate this door because ever since the summer of 1978, I have kept a “green machine” parked in front of it.  Of course, on the way, I grabbed by plaid polyester bell bottoms because those were my “everything but” britches as a child, so named because of the many activities that I engaged in while wearing them with the exception of one.  That is, burning twigs with a magnifying glass.  That activity requires Toughskins and we all know it, so don’t even challenge me on that one.

                So anyway, I sat down with my newfound little memory lane gem and began to leaf through it.  Now, I could go on a bit about all of the things that I came across that tickled my fancy (and my fancy plaid pants) but in the interest of keeping this post at a bearable length, I’ll mention only one entry that really did it for me.  Therefore, I give you the “Hamburger Page.”  That’s right, there was a page dedicated solely to educating all of us little peace kids on how to purchase a hamburger which, let’s face it, is essential information for all children in the 8-9 year age range.  But wait!  These weren’t just any hamburgers.  These were McDonald’s hamburgers and this was during a time when they had served only 750,000 and still had one guy with the  sole responsibility of going from location to location each day and changing the "numbers served" on the signs.  Yup, these were the “golden days” of the “golden arches.” 

                Now, there are a few things that I’d like to point out here.  First, look at how small the menu is by today’s standards.  There’s not much to choose from there and that’s a good thing.   No standing there while families endlessly tried to decide what they wanted.  No deliberation or arguments over which chicken nugget sauce to ask for.  Chicken nuggets?  What are those?!?  Also, this was apparently a time when you could tell them how you wanted the burger cooked… and they would do it.  Try that today and see what happens.  Ok, Ok, maybe you can request for your burger to be cooked a certain way these days, but it pretty much guarantees that you will be eating a burger that’s cooked the way you like but also has some unwanted, additional ingredients.  Yeah, you know what I’m saying.  Perhaps the most interesting thing for me though is that the kid bought a hamburger (actually, a “big, big hamburger!”) AND a milk shake and then got money back from a dollar!  You can’t get money back from a dollar at McDonalds today even if you buy off the dollar menu.  How enigmatic and depressing is that?

                Well, I could go on and on (and I usually do), but as a few of you know, I’m heading out on a family vacation to Colorado this evening and the mountains are calling.  Maybe if we stop at a McDonalds at some point on this vacation (Oh, please Lord, don’t let this happen!) I will walk in, hand the cashier a dollar, order a big big hamburger with a milk shake and then throw the reader on the counter and demand my change.  Worth a try, right???

     

Drooping Hairy Eyesores

Ok, here is something I have been struggling to understand for quite some time now.  Why, for the love of all that is good and just, would any guy want to drive around in a pickup truck with a pair of testicles hanging from the back of the tailgate!?!?!?  Have you seen these?  What causes a person to derive any type of satisfaction from such a thing?  Maybe there are some of you out there who understand this.  Maybe, just maybe, there are even some of you reading this who have a pair of “man plumbs” dangling from the back of your truck at this very moment.  If so, I certainly welcome your input, that is, as long as you don’t send me any framed photos of your metallic manhood and it’s ever drooping “marble pouch.”  

Now, I could spend quite a bit of time expostulating on the many possible reasons why a guy would want to proudly display one of these “suspended supplements” on the back of his vehicle.  Perhaps there are guys who simply enjoy being able to jump out of a truck and lovingly gaze upon a pair of “virile gumdrops.”  Yes, that’s probably it: Some guys just like to stare at male genitalia every chance they get because it kind of gives them a special feeling.  A lascivious tingling if you will.  I suppose I shouldn’t judge.   So, in the interest of not judging, I decided instead to contact my good friend, Jasper T. Vetch and have him contact BullsBalls.  Jasper is an ACA and is quite adept when it comes to confronting various institutions with concerns that need to be addressed.  So, without any further ado, I give you Jasper T. Vetch and his attempted correspondence with the founder of BullsBalls…

You say “Router”, I say “Quido”!

