(Slightly) Skewed Perspectives

The Inane Ramblings of an Off-Bubble Viewpoint

Humor

PROBLEM STORAGE

By on May 30, 2017

The cold northwest wind is finally subsiding and the legally regulated Memorial Day rains have fallen.  Trees are greening, the lawn is growing.  Now my thoughts are turning to bicycling, canoeing, hiking, camping – outdoor activities stressing the word “active”!  Pastimes which get me out, take me away from the everyday pressures of normal life; hobbies that lead me to semi-distant locales.

And the problem I now encounter stems from the fact that I have to retrieve this equipment from my garage.

Now, the garage is the universal home-owners catch-all.  Well, you park your car in it, if you have room, but face it; it catches the overflow.  It’s what I use for any piece of bric-a-brac too large to fit in that junk drawer in the house.  Historically, bric-a-brac, possibly a French word meaning, um, broken bricks, was kept out behind the garage – maybe.  After all, eventually a use would be found for the smaller pieces just like you’ll find a use for that box of textbooks from 1962 and that broken car fender mounted basketball backboard.

All through the winter, from maybe November until the kids can no longer find room for their bicycles, I take all of the broken, found, useless junk and place it in the garage.  This transfer is handled in a very precise and systematic manner.  What I normally do is – and of course, this depends on the size of the item – open the door and throw the object in.  Now the trick here is to get the door closed before the object lands somewhere.  When dealing with heavy objects you have to be really quick in order to get the door shut soon enough.  It’s kind of a game and it lasts until you eventually have to go in and clear the field.

An important part of building this game is your significant other.  My wife chooses what goes to the garage.  Oh, she doesn’t intend for these items to go directly to the garage.  Most of them, as a matter of fact, she thinks should go to the garbage, but either way, she’ll let me know what has to go.  Normally this is done using a non-verbal technique in which she stops in front of an item in the living room, looks at it for 23.7 seconds, glances around the room as if seeking a better place for it or maybe looking for the vandal who left it there, and then glares at me.  Verbal communication can usually be avoided if I remove the object after 3 or 4 of these exercises.  Those of you without wives should get one in order to play the game properly.  If you don’t have a wife, your garages are probably spotless – but then I’ve been in a lot of your living rooms and trust me, you need someone to help you play the game.

My biggest problem with cleaning the garage is not the labor involved – that’s part’s easy.  After all I have a teenager who wants money and permission to go to the movie.  The hardest part is the mental work – deciding what to do with all the valuable things you’ve been saving for the past year.  Things you know you’re going to need eventually.  When finally faced with the need, I usually approach this problem the same way I attack all household dilemmas…I get in the car and go for coffee.  When I finally come back, I will sort the items into three categories:  items to be sold, items to be saved and items to be tossed.  Obviously, if you first wanted to save some of this stuff, it must be good enough to sell, right?  So the determination must be made if someone will pay for an old portable stereo which is perfectly good except for the complex switching system which won’t allow you to turn the unit on in the first place.  The answer is, of course, no; but since you know the speakers and the cd unit still work, you’ll have to save it.  Eventually you’ll find that the “sell” and “throw” piles are minimal, at best, while the “save” pile appears to be a simple reorganization of the garage contents… you know, the contents you had intended to divest yourself of.  Eventually you spend the largest part of your time repeatedly going through these items until you have retained just enough “good stuff” to hide in the garage under the guise of “organization.”  This normally takes a whole weekend.

Like anything else, this situation can be averted or at least minimized by adding garage space, but if your neighbor won’t let you build on his lot, you’ll have to try one of these several options:

Probably the most popular method of dealing with the symptoms of junk-keepage is the addition of more storage area in the form of those little yard barns which aren’t actually big enough to hold domesticated farm animals.  I believe they were originated several centuries ago in an effort to salvage the career of an early American barnsmith with a very poor sense of proportion.

