Public Probiscus Probing is apparently more prevalent than any mother would permit. Public Probiscus Probing is possibly premeditated, potentially pathogenic and permanently past the point of polite persuasion.
Purge the urge to Publicly Probe your Probiscus. Please.
A smoking ban went into effect statewide about two weeks ago. In this state, it is now illegal to smoke inside public buildings. There are exceptions, like bars that gross less than 20% of their sales from food, but most places do not fit the parameters.
Smokers are upset and angry. From their perspective, their rights have been usurped. I offer this compromise: since smoking inside public places has been accepted for hundreds of years (let’s use 300 years as a talking point), it strikes me as fair that in another 300 years we’ll switch back. Taking turns, so to speak. Sounds fair to me.
The remote control for the TV is such a convenient piece of technology. Snuggled into a comfortable corner of the couch, getting up to change the channel is one of those stories we tell our children about the “good ol days.” “You mean you had to get up and walk across the room to change the channel!!?”” they ask, eyes wide open in disbelief. “Yes, dear, we would even watch the commercials.”
My, how times have changed. Remote controls are indeed marvels, unless left in the wrong hands. It has been my personal experience that those hands invariably belong to a man. To actually watch one show in its entirety, without missing at least one or two important pieces of information because we have been cheating on our original show of choice, is one of those events one can only reminisce about and remember fondly. You know, in the days before remote controls….
I love the remote/I hate the remote.
Reading the newspaper every day is one of my life-long habits. Qwirky bits of information, jaw-dropping stories of man’s inhumanity to man, funny stupid criminal tricks and tidbits to use in conversation with all kinds of people populate the pages. What is of particular of interest on any given day varies, but it is a daily ritual that helps grease the wheels of daily interaction, and as a bonus, gives me a few moments to sit down and relax.
Even on a busy day, Annie’s Mailbox (the succession to the Ann Landers column) is on my list of items that at least has to be skimmed for content. The column is a kind of Every Man’s psychologist’s office. One that comes free of charge for those who just want a place to vent, or for the more serious questioners who either can’t afford to pay the real deal or don’t want it known that professional help would be in order.
This morning, “Fit and Beautiful from the Midwest” was chagrinned that her friends were fond of pointing out in a round about way that she is older than her latest beau. The group of women supposedly all get along famously until Ms. F&B is in the company of a gentleman. The team at Annie’s Mailbox took the tack that Ms. F&B sounded as if she were preening and showing off in front of her female friends. Afterall, her “new beau” is, from the sound of her letter, the latest in a succession of younger male friends whose company she keeps. Her friends know her well and possibly see this as her new trophy boyfriend of the week. That can get to be tedious.
The other possibility is that they genuinely are jealous of her ability to attract younger men, or what would very sad, any man. Whichever scenario is true, if these women really are her friends, they should zip their lips. If Miss F&B is acting out her insecurities or they are acting out theirs, either way, the “friends” should be silent. Once having had a friend who did exactly the same thing, my suspicion is the former. Being her friend meant overlooking her foolishness and self-deception, but for her, and I suspect for Ms. F&B, acknowledging the truth would be far more painful.
Cell phones are ubiquitious. A convenience for most and helpful in myriads of ways, cell phones are a necessity on occasion, even a lifesaver from time to time. Most of us have one. I have one.
There are times though, that I just shake my head and wonder, “What are you thinkin’, Jethro?” Especially sad are the parents walking around with their children while having an extremely animated conversation with the voice on the other end of the cell phone. Important message, get milk on the way home–something brief and to the point, then hang up and pay attention to your kids.
Having a fight in public is never comfortable for the innocent bystanders who just want to get out of the way. Screaming into a cell phone while walking down the street is just plain rude. The rest of us might have sympathy for you under different circumstances, but when the choice is made to make the rest of us participants just because we had the bad luck and unfortunate timing to be on the same street corner at the same time as you and your phone, all empathy disappears.
Whatever it is can wait for the right time and place. In the meantime, pay attention to your kids, and quit fighting in public. If you only had a brain, or a heart….