Originally Posted: November 3, 2011

Ok, folks... what's the deal?  Every time I pronounce the word ‘router’ sounding like "rooter," people feel the need to loudly and adamantly cry out, "it's ROUTER!" (sounding like ‘rowter’)   Feel free to go back and read that sentence again because, you won’t know how  to read it until you’ve already read it and frankly, I’m pretty sure that some of you didn’t do it justice.  So go ahead.  Go back and read it and really shout “ROWTER” indignantly when you get to that part.  Well, Were waiting…

Ok, so anyway, why do people get so indignant over the pronunciation of a word?  I think it may be a bit of a knee-jerk defense of one's technological IQ.  I mean, isn’t that what a big part of a person’s “value” is these days in the eyes of others?  The more you know about technology, especially computer related, the more of a stud you are.  Let’s face it, a pretty face, fabulous smile and meticulously manscaped body just isn’t enough anymore.  You’ve got to be a computer whiz.  You must not only have the know-how to download and burn your own movies, but also be able to link pretty much any electronic device that you currently possess.  That's right, even the toaster and the nose hair trimmer because honestly, I don't want to even think about a world in which those two items are not connected in some fashion.  You're getting the picture, right?  Technological savvy is the current status indicator.  Ok, maybe I've begun to swing the hammer at that nail a bit maniacally so I'll set it down gently and slowly back away.  Just remember, I can still dive for it if needed.

Now just to be clear, I'm not arguing that "rooter" is the correct pronunciation of the word.  In fact, when I discovered that most people were pronouncing it wrong…er… I mean, differently from me, I did a bit of internet research to try and discover the proper pronunciation and found many people on both sides of this phonetic argument.  Still, information surrounding the original pronunciation of the word in an IT setting remains nebulous.  One piece of information did become clear in my quick but thorough (enough) blog research:  The word is pronounced as "rowter" most often in the US and as "rooter" most often in the UK.  Still another piece of interesting information is that each side claims to pronounce the word correctly and views those who pronounce it differently as unenlightened imbeciles.  Yes, it would be quite interesting to be a mouse on a desk at an American/British IT convention when talk of routers breaks out.  And yea, there would be much pulling of hair and gouging of eyes among the Geeky ranks.   Each camp would be chanting their own pronunciation louder and louder in an effort to drown out the foolish foes until finally a brave, if not scrawny, soul would run out in front of the rest twirling an Ethernet cord and shouting “ROUTER!” (go with your favored pronunciation here) ala William Wallace in Bravehart.

But, as usual, I digress.  My point here is that it's just a word and knowing how word pronunciations change over time and locale, let's all try to let it slide.  It’s just a word and guess what?  Like it or not, it has more than one pronunciation. Rest assured, that a group of Tennessee Hillbillies would laugh just as loudly at you if they heard you pronounce the word, “creek” as you would when hearing them pronounce it.  Ok, maybe the hill folk would cackle more than laugh, but you get my meaning. 

Now, I know it’s hard for some of you, because everything needs to be black or white, dark or light, hot or cold, tech or non-tech, etc.  Fortunately, because I know how hard it is, I’ve come up with a solution that I believe will help us all get along and keep our IT egos from becoming bruised. Let’s just change the name of those little magical boxes to a new word, one which flows off the tongue so effortlessly that there is no question how it ought to be pronounced.  What greater way to bring about unity in this matter?  Yes, let’s scrap “router” with its evil ying & yang pronunciations and usher in a new era.  From here on out, I will be referring to those cute little boxes as "Guido,"  and I would appreciate it if you would all follow suit.  Keep in mind, that the tech integrity of the entire world depends upon all of our cooperation on this matter.  Oh, and no need to congratulate me on choosing such a magnificent name that just drips from the lips and couldn’t possibly be mispronounced.  Just use it.  Use it proudly.  Scream it out from every PC, Wii, Xbox and Blue ray player!  GUIDO!  GUIDO!  GUIDO!

The flusterating™ times of JJSB

Originally Posted: December 6, 2011

So… do any of the rest of you have trouble with basic memory function or is it just little old neurotic me? I swear!  There must be a short somewhere in the melon perched atop my shoulders and possibly even extending to my spinal column. I suppose it will only get worse as I am not about to allow anyone near my head with a scalpel and forceps to investigate the source of the problem.

Instead, we’ll try a little online journal therapy and see if that helps.
To that end, here’s the most recent episode in my journey into exhaustive memory instability:

  I go to TARGET to purchase some important items.  i.e. Thank you notes, “feminine products” and duct tape.  I finish my shopping and go up to the checkout, giddy with the notion that I will be using my Target debit card for the first time and get that crucial 5% discount on my purchase. 

It is TIME TO PAY, so I pull out my card, slide it and the checker said, “Oh… it says ‘not approved'.” 