If you don’t have enough room in your yard for even a small additional building, you could possibly add a storage loft to your present garage.  Of course, while you’re building it you’ll have to find someplace for all that good stuff you’ve already got straddling the rafters.  For this purpose, you may wish to rent storage area in one of those complexes with the looooooong garages laid out in intricate patterns so as to form a maze in which you store your stuff, but then never again find the unit you had rented.  The folks who rent these things out know that – as a matter of fact, they designed and built them with that in mind.  I think they even shuffle the numbers once in a while to make sure you have difficulty finding the right door.  These are sharp business people.  They saw a niche and filled it.  They looked at the demographics, they calculated local statistics and they computed probable overhead and possible demand.  And, most importantly, they, too, had a problem with junk filling their garages so they know that you’ll come by two or three times, wander around looking for your unit and then go home.  They also know that since this is overflow junk, junk you really don’t need but can’t quite admit you really don’t need, you will probably forget all about it.  I believe what they do is keep an eye out for you for the first two months or so.  If you come by and half-heartedly look around for your unit, then go home without asking where it’s at, they back up a truck to the door, load your stuff and haul it out to the land fill.  No, that’s not true.  There’s no money in it. What they do is call a camera crew and auction off the unit’s content’s.  But that’s a different stupid story.

THE CLASSICS

By on May 9, 2017

 

I have an interest in classic automobiles.  Those of you unfamiliar with this area of collectibles, as well as the spouses of those of us who are, probably recognize them more readily (as incorrect and closed-minded as you are) by the term “old cars.”  Some people, unaware of the status of less, um, polished vehicles in this class may refer to them as “junkers.”  This is incorrect terminology…these vehicles are valuable “parts cars.”

I think I inherited this acute interest from my father, who was a classic automobile “aficionado”, which is a Spanish word that means “person whose lawn looks like a salvage yard”.  Dad helped me with my first car.  Actually, Dad picked my first car which was a 1960 Plymouth Sport Fury 2-door hardtop with a blunt front end, a sloping rear “picture” window and the largest fins of any car ever made with the possible exception of the Batmobile (the movie one that Michael Keaton drove, not the television one driven by Adam West).  True, many cars from that era incorporated fins into their design, but the vertical plane on these things had the same surface area, roughly, as Rhode Island.  This attributed to its exceptional highway stability, ease of identification in parking lots and pointed fingers and chuckles from most of the kids in my school.  I loved that car!

But only in retrospect.

While it is largely a male interest, there are many women who take up this hobby.  It can be acquired from many sources, very few of which are viral or bacterial in nature.  The most obvious reason for the desire of the classic auto is the 25th class reunion, or rather, nostalgia.  A good share of this is due to fond memories of past ownership of a given vehicle…or fond memories of its’ moonlit backseat, as the case may be.  Sometimes a person wishes to acquire a car like the one Dad used to have when they were kids.  This is so they can sit in the back and eat ice cream, which they were never allowed to do in Dad’s Studebaker.  Or perhaps they just always wanted a 1970 Road Runner but couldn’t afford the insurance payment when they were young and felt the hormonal urge to mark every corner of their territory with a black rubber line – two if they could afford posi-traction.

There are some people who desire a classic automobile because they feel, in this way, they can have an interesting, respectable car exhibiting character without spending the money on a new vehicle.  It is true that a quality classic automobile carries its’ own aura of respect and individualism, but that’s because anyone familiar with this interest will recognize the fact that for the money tied up in that ’62 Chevy Impala SS 2 door hardtop, the owner could have a new CTS, a two year old, low mileage MKZ and box seats at the playoffs.  And that doesn’t even take into consideration the fact that when they built these vehicles gas was 28 cents a gallon and wasn’t a major economic or environmental consideration.  Because of this, these cars take about the same amount of fuel at a fill as, say, a B-52 wing tank.

