Category Archives: Humor

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Holidays, Humor

Holiday Mashup (Sweet Stuffing)

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Holiday Mashup – Thanksgiving + Halloween. I am into subject mashups these days. I am not sure why. Perhaps its a lazy way of being creative. You take two good ideas and combine them and they become one great supercalifragilistic idea. It’s like peanut and chocolate or for my money chocolate and raspberry. Well that is the goal anyway.

We as americans are too eager to move on to the next big thing and when it comes to holidays we are no different. Well before the halloween candy has been consumed and little Johnny is being checked for diabetes, we are taking down the plastic pumpkins and replacing them with little Johnnies hand turkey he made at school.

I suggest we combine Halloween and Thanksgiving. The average amount of break time between those two holiday innings has to be less than a week and at the rate things are going they will be merging soon anyway.

Rather than giving out tasty but unhealthy treats for Halloween we can use it as an opportunity to give away our leftover turkey and cranberries. I’m sure the kids won’t be thrilled but hey it’s time for little johnny to drop some of that junk in the trunk anyway.

If you’re concerned about falling asleep after thanksgiving dinner then use candy corn for your stuffing. The sugar will keep you awake a little while longer and you’ll get rid of candy that your grandmother bought in 1953.

Combining your holidays will allow you to combine your decorations and cut down on the amount of time decorating. My brother in law has a stuffed wild turkey that he puts out on his lawn for Thanksgiving every year. I think putting it out for Halloween can be just as scary as a pumpkin. I ran into that thing one night and thought I was in the middle of a Wes Craven movie. Ruined a perfectly good pair of shorts.*

Combining the two could also be quite educational for the children. They could dress up as colonists of the era complete with buckled shoes. “What is so scary about that?”. Two words; colonial dentistry. Which brings up another strong point to this idea. Smaller Dentist bills.

By combining Halloween and Thanksgiving, time and money could be saved and we all know what that means ….more time and money for Christmas shopping.

*This is hyperbole folks, really.
Feel free to leave me a comment with a suggestion as to what the combined holiday should be called.

Humor, Uncategorized, Writing

Dawn of the Living Character Mash-up (Target Audience Characterpalooza)

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I had just completed developing a new character for a series of books I was planning. I was quite proud of Zach and his bright shiny characteristics would appeal to a huge audience.

It was late and the braincells that had not been weeded out by reading, writing and drinking were telling me it was time to hit the sack. I knew enough not to argue, besides arguing with said brain cells would qualify me for a new room with really soft walls and some funky pajamas.

The following morning announced itself brightly and forced me to achieve consciousness. I have got to hang some blinds in that window, I thought. A hot shower and a cup of joe later I headed up to my writers nook anxious to let my character roam freely across the blank pages of my mind; no comment from the gallery please.

I took a seat in my writer’s chair*, powered up my laptop and opened up the notes file for Zach and stared at a blank ‘page’. I waited a few moments for the page to render itself but still nothing. No words, no stray commas, nothing. I double checked the laptop but it was fine. Unfortunately I had not bothered to back up my notes, Zach had disappeared.

It was as if the notes came together to create Zach and he walked off the page (or is it out of the file?). At that moment I heard screams off in the distance. Strange, I guess that’s what happened, I thought.

Well, he is relatively harmless. What could happen? The first rays of light that found him would kill him. That’s what happens to all vampires. Oops, not this one. He has an annoying habit of just sparkling in the sun. It was a surefire way to attract an audience of teenage girls. Vampires can be very romantic until the sun hits them. The whole ‘mass of putrid flesh’ thing is too grody for teenage girls to handle. Sparkling is much more fashionable.

That’s fine, I thought it’s not like he doesn’t have other limitations. As a vampire-zombie he will start decaying soon and no teenage girl will stick around long enough to be in danger. It’s a good thing I took that whole 50 shades of gray thing literally. He should be fairly easy to kill. An axe to the head and a stake to the heart should do the trick.