Reality is that one has to be a gardener with a slightly warped sense of humor to truly appreciate the joke, but we all know someone who would do this in a heartbeat. Belongs in the same category as a Christmas or Birthday gift that has a cord attached.
PS: Editing the cartoon to a readable size was a tad tricky. For a better view, click directly on the picture, then wait for it to open in a seperate window, making it easier to read. For your convenience the caption reads “Give a woman some flowers, please her for a day–Teach her to grow flowers, please her for a lifetime.” Thanks for your patience.
A-a-a-h-h. The wind in your hair. The roar of the engine. That exhilerating sense of freedom. Motorcycle season has arrived in this part of the country. It’s time to share the ride and share the road.
In the early 1970’s, Robert Persig wrote a philosophy book that actually had very little to do with a state of Zen, Buddha or even motorcycles. Great title, though. I am sure that there are those who do feel as if they are close to nature–experiencing an exhilerating epiphany of sorts as they roar down the highway. Strikes me as a tremendous oxymoron (inner peace vs outer noise), but who am I to quibble with how another internalizes the experience.
What I do quibble with, however, is the large percentage of motorcycle enthusiasts that are not as generous when it comes to how others get to enjoy the day. Packs of 20-30 riders at a time go roaring past disturbing my attempt at any kind of quiet afternoon. Forget trying to sit outside and read a book. If it happened once on any given weekend day, I could be give it a by, but come the first warm holiday weekend, it happens intermittently all day, all weekend. Call me grouchy, but it’s getting way out of hand. Cars have to have mufflers that meet a certain standard. Seems to me that it’s only fair that motorcycles should have to do the same.
What really cracks me up is the Brotherhood, expressing their individuality. It’s almost a cliche: blue jeans, black t-shirt, grey mustache, mirrored sunglasses. Motorcyclists pass each other going opposite ways on the same road. Each stretches out the inside hand in a low salute, a gesture of friendliness or kinship or solidarity. A sign that they get it and we non-riders don’t. If they really want some respect, ride responsibly. The young ones fly past my driveway at 90-100 miles an hour on their jock rockets. Slow down. If the packs want to be neighborly and friendly, do some of that aforementioned maintenance and stick a real muffler on it….
Innocently answering the phone this evening, I was slightly amused, but not belly laughing, when the caller responded to my “Hello” with, quote “Who is this?” using an extremely nasty and angry tone in her voice. How dare me not be the person she thought she was calling.
Although not the most mannerly way to talk to me, I decided to give her a pass, laughing as I responded: “Let’s start from scratch. Since you called me, how about if you go first?” Her reaction was to say something very unpleasant, (a two-word phrase, one word having four letters), and emphatically hang up. Sigh.
A refresher course for those who have forgotten that a little courtesy greases the world in a myriad of ways. When calling someone, it is considered pro forma to identify yourself first, then ask for the person you want to talk to. Secondly, if you did dial the wrong number, have a sense of humor about your own foibles. Say “Sorry” or “Excuse the ring” or “Next time I should put on my glasses when using the phone”. Any such response will leave both mildly bemused. Tossing out a sucker punch instead is so low class.
For those few who do not who Ann Coulter is, let me put it this way: Atilla the Hun in Sheep’s clothing. She is pretty, blonde and as mean-spirited as they come.
Last week on Hannity and Colmes Coulter said that if John McCain won the Republican nomination for president, she would support and campaign for Hillary Clinton. The irony in that lies in knowing that Ann Coulter was part of Paula Jones’ legal team–an unparalleled Clinton hater. She is sarcastic, disrespectful and deceitful.
In one way I think of Jane Fonda (in her Vietnam war youth) when I think of Ann Coulter. Both had access to public airways, using that access to make astonishing indelible impressions that will be tied to each, be that good or bad, forever.
Jane Fonda has matured and grown to regret her methods and the majority of what she said. That sense of inner knowing does not strike me as a possibility for Ann Coiulter. She has bcome increasingly strident, not reflective or ever pausing to care about anyone else’s life or feelings.
Ask me who I would vote for as a human being, mistakes and all? Jane Fonda.