The only truly valid reason for desiring to own a classic automobile is the honest appreciation of the style of the period.  Style such as the rare and short-lived Tucker, built with many safety and engineering innovations such as a rear engine and seat belts for all passengers – only 51 were ever made, so you’ll probably need your credit card…or Bill Gates’ credit card.  Or the Deusenberg; each car individually designed for the buyer.  Or the Cadillac – the only automobile ever designed that, for some unknown reason, doesn’t look really stupid painted in that light pink color.  The style of each automobile also tells a great deal about society at the time of its’ production.  The advance in engineering in the 40’s which allowed the fenders to be integrated into the vehicle design rather than tacked on afterward.  The continuous increase in engine size and power,  The futuristic leanings of the 50’s which brought about fins and rocket style tail-lights, not to mention Ralph Nader, who brought about civil suits, mandatory seat belts and more expensive cars.  If you were saved by a seatbelt or an airbag, you may wish to send Ralph a thank you note.  If you can’t afford to buy a new car because of the ridiculous monthly payments, well, you understand why you can’t find Ralph’s address anywhere.

In terms of aesthetic layout, dash configurations are among my favorite areas of design.  My first car, for example, was built by the Chrysler Corporation during an apparently troubled time in the company’s history.  It seems, when looking at the vehicles of the day, that all the engineers with experience went over to the Ford Motor Company to work on the Edsel, which only proves that too many cooks ruin the upholstery, or the grill, as would be in this case.   In terms of placement, the dash was in front of the driver – that part was correct.  And for the most part, everything was there, but the rear view mirror was sticking up from the dash and, when it became loose, had a tendency to fall over, giving you an excellent defensive driving view of the Coke bottles under the passenger seat.  In addition, the speedometer sat atop the dash on two short pillars.  I always kind of figured that this particular part of the design came about by accident:

“Ed, c’mere once!  Look at this dash – does something seem wrong there?”

“No, it looks okay to…Mike, what’s that on your desk there?”

“Um, looks like the speedometer, Ed.”

“Well, don’t you think you could use that?  Here…take this piece of metal, cut it in half and bolt the gauge through it onto the top of the dash like so.  Looks great, huh!?”

“Yeah, Ed, but that was the fitting to connect the rearview mirror to the top of the windshield.”

You can see by this example that qualified designers, engineers and support people are necessary to create an automobile that’s timeless and classic.  Keep this in mind when seeking out that treasure, that car which shows your personality; your character…and then pick one with two seats and a huge motor.  You can never go wrong with leg cramps and lousy mileage.

LET’S GET COOKIN’

By on April 26, 2017

What to have for dinner?  Hmmm?

Fast food?  Barbeque?  Indian?  Pizza?  Casual dining ?  (This is a term which refers to restaurants like Applebee’s, Chili’s or TGI Friday’s.  In reality, it sounds kind of like staying home and having left-overs.)

Hey, that’s an idea.  Let’s cook at home tonight!  You heat up the oven and grab the sauté pan and I will get online and order dinner!  For next week sometime.  But we’ll do it at home.  Ourselves.  So it will be fresh.  Sort of.  But it sure sounds good, doesn’t it?

What I’m talking about is ordering our meals on the internet so they can be delivered next week, say, Tuesday – and then WE have to cook them.  This keeps us from having to go through the tremendously stressful task of deciding what to have for dinner next week Tuesday.  I do understand that in today’s society we are increasingly inundated by family demands.  The kids have ballet recitals, soccer practice, play dates, violin stringing rehearsals, basketball recitals and any number of useless appointments to keep them from being, you know, kids.  We, as adults, are busy with work, kids, chasing after the kids, paying the housekeeper to clean up after the kids, being a single Dad, a single Mom or dealing with a relationship.  Worse yet, being a NOT single Mom or Dad and dealing with another relationship…good luck with that!  In addition, with the universal use of email and cell phones, we are working any time of the day!  We need the stress relief.  We need the help.  We need…, well, we need to quit coming up with excuses and do stuff for ourselves!!!!!!!

HOW did we GET here?