I gave the problem a bit more thought and found an additional flaw with that scenario. As a vampire-zombie-wizard he may be able to use magic to re-attach his head, as long he still has a wand and one of his hands. That can be overcome, I thought. He can still be killed, if in addition to removing the head and staking the heart his hands are also removed. That can’t be too difficult can it? No, definitely not a deal-breaker. The bigger problem is if he finds a broom and takes to the air. If that happens all bets are off.

This last thought put a damper on the whole ‘stop the character and save the local populace’ notion. I had run out of ideas and enthusiasm. It would be easier to
create a new character from scratch. This time I will have to rethink the whole vampire-zombie-wizard concept. Perhaps I went a little overboard trying to maximize the target audience. Now if I can just ignore the screams until Zach moves on to the next neighborhood. I hope he finds a broom.

*No , it’s nothing fancy, just a regular chair but since I would be writing it became my writers chair. It was parked in front of a desk. A writer’s desk. You can see where this is going.

Humor

More Tales from Vegas ( read ‘Tales from Vegas’ for the first installment)

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#Vegas

After a few drinks with my friend we plan to meet for breakfast and we head back to our respective hotels. We  were doing this on the cheap, although his hotel was more respectable than mine the quality of his room made up for it . Mine had no inkling of respectability and it didn’t seem to apologize for it.

When I  had checked into my room earlier I noticed the clientele seemed to be a little more grittier than  the last time I was in Vegas. That was a different hotel and evidently had higher standards.

This hotel claimed it was owned by Bugsy back in the day. I though , well it had something going for it , back in the day.  How do I know it’s the same Bugsy that started this whole thing. How did they know it was the same Bugsy.

I walk to my hotel, enter the room and get ready for bed. I notice the marbled tile in the bathroom contained a pattern of brownish red swirls . Perfect for hiding blood stains across the ages. Convenient for covering up the past transgressions of a guy named  Bugsy, I thought.

I take one last glimpse of Vegas from my room before hitting the sack. Gazing out my window I noticed a check cashing business across the street.  It was not immediately recognizable as such. It took me a few moments to make out the business sign. It had been installed upside down.  I wonder what the story behind that is, I thought.

I go to bed excited for tomorrow. Dawn does not come until all of my thoughts have escaped my brain and have been reinterpreted into dreams.

I awake outside my window and interestingly enough I am able to read the check cashing sign with no difficulty.  I am clueless however as to what the signs on the surrounding businesses spell out. The need for me to grab my glasses before they fall off my face is a big clue as to my predicament.

Two men of New York persuasion wearing fedoras are holding on to my ankles as I dangle outside my hotel room. They are either performing an experiment with gravity or they need something from me. I am concluding the latter. They don’t seem to be the scientist type.

“Bugsy, we know yous got the dough. Your joint seems to be quite, um, what’s the word I’m looking for?”

“Prosperous, “ I offer. Definitely not scientists.

“Yea , that’s it prosperous.”

“Dough, what dough? “I managed to croak out as the blood rushes to my head.

“Don’t kid us. The dough you borrowed from Mr Lansky.  He is starting to believe that perhaps your not paying your entire tribute towards your debt.”

Mr. Lansky? Tribute? what in the name of J Edgar Hoover were they talking about?

“Listen, um,  Gentlemen. I have no idea what you are talking about?  Are you sure you have the right guy?

“Is you Bugsy and do you own a casino?”

“Well yea but the whole Bugsy thing is fairly new. I thought it would be a swell nickname . You know something the dames would like.”

“Cute story but Mr Lansky wants his money.  You seem to share two important ,um , qualities, yea thats it, with the man who owes it to him.  Your name is Bugsy and you own a Casino. That’s good enough for us.”

“Yea , I can see where you’re going with this. How much does this Bugsy character owe?,” I ask with the hope it is not too much cash to scrounge up in a minutes notice.

“A cool twenty grand would get you on the right side of Mr. Lansky for a while.”

