Humor, personal growth

But I don’t want to be PC

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Apparently our society is too busy and we can’t be bothered to use whole words.

We have to make up or create acronyms to express ourselves in a quicker manner than using real words. In doing so, many times we lose the original meaning.

One such word or phrase in question is the term “politically correct” or PC for short .

PC in its pure form means being nice to people. If you feel the need to rename it, use the term that is already in existence. Most people refer to it as the Golden Rule. Treat people the way that you would like them to treat you. I have never had anyone tell me “I would be more comfortable if  you would treat me like shit thank you.”  or “I would really appreciate it if you would just keep me in the dark and pour poop on me. Think of me as a mushroom.”

If you have heard either of those phrases expressed to you then perhaps you need to re-evaluate the people you choose to associate with or the activities you are taking part in.

I have heard mentioned during conversations I have had with people the phrase “You have to be careful what you say.  It’s not PC.”

Whenever said person uses this phrase, what they are really saying is that they want to be asshats to people without any repercussions. This of course is their prerogative but they should not be surprised when they are unable to make new friends and their existing friends re-evaluate the quality of their friendship and prune out the asshats in their lives.

Sometimes it takes a culture maturing until they realize that a term or a name that has been in use for a long period of time is not nice (PC).

One of the most widespread examples of this phenomenon has to do with the name or mascot of their favorite sports team.  Case in point: The Washington Redskins.

One would think that it’s obvious that Redskins is offensive in the least and at most its racist. 

Apparently that idea is either not obvious or fans of the team have convinced themselves that “Redskins” is not either.

 If a group of people say something offends them then perhaps you should pause for thought.

There is no scientific  magic number as to the size of the group needed for true change to take place. Unfortunately it takes someone losing money because they are being boycotted.

If the Redskins don’t care about being kind than perhaps they could think of their pocketbooks.

They should think of it as an opportunity to sell all new team paraphernalia to existing fans in addition to selling it to new fans, many of which may have come on board because of the name change.

Humor

Pampered offspring

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Rich people directly* bribing “elite” universities to accept their offspring. It had to happen eventually. That celebrities were involved should be no surprise. What was a surprise is that none of the celebrities were offering parts in movies to sweeten the pot.

By sheer coincidence, the new University of Kansas football head coach acted in movies in between coaching gigs.

I’m sure movie stars could get an administrator inked for a cameo deal in exchange for accepting one or all of their offspring.

“Privilege University Admissions how can I help you?”

”Yes, I’m doing a survey for Amalgamated Entertainment. Can you participate in a short survey?”

“Hmm, you sound familiar. Do I know you?

 “Have you spent any time in Poughkeepsie?”  

“No I haven’t”.

 “Are you sure?”

 “I think I would remember that.”

 “Not necessarily, I grew up there and can’t remember a thing.”

 “Do you have time to participate in a short survey?” 

“I have time to answer just a few questions.”

“ Do you happen to know what kind of movies the head of admissions favors?”

“Interesting question.  He won’t admit it but he’s big into Romantic Comedies.”

“Rom Coms huh. Well thank you for your input.”

“Is that it?”

“I said it was a short survey. Have a good day.”

“Ok, bye”.

Ring, Ring.

“Privilege University Admissions how can I help you.”

“Can I speak to the dean of admissions?”

“Now you definitely sound familiar”

“You spend any time in Sheboygan?”

“No can’t say I have.”

“That is a shame. It’s a nice quiet place to chill out”

“So about the dean?”

“Oh I’m sorry the dean is out with some business in Hollywood.”

“Oh that’s right, he did mention it. It’s a shame that I lost his cell number. I think he really would be excited to hear from me.”

“I can give that to you. It’s 555-555-yada yada.”

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.”

Ring Ring.

“Oh hello dean. You’ve been popular today.”

“Yea, about that. Do you know anything about me being cast for a part in “Women In The City 3”?”

Hollywood Photo by Nathan DeFiesta on Unsplash

*As opposed to the old fashion method of daddy and/or mommy donating
a large chunk of the green stuff to grease the skids of admission for little Johnny or little Lisa.

Humor

A person is smart* (People not so much)

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Men In Black: “A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it.”.

  MIB came out after I had already formulated my theory on group intelligence. The majority of official studies on the matter had concluded that the collective IQ of the group is not as influential as group dynamics and dominant personalities. 

    My theory is much simpler and not based on years of research, group studies or pretty little ink stains.

It is based on empirical observation, also known as paying attention.

My version is much more pessimistic, in fact it’s downright cranky.  My theory is stated as follows:  I postulate that a person is smart, a couple of people are dumb and a bunch of people are barely functional.”  The bigger the group the dumber it is.

Example in point:

In 1986 I was living in Washington DC and working in Alexandria Va. During normal conditions the commute was twenty minutes either way. One day a winter storm caused the return home to take over four hours.