Not you and I; I know how we got here.  I couldn’t find anything on television, so I sat down and wrote this and apparently you are in a really B-O-R-I-N-G meeting and are reading it…because you have poor wi-fi reception and couldn’t download those cat videos from Youtube.

Now, so you know where my perspective is based, I am an older male (it’s okay, I came by it honestly) living in the Midwest/West.  I no longer have to worry directly about the kids, I’m too used to not being single and I’m WAY too lazy to deal with an outside relationship.  While that places me outside the marketing demographic for this type of business, it maps my progress through the demographic.  What that experience has taught me is…Damn!  I don’t care how many channels you have, take the time to stop at the grocery store, for God’s sake!

I know what you are saying, and my advice to you is, keep it to a whisper or your boss will know you’re sitting in that meeting but not paying attention!  Anyway, your stand is that, aside from being old and not knowing anything, I am not familiar with the hectic urban lifestyle.  I don’t know anything about life in the stressful business world of today and I probably ride my pony right by the corner mercantile on my way home from my job at the Scrooge & Marley Counting House.  (Don’t laugh; many people have a view of the “hinterlands” that is not much different from that.)

First of all, that was a different guy and, according to Dickens, he didn’t have a pony.  Secondly, every one of my friends and acquaintances from the city tell me how wonderful it is to be able to get whatever you want any time of the day on any corner – unless you live in the suburbs, and that’s not my fault – and you’re telling me you can’t take the time to go to the store!  I get that the lines are a bit longer, but you could maybe buy enough for a few days or a week.  If not, maybe you could invest in one of those ice-box-refrigerator-things.

All kidding aside (no, not really), there are a growing number of businesses nationally advertising their complete meal delivery service…without the cooking part included.  This business plan is predicated on the assumption that you, the consumer, are a lazy…um…person.  Oh, sure.  They don’t SAY that!  They tell you how easy it is.  How much time it saves.  How it allows you to try so many different types of cuisine or how it helps you learn to cook better.

Okay, you want to learn to be a better cook?  Do you have the internet?  Of course you do; you were going to order dinner there.  Well, punch in the word “recipe”.  You don’t even have to spell it correctly.  What did you find?  LOT’S of stuff, right?  You want vegetarian recipe’s?  Type that in.  Are you interested in gluten-free meals?  If you don’t have celiac’s desease, quit looking for problems where there aren’t any…but go ahead and put that in there.

What did you find?  You found that you don’t know where to begin because there are so many, THAT’S what you found!  You want to learn to cook better, grab one of these recipe’s.  Not sure about your skill in reading that complicated kitchen code?  Look for recipe’s for the beginning cook.  As far as having the right product, no matter which one you choose, they always start with a list of required ingredients.  Amazing, right?

If you still feel the need to order something, get online and order an archaic tomb called a “cookbook.”  Your mother might have one, but she’s probably still using it because, let’s face it, some of us “older people” aren’t so handy with technology…but at least we know how to cook in a non-pretentious way.

Here’s an idea.  Go to one of those meal delivery websites and set up a once or twice a week delivery. Go ahead; I’ll wait.

Done?  Okay, now two other nights a week I want you to pick an interesting recipe’ and do it yourself.  That’s right, have a friendly competition with those fine entrepreneurs at whichever delivery service you choose.  I think you will be pleasantly surprised at your ability and at your available time.  No, you won’t have any more time than you did before, but you will likely find you won’t have any less, either.  In addition, you will have saved a few bucks and find a new skill.

Still think you’re just too busy?  I suggest you follow this plan until you’re comfortable with cooking…  And then start your OWN meal delivery business, build it into a thriving brand and sell it.  Then you’ll have time and money to have your meals delivered with a chef.