Twenty grand, what a coincidence, I thought. I had a cheque for just that amount  that was destined for the bank . It covered the receipts for the week.

“ I don’t suppose you would take a cheque for that amount would you?”

The fit of laughter the two mooks had just about caused them to drop me. I made a mental note not to bring it up again.

With the blood pooling in my head it was really tough to see let alone concentrate but I managed to remember the check cashing joint across the street. The one with the sign easy to read by persons in my particular predicament. Convenient, I thought.

I convince the mooks I have the dough but need to cash a cheque across the street. The location gives them a warm and fuzzy, however fuzzy a mook can get, that I won’t be able to get away with anything.

At the cheque cashing joint I give the dough to the mooks. One of them smacks me on the back , smiles, and apologizes for interrupting my sleep. They both exit to the street and  leave me at the counter to collect my wits and allow my blood to resume it’s normal route.

“I gather those gentlemen just collected on debt you owe?” asked the proprietor.

“Yes I say, I guess the color of my blood filled face gave me away.”

“Yea, that and I have seen a lot of that kind of thing running this place. “

“Yes, well I owe my life to your flawed sign hanging skills”

“Flawed? I did that on purpose. That sign can be read my many a man  in the same situation you found yourself in.  It has directed a lot of business my way. I am glad  I could help but I can’t say that I will miss it. “

“Miss it?”

“Yes I am retiring”.

I woke up in a cold sweat in fear of mooks from New York. It took me a few moments to calm down and realize it was just a dream.  Before meeting my friend for breakfast my curiosity caused a detour in my route and I stopped by the cheque cashing  business.

An old man at the counter greeted me and introduced himself as Lawrence, “but you can call me Larry.” I asked him about a guy name Bugsy that used to own the casino across the street.

“Well I have heard things,” he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.  “I heard that he almost met a tragic ending due to a nickname mix up. He gave up the business and the nickname .”

“You don’t say,” I replied. “What was the man’s real name?”

“I believe it was Lawrence,” he replied.

I smiled, “You don’t say.”

Football, Humor

The Epic Saga of The Armchair Quarterback

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Since my football team, the Chicago Bears, are not playing today and since their QB is currently injured I thought I would reprise an older post I had on my old blog. It was in defense of the Bears QB who had been called soft by a portion of the  sports ‘reporting’ community.  Enjoy.

The battlefield lay prone below the sky and the intense rays of the sun.  The  300 warriors were coalescing their forces for possibly their final battle of the season.  The fight had already lasted half the afternoon and fatigue and injuries had taken their toll on the combatants. They could no longer protect their General, Jayus Cutlerous. He was a stoic leader with the heart of battle hardened warrior. But he too was battered from a  full season of conflicts supported by green troops who often times failed to protect him as well as they should.

The 299 gathered around their leader to listen to the news that could be their death nell. He had taken a pounding and sustained  injuries that would prevent him from continuing to lead them in battle. “Well thats it then” stated the battlefield tactician Loveticus Smithopolous. No longer can you lead us into battle. You can barely stand.”

“That is not true let me give it one more shot” asked Jayus as he stood once more only to collapse once again.

“No it is obvious you would do more harm to yourself and the team if you were to continue” stated Loveticus.

“Perhaps, but what of the gladiator code?” pleaded a dejected Jayus. “What of Bretticus Farver, uh, Favreous, I can never get the name right but you know of who I speak of and his deeds of glory that have spread across the land . What of  Maurice Jones of Drewious  and Dionious Sanderpopolis  and their recent comments.”

“Jayus , let me address these one at a time. As for Bretticus Farver, uh well you know who.  He always did more harm than good on the battlefield.”

“You mean when he was injured?” interjected Jayus.

“Um, yea that is what I meant. And this Maurice Jones of Drewious you speak of. Is he a great warrior and spoke of often across the land?”

“Well,” said Jayus. ” He is a warrior. He fights for the Jaguars in the south.”