    The  problem in that case was initiated by a large group of people making a decision. The decision had no chance of being a good one. The DC government had waited too long to decide something and then that something was stupid. They let all the government employees go home at the same time. That time being 2pm. 

   What ensued for me was four hours of the following routine.

1) Drive ten feet.  2) Stop and get out of my truck. 3) Push the car with Florida plates in front of me out of its predicament. Yes, it seems there was a large group of Florida plates. 4) Get back in my truck and drive ten more feet. 5) Shampoo, rinse , repeat. ** Four hours and a sore back later I finally arrived at my home.  

   What came in the days to follow was the usual finger pointing as to who did decided what about whom. If they had asked me, I could have saved them the time and trouble. 

   “Gee Dan what did we do wrong?” 

  “You used the word we. Does that represent a bunch of people?”

   “Yes, Dan, I believe it does.” 

   “Ok that sheds some light. I believe you used the word “we” as in “we were making a decision.”  “

   “Yes, Dan we were.” 

   “There you have it then.”

   “Excuse me. What are you saying?” 

   “You were doomed from the start. The odds of a large group of people making a good decision are practically nil.”

   The situation is far from hopeless. I propose a national database that we will call “The official grand list of all the stupid things a bunch of people have decided across the ages,” or the OGLSD for short.

 Not a catchy name? I’m not married to it.***   OGLSD would definitely contain the DC Government decision of the winter of 1986 and help folks to avoid repeating the same stupidity.

 Of course “folks” is plural and may involve a bunch of people so there is always a chance a dominant personality could talk them into ignoring the past.

A historic example that may or may not be contained in the OGLSD.+

The soldiers of Troy: 

“Hey it’s a wooden horsey. Should we bring it in,” asked Ardania.

“What harm could it do,” replied Colonae.

“I agree with Colon,” replied Piletus

“Piletus, Thanks for agreeing with me but you know how I feel about that nickname. Please its Colonae.”

“What does the King think,” asked Ardania.

“He doesn’t care what I am called,” replied Colonae.

“No. What does he think about the horse,” replied Ardania.

“The King does not want to be bothered and has delegated the decision to me. What say the rest of the soldiers,” asked Piletus.

“I took a poll and most of the soldiers that were sober thought it could do no harm,” replied Colonae.

The rest is history


*The people who publish The Darwin Awards may disagree. 

**No its a figure of speech. The logistics of actually doing it would be quite difficult and would be slightly less dangerous than texting while driving.

*** If you have a better alternative then suggest it by clicking on the comment button at the end of this post.

+ I mean how often do you wake up to a giant wooden animal outside your gated community.

Image by 13smok from Pixabay

Humor

Disorder in The Senate (entitlements)

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Scene –   Senatorial Hearing (Grilling) of Nominee for the ” FIB” position ( fill in the blank)

“Welcome, Mr. Appointee. How are you doing this fine day?”

“I’m doing well thank you.”

“ I have just a few questions for you and then we’ll let you go. I’m sure you have better things to do than answering stupid questions.”

“Oh, I live for them.”  

“Pardon?”

“Um, Ok Senator.”

 “I don’t think you have clarified your views are on this next subject. How do you feel about entitlements?”

  “They’re the bane of society and I think they should be discouraged in favor of the good old American idea of working for a living.”

“Excellent thoughts Mr. Appointee and thank you. I have no further questions. I yield the floor to my colleague across the aisle and  from the great state of great states.”

“Mr. Appointee I thank you for your time today. I would like to go back to one of your previous responses and clear up some detail
that I believe is missing.”

“That’s fine by me Senator.”

“You had responded to a question by my colleague from the great states of great states.”

“Which state was that?”

“ The great one. It was the question about entitlements.”

“Oh yes, I hate them.”

“Yes, I gathered that. In particular what entitlements do you not like.”

“Well, social security for one. People collecting social security and not contributing  to society.”

“If I may Senator, could you read this definition from the dictionary.”

“Oh, a reading test. What happens If I fail?”

“Unfortunately nothing, in fact, you’ll probably get re-elected.”

“e-n-t-i-t-l-e-m-e-n-t.  entitlement : the state or condition of being entitled.”

“That’s one meaning but it doesn’t describe how you get to that state in the first place. If you read the second meaning it will tell us how the condition of entitlement is reached. Can you read that one also?”

“These are getting harder. entitlement : a right to benefits specified  by law or contract.”

“Correct. When we are talking about social security we are saying that people have a right to those benefits because it’s part of the contract. They pay a tax from their paycheck and that money goes to fund social security payments. They are entitled to those payments because it’s their money.”

“Oh, so it’s their money. Wow, you just blew my mind. I haven’t had that done since the sixties. ”

“Oh, I doubt that. On that note, I move to adjourn until tomorrow morning.”