I   p a u s e    staring at him and thinking, “Oh great, Target didn’t get my card activated properly.  IDIOTS!”  Then I look down and realize that I have just used my “Benny" card which is actually a flexible spending VISA card which can be used only for medical items.  Now, before all of you start chanting “IDIOT!” in joyous unison please take a moment to consider the following information:  The “Benny” card is red just like the Target card so it would be nice if you would give me just a small amount of leeway on this one.  Perhaps instead of designating me as the "Target Dimwit," you may consider allowing me the somewhat more dignified title of "Confused Target Imbecile."   You may also consider the fact that the feminine products (and perhaps even the duct tape) could be considered medically necessary; although I had recently emptied my flexible spending account so I suppose that the medical efficacy of the items is moot... 

I      s-t-a-m-m-m-e-r   something about using the wrong card because they are both red and think to myself, no big deal… I can recover my poise.  I can still curtail this public embarrassment.

I locate the Target card, slide it then hit “cancel” to process as credit. 

The purchase cancels. 

The checker looks confused, not understanding why the purchase has cancelled. 

Sadly, I REPEAT THE SAME PROCESS TWO MORE TIMES.

It suddenly dawns on me that since it is a Target DEBIT card, it cannot be processed as a CREDIT card.  I mutter something to this effect to the checker trying to sound like I'm actually quite intelligent for deducing this fairly obvious fact.  He asks me if I can remember my PIN.   At this point in time, I am at 90% flusteration™ and the only PIN that I can think of is 1234. 

My face REDDENS enough to successfully match the color of the Target card and I reluctantly admit that I can't remember it even as each PIN that I have ever had instantly and magically begins running through my mind in an endless t-r-a-i-n of digits.

NOTE: I had set up the PIN via phone THE NIGHT BEFORE.  This very thought, grating in the back of my mind, brings my flusteration™ up to 95%.  Any chance of regaining any level of clear headed decision making ability in time to complete this purchase is quickly flying out Target's automatic doors.

I STAND THERE for a few seconds (which feels like hours) and then finally the checker says, “Well, I guess you can’t use it then.”

I quickly pull out another debit card, pay with it and then said, “Darn, I don’t get my 5% discount now.”  (At least I’m pretty sure I used the word, “darn.”)

The checker attempts to comfort me with the knowledge that there is a 1-800 number on the card that I can call.  I do not feel comforted.

I slink out of the store, now at FULL flusteration™ and somewhat rankled over losing the $3.50 that represented the 5% savings that I would have received by using the Target card.

The NEXT DAY, I suddenly remember that I set the PIN as the same four digit code as another PIN that I have.  Smart, right?  WRONG!  Unfortunately, along with the aforementioned piece of information, my memory also offers me a choice of two possible PINs that I might have used but won’t tell me which one I ended up going with.

I WAIT A FEW DAYS…   I'm out running errands and I finally give in and call the 1-800 number expecting to have to explain to a customer service rep how big of a fool I am because I can't retain the memory of  a 4 digit number for a mere 18 hours and that I didn’t even bother to make a note of it anywhere..   It turns out that the call is entirely automated.  HURRAY for computers! They rarely judge and when they do it's never quite as harsh as an actual human, not to mention one that is consigned to answering calls from fools at 8:30 in the evening.  The aUt0mat3d v0ic3 that answered my call happened to be full of peace, love and understanding.  (Now we know whatever happened to all those things.)

I     p a t i e n t l y   work my way through the numbered options and when I get to the option where I can change the PIN, I instantly remember the exact number I had chosen in the first place.  No, I’m not kidding.  The number  suddenly came right to my mind.  I could have hung up right then, but I didn’t.  After all I had been through, I just had to plant the flag of victory so I entered the PIN when prompted and changed it to the other number I had considered using in the first place, which of course, I could also remember vividly at this point in time.

I proceed to Target, purchase items with the card, enter the PIN correctly, receive approximately $3.50 in discounts and proudly walk out of the store with my head held high.  

!VICTORY! WAS MINE… at last...    I think...

So, again I ask, do any of the rest of you have trouble with basic memory function?  Do you ever feel like you are on the same journey towards exhaustive memory instability?

If so, please share with me and maybe, just maybe, we can spend some time travelling together on this journey.  That is if we can even recognize one another OR remember our own names.