HORSE-SPORTS

By on April 19, 2017

          At one time, outdoor sports were essential – or rather, some of what are now considered sports were once essential – or maybe it was essential to play a sport…  Anyway, some of the things we do today as sports or for enjoyment were necessary parts of everyday life in the past.  As an example, it was, for some cultures, a part of life to hunt for food.  Hunting, with rifle or bow and arrow or even a spear, was a job; a way to survive, to pay off your credit card or make next months utility payment.  Many a person who today would be an avid hunter found it difficult to get out of the recliner, grab the old spear and head for the woods for a day of wooly mammoth hunting.  Today things have changed.  Today it’s illegal to hunt wooly mammoths because, if they were not extinct, they would likely be on the endangered species list due to our encroachment upon their habitat, thereby handicapping large numbers of them by breaking their ankles while smashing our Prius’s into them at high speeds as they try to cross our nation’s highways.

          Many more of our outdoor leisure activities were anything but leisurely.  Fishing was much the same as hunting since food was a necessity.  People couldn’t go to the marketplace to buy fresh fish.  This was largely because there was no refrigeration and after a couple of hours in the hot sun you no longer had fresh fish, not to mention you couldn’t even get close to the place because of the smell.  Work or not, it was definitely preferable to catch your own fish.

          Camping, too, was not considered camping as much as it was considered, well, just living.  While a dank (writers’ digression:  I love this word, which I believe to be a combination of the words damp and rank…maybe some dark in there, too.  It’s not pleasant, but it certainly is descriptive, don’t you think?)  cave or an elaborate lean-to would have made a wonderful home for the average Cro-Magnon, it is somewhat below today’s’ real-estate expectations…unless, of course, it has a view.

          One of the more recent developments in the history of mankind, and the subject of today’s essay, is the art of horseback riding.  This pastime is pursued by people all over the world.  A very few, mostly in Montana and west Texas, still ride horseback to make their jobs easier.

          Some people use horseback riding as a competition in the form of horse racing.  This sport began thousands of years ago.  I believe it was initiated by an early French tribe called the “Jacquies”, a people very small in stature.  They lived on a little island in the river Seine and raised very large horses.  For sport, they would challenge to run their horses against each other (the horses, that is), and then race around the island on the beach.  Passers-by on the shores of the river would bet dried fish or cheese or even goats while drinking wine and mead and viewing the festivities.  While we have traded the island beach for a horse track, this sport has remained the same to this day…except today they can bet fresh fish.

          One group of thrill-seeking, extreme riders has made another equestrian profession popular.  We call this “rodeo”, which I believe is Spanish for “uninsurable”.  Again, many aspects of rodeo riding were necessary skills at one time.  With the possible exception of the over-talkative, western-babbling rodeo announcer, this sport is the same event it was over 100 years ago.  Also, rodeo, perhaps because it was invented prior to the advent of modern governmental interference, is the only bone-breaking, joint-dislocating, brain-damaging sport which requires no pads, harnesses, helmets or safety wear of any kind.  This may have something to do with the technical difficulty of molding a protective, shock absorbing helmet in the shape of a cowboy hat.

          Most horseback riders take up the hobby to take their minds off of everyday stress, to return to a time when life was much easier – when that ten minute drive to work was an hour walk.  When that computer filing system was a quill and ink well and stacks and stacks of parchment.  When the damn workday was sunup to sunset.  When…  Well, anyway, people no longer need to ride horses for transportation.  The need for faster conveyance of people and freight has made the use of the horse obsolete.  Convenience was also a factor since an automobile or truck may be parked in hot sun or freezing sleet and it doesn’t need to be brushed out and fed after use.  Air conditioning and heat options didn’t hurt the shift to mechanical transportation, either.

          Horseback riding as a leisure activity may bring to mind a western trail ride, an English fox hunt or some other equestrian event.  To the untrained seat like mine, these sound much the same…like getting on, bouncing around and falling off.  There are, however, many different aspects of riding to learn and master.

          One of the first things to learn, once you have horse identification down, is the tack.  English tack would be similar to:

“Excuse me, sir.  I believe you are progressing quite nicely, though you will surely benefit from a few more lessons and a bit more practice.”