Like thoroughbreds breaking out of the gate the Senators made a beeline for the exit.”

Heard above the din were various exclamations to the gist of  “So that’s what it means, “I second that” and “Oh boy leftover meat surprise again”.

Fathers Day, Life, Memories

Joy Among The Mud

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Twelve boys and a couple adults were all laying hands on a 1969 Ford Station Wagon. The exercise session was courtesy of my families  1969 Ford Station Wagon.

It’s muddy brown crust the result of heavy rainfall and a fruitless effort by the boys of Scout Troop 177 to pry it from the mire. The station wagon seemed to be perfectly content in calling the muddy road home for a few more days. I, however, was not. Well, not without my dad. 

I can only speak for myself but I may have given less than 100%. In fact, I was putting more effort into looking like I was trying. 

Fake grunts and tensing your muscles takes more effort than one would think.

     I was 11 years old and my boy scout troop was in the middle of its annual week camping trip.

It was my first with the troop and once my dad was back to work it was the beginning of the longest time spent away from either of my parents. 

“What do you say we give it one more try boys,” asked my dad. 

We all managed to grunt a collective “sure why not.” 

Why not,  I thought. I’ll tell you why not, the thought continued. How about I’m tired of the mud. How about I don’t know some of these folks and they seem kind of sketchy. How about I am going to miss you.

That last thought would never be expressed out loud by an eleven-year-old boy among his peers. Especially when many of their fathers could not come along for the fun. I thought about that last item. I was lucky my father wanted to spend time with his son and the rest of this motley group.

We all gave one more push and I can honestly say that I gave 100 percent that time. I realized I was lucky he had spent some time mucking around in the wilderness with my friends and he was eventually going to have to go back to work.

I may have also realized the mud was not going to let go of that car until the sun came out and added to the effort. 

We all released a collected sigh and gave in to the reality of the situation.

“Oh well son. I guess I’m here for one more day.”

“Oh well,” I added, my stoic face betraying my inner joy. “At least one more day.”

 

Fathers Day posts from the past.

I still miss him.

Cruising With The Top Down.

Baseball, Humor

Waiting For Leo Durocher

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The clouds were puffy, the air was sweet and all was well in heaven save for the myriad of Cub fans lucky enough to call heaven their forever home.

Sure they had the same amenities as the rest of the tenants but they had departed the mortal plane wanting. There were plenty of blue sky occupants disgruntled with the circumstances with which they came to find their selves aboard the heavenly bus. Cub fans, in particular, held onto their disappointment ironically like grim death. Living their entire lives without witnessing the Cubs win a World Series stuck with them through many phases of their lives including their last.

You may think  that in the grand scheme of life a lousy trophy is a dust mote in an endless beam of sun but spend some time around Cub fans and understanding may be yours.

During the ebb and flow of the 2016 baseball season, there existed an undertow of excitement among baseball fans both living and dead. Seasoned Cub fans tempered the current atmosphere with pain from the past. They had been on this bandwagon before and derailment had left long-lasting scars. By the close of September, most were firm believers that this time the Cubs were going to make it to the final destination. There was still one solitary soul who thought there was time for one more epic derailment. He had cause. He was Leo Durocher. He was at the helm of the loveable losers during their infamous 1969 season. Many fans and writers alike labeled 1969  the year of the “Miracle Mets”. Repeat after me there was no miracle that year. The Cubs choked. They led their division by nine games in September before going on a road trip they never returned from.

During the seventh game of the 2016 World Series, the view of Cleveland stadium to those in the hereafter was, well, heavenly. The game played out before them in a panoramic 360 and not one seat was a bad one.  If you were monitoring the comings and goings of the crowd, you would notice during the sixth inning the arrival of the aforementioned Leo Durocher. As with all Cub fans he had finally cast aside his past in the belief that after 108 years, this was the Cubs time. It was the seventh game and it was theirs to win.

During the late innings of the game, the unthinkable happened. After leading the first seven innings the Cubs could not close the back door. Cleveland snuck in some runs and tied it in the eighth inning. Nobody mustered any runs in the ninth so the game was heading into extra innings.

The grand view from heaven became obscured by clouds of all things and rain began to fall upon Jacobs* field. Cubs fans on the mortal plain would later say, tongue in cheek,  that the ensuing delay was a gift from heaven. Fans from the celestial sphere sitting in the vicinity of Mr. Durocher would later recall his tear moistened cheeks and the incongruous smile he wore that seemed to clear the clouds.

He knew the Cubs would win but not without strumming the fans heartstrings one more time. That was the Cubs way. 

The game resumed after a brief delay and the Cubs proceeded to vanquish the ghosts of 1969, pulling the bandwagon into the final destination and taking with them millions of fans from both sides of the ethereal plane.  If one glanced briefly one could see the ghost of Leo Durocher manning the engine and silently crying.