Loveticus snickered and replied “Oh, that explains it.  They have never gotten to the  the final battle. Well when he makes it into ValHalla then let me know, until then he should be silent.  As for Sanderpopolis he was a warrior and had great speed which he used mostly to avoid being hit.”

“I see what you mean Loveticus. But can I ignore the statements of Clayus Mateus who is on his way to the final battle.”

“Please,” laughed Loveticus. “From Mateus they are more utterances than statements. I am surprised he can string more than a few syllables together. Yes, he is on his way to the final battle and seems to be talked of across the land but the public is fickle and swayed by his long golden locks. Which, by the way , I happen to know their weight in ounces is greater than his IQ.”

“ No Jayus. Do not listen to these has beens , flavors of the month and the soon to be forgotten. I council you to instead turn to those warriors whose deeds have stood the test of time, took them to Valhalla or the final battle  and in some cases had a trophy named after them. Turn to such hallowed combatants  as Joseph Theismanous and Dickus Butkisious.  True men of war who won the ultimate battle or achieved the honor of entering Valhalla  and in the case of Butkisious looked back on playing hurt and decided he had more than enough  brain cells to know better.”

“Thank you Loveticus I will reflect on you words of wisdom” replied a grateful Jayus.

“So were done here?”

“Yes,” replied Steve  the re-enactor playing Loveticus. “But take what Loveticus, er I, said seriously.  This battle stuff  is just a  good way to get some exercise and fresh air while were young.  You don’t want to get to the point where at the ripe old age of 45 you have to have someone push you to a mirror only to have to them explain to you that the man in the mirror is you.  Go home and get some ice on that knee”

“Food for thought” said Jayus, known to the other re-enactors as Frank.

“Its just as well we finished early. “Its my turn to pick up the little one from T-Ball practice. It looks as though my minivan is blocked in. Who are those guys in those trucks  anyway?”

“Well, for the sake of the re-enactment were calling them scribes but they are really sports reporters.”

“Did they have scribes back in the day of the 300” asked Frank.

“ Well were not exactly sure but we figure where ever there are sweaty men grappling there are other men with no       knowledge and plenty of opinions to give advice. Some times they are hard to tell apart from the spectators.”

Humor

Tales From Vegas

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I am on my way to the airport and my stereo system , not finding the artist I commanded it to play,  chooses on it’s own.

Fresh beats hit the speakers and the sounds of  a dance number titled  “Breakfast in Vegas” by Praga Khan are reverberating around the panels of my Fiesta. That’s right , it’s a party on the road. I am a few hamsters shy of having a car commercial on my hands.

Since I am on my way to Vegas I find this whole scenario interesting but not worth much thought. Vegas as a force can put gravity to shame.  The origins of Vegas is a well known story but it is hard to believe that a group of writers were not involved. The collection of characters that inhabit this city should insure that no writer  ever passing through suffer from writers block.

From the neon signs that have been abandoned by their host buildings to the upside down check cashing sign and the house that Bugsy built there are tales clamoring to be told. Every corner turned and every hotel safe opened reveals a bit about the night or the decade before.

Checking into my room I inspect the functionality of the hotel safe. My laptop is old but it contains hundreds of stories and the thousands of hours spent crafting them. Once assured of it’s security I place my computer into it but discover an empty packet for some kind of endurance product named Rhino something or other. Wow,this person took their gambling serious, I thought.  I flipped over the other side of the packet and read the fine print.  A revelation popped into my head, oh that’s what they took seriously. I guess it was in the safe for extreme emergencies and I guess he had one.

Having locked up my dreams* for the night, I headed down to the street to join the characters that would inhabit my world for the next few days. I am in the downtown section of Vegas where things tend to be grittier. It has more of a state fair atmosphere than the strip. Less than a block from the hotel I discover a little bar that has a section exposed to the street complete with barstools outside so you can enjoy your drink and people watch at the same time.  I make a note of it and decide to check out what is happening further downtown. I am meeting up with one of my oldest friends tonight and by oldest I mean he has been a good friend for a long time. He also just happens to be older than me.** His flight puts him in Vegas a few hours from now so I have some time to burn.