         

          Western tack is somewhat different, as:

“Hell, greenhorn, if you cain’t quit fallin’ off the horse, you ain’t gonna be able to ride the range with the other cow-doggies.”

 

          Actually, I guess that would be tact, not tack.  But as you can see, the western style requires much less tact than does the English.

          Knowing the gear necessary is also important.  THIS is what is known as tack.  There are, as previously alluded to, two main styles of riding, each having its respective tack (read:  “gear”)…English and western.  Most tack is common to both schools; as with the saddle it is, in most cases, only the form that differs.

The flat saddle is used in the English style of, uh, equestrianistic endeavor (read:  “horseback riding”).  This saddle gets its name because it’s…well, flat, mostly.  It has virtually no cantle (read:  “back rest”) and no pommel (read:…um “dashboard”).  Riding with this type of saddle is much like sitting on the hood of a highly polished ’76 Chrysler.  Any change in velocity can cause what is known as the “slingshot effect”.  This can indirectly cause injury due to what is known as the “landing effect”.

          The western saddle, on the other hand, is heavier and built more for utility.  It has a higher cantle, a higher pommel, usually with a horn, and rings with rawhide thongs in order to fasten equipment to the saddle – a first aid kit is a good start.  The riding position in the western seat is much more upright than the English, placing the rider in a near standing position.  This position can often make it easier for the novice rider to retain balance.  It also aids in controlling the slingshot effect, which can be devastating in a saddle with a high pommel and horn, particularly for the male rider.

          Whatever the advantages of either saddle, balance, not gear, is what keeps the rider on the horses’ back.  While some people are more “balanced” than others, stability on horseback can only be learned by repeated practice and occasional negative feedback (falling off).

          “Operating” the horse is executed by both natural and artificial aids.  Natural aids include the riders voice.  A well trained horse can know much of what the rider wants by his voice commands.  I should mention that, to the horses in my experience, the statement “EEYAAAAAAAH!”, has the same basic meaning as “There’s an extra fifty in it if you get me to the airport in ten minutes.””  

          Other natural aids to riding can be the use of the reins, the pressure of the heels and legs and the distribution of the riders weight …or the sudden lack thereof.  Most of these aids are especially helpful when riding bareback.  I suggest, however, that when you ride bareback you should use a quality sunblock since repeated, prolonged skin exposure to sunlight can cause some type of ozone damage or something.

          Aids which fall into the artificial category include whips, spurs and riding crops.  My favorite artificial aid is the lead shank.  When the rope of the lead shank is held by an experienced wrangler, my control of the mount can be achieved with relative ignorance.

          We have covered enough material in our discussion of horseback riding to only touch the tip of the pommel horn, so to speak.  This does, however, give you an idea of how complex riding is.  The skills required certainly place this activity in the realm of sports rather than a mere pastime.  Besides, it’s much more gratifying to the ego to explain how you dislocated your shoulder during an actual sport rather than a simple leisure activity.

          Happy trails.

  

OF PICK-UP TRUCKS AND STEP LADDERS

By on April 4, 2017

 

          I drive and old Jeep.  Not one of your CJ models which are fun and practical (in a Jim Bowie sense of practical).  No, I drive an old two-door, mono-color, manual transmission, 1977 AMC Jeep Cherokee – came from the factory with rust already impregnated into key points of the body structure.  You know the ads they have with the price in large numbers, then at the bottom in small print it says, “base sticker price”?  That’s the Jeep I have.

          Oh, I have a few extras such as carpeting, which came out of someone’s’ bathroom, and a cassette player and speakers I bought at Big Al’s Hi-Tech Electronics Emporium and Tackle & Bait Shop.  The Jeep itself uses more than its share of gas, it smells like oil and looks like…well, dirt, mostly.  On the positive side, however, I don’t have to park it at the edge of the parking lot to keep it from getting dinged up and I only have to wash it once a year in the spring.  That’s only because of those nice spring days when you lose all sense of reality and become over-zealous due to the increase in average temperature.  This is a real psychological disease known as Vernal Thermal Psychotic Syndrome…maybe.