* Sorry. the game of baseball is too steeped in tradition for anyone to call it Progressive field.

Humor, Writing

Insists

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I sat in my perch lording over my domain, the snow-kissed streets lay before me.

Too early to be tainted by man nor beast. A perfect moment held to

myself as warm as the cup in my hands. This would be a brief respite.

There was an untamed beast in the room that had to yet be sated.

It was hungry and demanding. It had been reasonably well behaved

all week. Satisfied with short visits during the week, an hour here, a

half hour there. The weekend had arrived and it’s drum beat could

not be ignored. It needed words. It demanded. It insisted. I

descended from my perch and sat before the keyboard, ready to

atone for my misdeeds.

 

The was written in respose to The Daily Post.

Yes , the SEO scores for this suck as well 🙂

Humor

Inkling

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It had no form. It never had. It was always there and not.

It settled on the cusp of reality from the beginning of everything.

It would be there until the end of it all.

It had lured poets and scientists.

It had tempted the best and the worst of all beings.

It’s song had woven its way into the hearts of many a promising

young dreamer.

Many had tried to encircle, corral or cajole it.

Whose to say whether they succeeded.

It had beckoned many races, creeds, colors and sentient beings through out the galaxies and across the ages.

It had wrapped its etherial tendrils around all that came seeking, though none complained.

It has always been, the notion that something greater could be found.

For those who sought failed, those that ran could not hide.

It was, it is and would be an inkling.

 

This was written in response to the daily prompt.

 

The SEO scores for this really suck.

Humor

Dumpster Diving for Pharmaceuticals

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Eighty-two dollars. Ten little yellow pills. Sorry Mick, not even mothers little helpers.

Eight Dollars and twenty cents a shot for Tamiflu and they don’t even come with a warning to call the Dr. after four hours.

Granted I was much happier with their ability to fight the flu. To catch you up, this is the part where I tell you that I have spent the last week like many unlucky Americans. No, the dumpster part comes later. I left work early on Monday with a sickness I have not had in years, the flu.

I have no idea why the flu has not visited me in the last 10 years. I have never been big on the flu shot. It’s always a crapshoot. My conclusion is that in the past it had lost the fight for possession of my body to sinus infections which decided to call my body their humble abode. Yes, I think the sinus infections muscled out any other nasty microbe that tried to move into its territory.

The infections were so bad ass that it took surgery to evict them.

I am happy to say I have been sinus infection free for over a year. But apparently, they left 
a big welcome matt open for any tenant regardless of race, creed or ability to make the landlord miserable. Hello Flu.

Since I have a weakened immune system, my doctor didn’t want to mess around and prescribed Tamiflu. “Weakened immune system,” you say? Is it time to put on patent leather shoes and move to Florida? No, I don’t have on sandals and Bermuda shorts and I am not that old yet but having diabetes weakens your immune system considerably.

Unfortunately, by the time I received the Dr’s message my provider’s pharmacy had closed. No worries, there was a critical care facility a mere 45 minutes away. What could happen while speeding with a 103 temperature? No, it’s not time for the dumpster yet.

It was 103 before I last talked to the Dr. I am sure it held at 103 like a good little fever. How often do you have a good excuse for speeding? My last such case was 2 am on a morning in 1991 and my appendix was threatening to introduce itself to me. The police didn’t pull me over then either.

When the pharmacist at urgent care rang up $82 for Tamiflu, even he had to double check that was the price after health insurance coverage. I was glad I did not have to add the price of a speeding ticket to that.

By Friday, the pills were working and my flu was on the ropes.
When I discovered I could not find the last three pills that evening, I panicked.  I just knew that I would have a relapse because I lost the last 24 dollars worth of Tamiflu.

Retracing my steps and looking everywhere in between, I had come to the frightening conclusion that those 3 little pills could probably be found snug as a bug in one of the two trash bags I had relegated to the dumpster that evening.

So, at ten o’clock on a Friday evening, I found myself hanging halfway in a dumpster. Probably no surprise to many that thought my life was headed in that direction.

Several thoughts went through my mind at the time.

The most insistent thought was “I should have thrown a belt on the mom jeans I was wearing.” It was cold outside and I was worried about even more exposure.

A car did stop nearby but they were just getting their mail. By the hurried sounds of their feet and screeching car tires, I assumed they had spotted me and were less than curious to see what was going on.

Oh well, the neighbors were not keeping our trash safe for democracy. I can live with that.

Proving myself to be right, as I found the pills in one of the trash bags, was a far less satisfying feeling than knowing that I would not suffer a relapse because of losing 24 bucks worth of Tamiflu.

Besides, there were a myriad of other reasons for having a relapse. Where did I put that good bottle of Scotch?”

A Place To Share Some Grins