I head down to one of the stage areas where free concerts are always going on. Tonight it’s Elvis. I am now officially in Vegas. Truth be told, I could have done better but there was not a keg of beer and a karaoke machine in site. After a while I move past Elvis and make my way down the block to the next stage complete with band. I didn’t catch their name but they seem to be a hair band tribute. Which hair band? Apparently all of them. After listening to their version of Bon Jovi’s version of  the Thin Lizzie song “The Boys Are Back In Town”, I decide that this is my cue to go back to my newfound bar because surely the boys are back in town

Getting back to the bar I  sit down at the outside section . It’s the kind of a place where they may not know your name but are friendly enough to make one up for you.

I pick up a drink menu. It announces  the name of this place as “The Park”. Strange, not a tree or blade of grass in sight, I thought. Glancing around I notice the only business sign attached to the building, a small unassuming neon job with an arrow pointing to the bar and the words “Park”.  That seals the deal. With the sign and the excellent beers on the menu I decide this place is now my favorite bar in Vegas***. I have officially found my orbit in the gravitational field of Vegas.  I obey the sign and stay for a while. I text my friend my location and settle in with a fine brew.

I people watch and continue to consume brews and time passes quickly. You know how it is when you are minding someone else’s business. I soon hear the familiar greeting of my friend and I welcome him to my new favorite bar. Seeing the “Park” sign he approves of my choice. We toast the visit and both agree that this will be a good time, tales will be told and new ones generated. Writers block should not be an issue for a while.

*Hey it’s a metaphor, I am trying to be literary here.

**Yes, its a smart ass shout out to my friend James.

*** When I am in a new town I feel that I have not officially visited unless I have found a favorite bar. It usually does not take long even in a large city. It gives me a home base for the current and perhaps subsequent visits.

Humor

Forward Progress

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Corporal Daniel Thomas of the National Galactic Federation sucked on a freeze-dried coffee cube and pondered the days activities. Nothing was planned. This was not out of the ordinary aboard the USS Librarius. His two-year mission was to boldly go where no librarian had gone before. As a consequence of too much sitting he was stressing his butt cheeks  like no man had stressed his butt cheeks before.

For the sake of his sanity he had taken to reading through the libraries vast collection of electronic records. He belonged to the record keeping section of the federation, the American Sun StoreHouse. Yes he worked for ASS. The acronym was unfortunate and not well thought out but their mission was important none the less. They were in charge of the accumulation, storage and preservation of all known collected data generated by earth before its sun burnt out. That’s ASP for those keeping track of acronyms. Yes, fairly tame.

Up until this mission all he had known about the suns extinguishment was that it had caught the earths inhabitants somewhat by surprise. The only survivors of the planet where those that were off world attached to some government mission or on a private space tour. This had always baffled him. It wasn’t as if they were without warning. Although pretty quick, light from the sun did take some time to reach earth and the process of fuel burning out wasn’t like switching off a light. There would be some dimming for a while which would have prompted people to get their shit together.

He had stumbled upon the explanation quite by accident and much to the surprise of the scientific community. The details of how he came to his conclusions had not yet been published and currently he was dancing around that subject as long as he could. For the moment he was front and center on the world’s stage and he intended to stay in the spotlight as long as possible.

He had started a daily habit of reading through the diary section of the personal records collection. These were all known recovered diaries of the last inhabitants of earth. Initially it was slow going. They were quite cryptic and seem to be encoded. They began to make sense once he figured out they were ordered by the age of their authors. Since most of them he had been started when the authors where teenagers, the word “like” was used to fulfill every part of the structure of a sentence, often multiple parts of the same sentence.

This realization allowed him to skip forward to their later collections where the use of the word “like” became infrequent and took on its traditional role in a sentence. Clarity was much more frequent. It was here that he began to formulate his idea or what the scientific community would call his hypothesis.