          Anyway, my modifications are nothing compared to the changes made by a few power-crazed individuals who overbuild their poor, unsuspecting vehicles with beefed up suspensions and BIG tires.  This is caused by a testosterone-induced disease known as…Male Major Modification Malady, maybe.  It’s not uncommon to see sufferers of this disease driving down main street with a 1963 Chevy C-20 pick-up refitted with a high output 454 aluminum big block engine, Kenworth running gear, custom John Deere magnesium wheels and high speed radial tires with the optional highway tread.  All, of course, in four-wheel drive.  My brother has one of these vehicles, or at least it aspires to be one someday.  His tires can still be purchased as large truck tires rather than space shuttle landing gear.

          These vehicles are quite useful in the salvage business:

“Bob, I need a rear passenger door panel clip from that Studebaker over there behind those Fords.”

                     “No problem, Art.”

                     “Roar, Crash, Smash, Squash.”

For general driving needs, however, these vehicles are far from practical.  As a hunting vehicle they offer up several difficulties due to, uh…girth.  By the time you take one of these pick-ups, add on some oversized, heavy underpinnings, larger drums, bigger wheels and extra large jumbo tires, the truck is visible on low-level radar.  Now, a tall structure with a minimal foundation has a predominant tendency to tip easily (see “Suzuki Samurai”).  To prevent this, the wheels, if they’re not already out there due to necessary structural tolerances, need to be pushed outward a bit…say, two feet on each side.  A vehicle this wide is prone to take out fences whether the gate is open or not – a practice not conducive to good hunter/landowner relations.  If you feel you need not worry about this since you hunt largely on government land, I must warn you that neither the state nor the U.S. Forest Service appreciate the removal of trees for the purpose of widening the right-of-way.  Also, although I don’t personally know too many, I would have to guess that most logging truck drivers, should they come across a pick-up truck on steroids blocking the road by its excessive width, would probably view it as a future hood ornament.

Off road recreation is also very limited, aside from, say, climbing the boulder field at the base of Mt. Rushmore (a recreational activity not condoned by the National Park Service).  Winter recreation is definitely not a good choice.  On snow or ice, the large surface area of the tires coupled with the relatively low body weight of the truck use the laws of physics to create something akin to a motorized toboggan…only with less directional control.

Aquatic recreation may be possible, but is not advised.  My brother tells me of a friend of his with a full-blown mini-truck in this modified class who surmised, through scientific calculation, intense investigation and WTH experimentation that the floatation value of the super-oversized tires would hold his hybrid Mazda afloat in the water.  (WTH experimentation occurs when one looks objectively at all available evidence against the given theory, says “ah, what the Hell!”, and does it anyway.)  I understand the whole thing worked until he climbed back in the box to toss out a fishing line.  Undirected, the vehicle hit the fender of a submerged, over-built Ford F-100 and split open a tire, sinking the whole thing to the bottom of Lake Oahe.

Just driving on the road presents problems, mostly due to wind resistance.  The drag coefficient of these vehicles places them in the same category as a 1976 16×72 Centennial mobile home.  Highway speeds are difficult to maintain for long periods of time because of excess fuel consumption.  A truck of this type covers so much frontal area that you could push fresh air from the Midwest to New York without losing it all.  While this may seem like a positive step for some highly air-polluted cities, a tanker, or even really big balloons, would be much more efficient.

When driving these chariots of extremism in town you need to watch continuously for cats, dogs, subcompact cars and any people under 5’11”.  Tickets are common for taking upwards of three parking places.  Game, Fish and Parks will often require two park entrance stickers and you’ll probably have to camp in the group campsite during peak tourist season.