He noticed many references to the use of devices called smart-phones. It seems its use had replaced most forms of human interaction. There were many examples of authors chatting to friends solely through the use of email , chat sessions and something called “words with friends”. No location or venue seemed to be off-limits as to where these interactions took place. Some authors wrote of using their smart-phone to order and pay for a coffee while waiting in line at the coffee shop, thus making the minimal amount of human interaction required to order a coffee obsolete.

An idea , usually the result of the last gasp of a dying brain cell, appeared in Daniels mind sans thought bubble. How much of the earthlings normal attention span had now been occupied by these smart-phones?

Consulting the accident report section of the news archives,  he noticed a correlation between the rise of accidents and the rise in use of smart-phones. There were smart-phone related accidents during every activity that occupied human lives. Even sex. Don’t ask, you don’t want to own that imagery. The participants survived. Their relationships however did not.

People had become so addicted to their smart- phones they were not paying attention to anything else in their environment. Their lives had become one big commercial for mayhem.  His hypothesis was that It was entirely possible that any changes to the intensity of the sun went unnoticed by the earthlings.

Daniel found it morbidly interesting that all during history, the culling work of Darwin had been greatly usurped by a small handful of bright individuals and that the ultimate culling was brought on by another small handful of bright individuals. So while the meek did not inherit the earth it was certainly the geek that brought it to its knees.*

* The author is proud to call himself a geek and contends that the bible contained  a typo and it was always intended that the geek inherit the earth.

Note: There is some suspension of scientific opinion required for this one.
Scientists agree that billions of years from now the sun will expand into a red ball and die. The earth is going to get much hotter making global warming look like a slight fever. The oceans will boil away. Planets near the sun will burn and become the dream of every executive at Kingsford, big orbiting chucks of charcoal.

Note 2: While writing this at , where else, a coffee shop the author observed a group of customers, arranged in a line of tables, all of them concentrating on whatever they were typing on their Macbook Airs. They did not appear to be interacting with each other but since he could not see what they were typing who knows. The icing on this surreal slice of life cake was that they all were bobbing their head in time to the Salsa music blaring out of the shops speakers.

Humor

Two Hundred and Thirty Seven Years of ‘Blowin’ Stuff Up

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May 13th 3pm 1787

Location: The Mulberry Tree in Ben Franklin’s Back Yard.

George Washington looked at the grandeur of the mulberry tree and smiled.

“Something on your mind George ?”, asked Ben.

“ I have been thinking about the Great Constitutional Convention that starts tomorrow.”, replied George.

“Yes. It will be long, arduous and full of contention. It will be worth it but what would make you smile?”, asked Ben.

“Once it is complete,  the future of this fledgling nation will be much more secure. “, replied George.

“Yes I would suppose you would be correct in assuming that. I would think that establishing  the security of this nation would be worthy of a  smile or two .” , Ben responded.

“Well yes certainly securing the future is worthy of that but I was also thinking of the Independence Day celebrations to come”, stated George.

“Oh really, pray tell what will they look like ?”, asked Ben.

“I see grand parades of common citizens bedecked in the red white and blue. I see much pageantry giving way to patriotic songs. I see festivals full of music and dancing and much food being consumed in celebration.”

“Well that is one possibility”, replied Ben.

“Do you see another Ben?”, asked George.

“Well,  I see a lot of people blowing up stuff”, replied Ben.

“That could work also.” , stated George.

Humor

Twenty Hits of Viagra and a Bottle of Gin

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Road Warrior, I  have travelled enough for work to earn that title. This may come as a surprise but the experience is not as exciting as the moniker may lead one to believe. I have never ridden in a hopped up Ford Falcon with an Aussie sidekick who strangely speaks with a dubbed in voice.

I have logged hundreds of thousands of air miles crisscrossing the country and sometimes the world. It is not glamorous but I have accumulated a large collection of stories to tell.    Add a stolen credit card number to the  pile. You never know the tastes of those stealing your credit card. Their purchase could stay on your permanent record.  If I had a choice it would be someone charitable or a person who would not be in need of anything embarrassing.  You can probably see where this is going but don’t spoil it for the others.

Now I have a theory as to how this came about,  in short it probably was the  result of an accidental credit card swap during a dinner with colleagues and a less than honest gas station attendant believing my card was already stolen. I returned to the home office a few days later and was greeted with a message from the credit card company on my voicemail. Calling them back I fully expected to have to explain some of my coworkers charges. It turns out that was just the tip of the iceberg.  According to the customer service rep there were some questionable charges on my card. “That’s interesting tell me more.”

The first charge was for a small amount incurred at a retirement community near where I was staying.  Strange I thought.The next charge was for $400 dollars at a drugstore again near where I had been staying.  I was on the edge of my seat, the plot was thickening and things were getting interesting.  Sorry, out of clichés.  The third item on my card  , and the one that tipped off the credit card company was another charge at the afore-mentioned drug store. This time for $200 and finally it was denied.

Initially I was at a loss for words, something that has not occurred with much frequency in my lifetime. Check with my friends and family they will concur that the longest time I have gone without speaking were times that I was under anesthesia during various medical procedures. No , a lobotomy was not one of them.

When I had gathered my thoughts they were as follows: “What the heck was a retiree doing with my credit card number and what could they buy for $400?” My first thought was antihistamines for meth production . Sure a little late in life for Grandpa to start climbing the ladder towards becoming a  drug lord but maybe it was on their  bucket list or perhaps they were supplementing their social security checks or even inspired by Breaking Bad.  It was then that I remembered that the real stuff took an ID and signature . That means they would have had to purchase in person and since it was only my number that was missing, that was not possible.  Then I thought ,” if I were in a retirement community what would make me  popular with the ladies?” A million dollars in cash and a bag on my head. Ok , now I was just being silly . Then I hit on the answer. Viagra. From what I hear*, it can be expensive. I also figure that by then I will have acquired a taste for gin, I don’t see how but it is probably cheaper than Single Malt Scotch.  Yea, that combination could ring up a $400 credit card charge.

So far I have not heard whether the authorities have caught up to this character but how hard could he be to find?  “…so and so retirement community can I help you?”  “Yes , this it the local police department. We are looking for an older guy, playa type , smelling of gin, may be showing signs of extreme fatigue but still manages to smile all of the time. Does this match any of your residents?”

* No really , word gets around, people talk, you hear things.

Humor

The Stick Figure of Uncle Bingo (with a nod to Oscar Wilde)

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If you have followed my adventures here, you know that I kind of look like everyman *. What you may not know is that I have often been thought of as being much younger than I really am. I am about to reveal my secret, so keep it to yourself folks.

In the summer of 2000 my niece came into the world and a few years later she gave me the nickname of Uncle Bingo**. Her reasoning was “I don’t know just because”. Well who was I to argue. A while later, after it looked the nickname was going to stick, I received a picture from my niece. It was a wonderful rendition of Uncle Bingo in Colorado.  The mountain peaks were jagged , the grass was green and Uncle Bingo was stick like. It was beautiful and I proudly displayed it upon my refrigerator.

Over the years the picture has remained on my fridge but is in less than pristine condition. Through cooking sessions, yes I cook and quite well ladies, late night snack raids and early morning breakfasts without my glasses, the picture has become slightly stained, smudged and encrusted with barbecue sauce , juice and yogurt. Yes in that order , it documents my path to a healthy lifestyle.  Stick Figure Bingo did not fair well and could not avoid the “crustification”.

When surprised to find out my age many people have remarked that they thought I was at least 10 years younger. If I were to estimate the age of the picture it would be around 10 years. A coincidence perhaps but it’s not as if I have lived a healthy lifestyle my entire life. I certainly had some misspent years during my youth and there was also my “pool hall “ period. No, I am sticking, no pun intended, with my story. My nieces picture has frozen me in time. It continues to “crustify” and I continue to appear ten years younger.

Go ahead, don’t believe me. You’ll change your mind when some time from now the blue, green and flesh-colored crayon succumbs to time and spillage and my physical appearance transforms from Uncle Bingo to stick figure Bingo. At least I won’t be confused with anyone else.

* see http://thesoundoflaughter.wordpress.com/2013/05/21/im-that-guy-from-that-thing/

**see http://thesoundoflaughter.wordpress.com/2013/03/20/uncle-bingos-travelling-road-show/

Humor, Uncategorized

Growing Up Catholic

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I was raised Catholic in a Polish Neighborhood in Chicago. I also went to a parochial school of the Catholic variety. What occurred at the school was most of the major trauma that would shape the rest of my life.

I fell in love with reading from the minute I was exposed to the perils of Dick and Jane.  That series soon lost its luster due to the thin plot lines and it was not long before I graduated to reading more sophisticated material. When my reading level had reached to two years beyond my grade I was inducted into the Great Books Club. It was a national program designed to encourage excellence in reading. The club was like any other book club in that its activities consisted of reading assigned selections and then analyzing them. What was unique is that the reading material was purposefully beyond the traditional level of its participants. I was a member in my first year of eligibility as a second grader and the next year as a third grader.  I was looking forward to making it my fourth year.

Sister Leonard Ann* had been teaching fourth grade at my school since forever.  She had actually taught my father and his brothers.  I am not sure I ever heard a good story about her. She was a hateful soul from year 1 and by that I actually mean the first year after Christ died. She was that old. I think Jesus sensed she was on her way and feeling the futility of the future turned himself in.

I entered the fourth grade looking forward to the fifth grade. I just had to survive Sister Leonard Ann.  It soon became apparent that for that to happen I had to have luck on my side. It also became apparent that I was not lucky.

I had heard about the sister’s teaching technique from my father and uncles but nothing can really prepare you for the book throwing, knuckle smacking and ear pulling she employed. Well nothing short of a 3 Stooges marathon in 3D. The one thing I had not heard about her was her ability to psychologically break a kid down. I soon became convinced she must have been used to interrogate prisoners during the wars. Yes its plural, I meant all wars.

It was after the first month of school that the Great Books Club members for the year would be announced.  I expected this year to be no different. “.. Walter Praczek, Susan Shirzinski and Alan Vostek. Well congratulations children.”  My face matched the writing paper on my brand new Big Chief Notebook, pale and blank. I had no idea why my name was not called and I was losing a battle to prevent tears from flowing.  Glancing around the room the Sister’s shark like gaze fell upon me. “So tell me Mr. Szybinski.  Why did you not make the club this year?” “I, uh, I don’t know.” Then the dam broke and I could see nothing through the refraction of the tears. A few moments but what seemed like hours later the Sister announced that I had indeed made the Club. I first felt relief but that quickly morphed into anger.

Why had the bitch humiliated me? Well, I would have thought, “bitch”, if I used the word.  The vocabulary of a nine-year-old Catholic schoolboy in 1970 Chicago generally did not consist of the word bitch. The only word I had at my disposal was wench. A strange word for a nine year old boy but I read a lot. Maybe it was Nathaniel Hawthorne. The author did not matter; the point was she was a wench.

That experience has stayed with me all of my life but time has helped smooth that wound over. I had told this story to my mother a few years back and she was surprised I did not tell her and dad, “Your father would have marched right over to that school and straightened her out.” I bet he would have. I would have loved to have seen it. I had never considered telling my parents at the time. The “good” Sister was a nun and an authority figure and I just figured I had done something wrong.   The experience now is pretty much just a story to tell although from time to time I find when something good happens I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I guess this experience is not done with me or I it. I sense the need for a cathartic book in my future.

*The name has been changed to protect the innocent (me).