As you can see, there are few, if any, positive aspects to owning a vehicle like this…except having a bigger, more powerful truck than your neighbor.  I can’t see the benefit to it.  My Jeep may not be the most aesthetically pleasing, fuel efficient, tree climbingest vehicle in town, but it’s paid for it’s definitely good enough for basic transportation…  Although I did get a great deal on an escalator from the Woolworth’s’ auction sale and it might just fit under the door…

Ya’ know, if I jacked this thing way up in the air and put some really big tires on it…!  Aah, WTH!  

WALLEYE WIERDNESS

By on March 21, 2017

 

          I opened a paper a few weeks ago and found a special section – not on terrorism in the world or violence in the schools or ethnic cleansing (why do they call the murder of an entire group of people “ethnic cleansing”?…it sounds like Norwegian day at the Laundromat.) –   no, this special section of 18 pages was concerned with the opening day of walleye season in Minnesota.

          Now, I was born and raised in a town on the banks of a major reservoir.  Many of my younger days were spent hydrogenating various bait species, often in pursuit of the shore-elusive walleye.  Of course, at that age I didn’t care if I caught a walleye or a bluegill; I was a kid – I just wanted to catch a fish.  As I grew older I was distracted from one prime purpose to another.  Adolescent hormonal changes caused me to troll instead for the beach-bound-bikini-beauty.  I really should have stuck to walleye – I got more bites and they’re easier to get along with.  Young love (read:  “temporary mental lapse”) and then parental responsibilities caused me to further neglect my angling studies.  By the time I rejoined the monofilament community I was way behind.   I was forced to take remedial casting courses and was threatened by Game & Fish with winter school so as not to pose a danger to other anglers and fish of all species.  I finally realized I needed help while rigging up a trolling bottom-bouncer during an evening of shore fishing.  This history has helped me become an angler firmly rooted in below average ability.

          I think the walleye edition is printed for fishermen who are a bit more, um…zealous than I.  These extreme walleye fishermen have a complete science and specific branches of study built from the pastime of fishing for walleye.  There are different techniques of bait casting, jigging, trolling and set fishing.  In addition, there are infinite points involved in fishing structure, fishing different seasons, different times of day, various weather patterns, water types, astronomical effects, zodiac indications, fish mood swings and walleye hair color, to name but a few.  The calendar with the little shaded fish on the good fishing days just doesn’t cut it anymore so put away your bamboo pole and safety pin hook.

          Fish are more sophisticated today in response to the technological pressures placed on them by modern anglers.  A friend of mine who fishes, yet still has time for the hobby of diving (largely brought on by his poor boat operating abilities) became curious about a school of fish always found, by use of his depth finder, in the exact same spot.  While investigating he found a group of decoys floating suspended at a depth of 15 feet.  When he attempted to prove his find to other divers, he found that the fake fish had been moved in response to his discovery.  This is proof that fish are becoming more intelligent – sometimes more intelligent than the fishermen.  It also points to the problem of boat operation while consuming large amounts of alcohol, but we can touch on that at another time.

          This continuing leisure-time attention has spawned (pun intended) the rise of the sportsman’s sportsman, the tournament fisherman.  The average tournament fanatic is an advanced amateur, usually someone in a professional vocation that generates enough income to allow him to pay and exorbitant amount to do something he could do for free any other weekend.  Quite often these tournamenteers travel from tourney to tourney around their region, if not the country, trying to win back their gas money.  Michael Jordan could take up tournament fishing as an acceptable substitute to betting on his golf game.

          The professional, on the other hand, is not so much another breed as he is a mutant of the fanatic…probably an excellent salesman who came up with the idea – “Hey, wouldn’t it be great to do this all the time and get paid for it?”  Most professionals have become connected with some type of informational media, either radio or television broadcasts or magazine and newspaper articles.  Thanks to the single-mindedness of some of the fishermen mentioned earlier, sales of ad time associated with these productions can be quite lucrative.

          It is also this religious fervor toward walleye and other types of fishing that enables these people to produce one of the most powerful narcotics in America today – the television fishing show.  These programs are tied with barbiturates and telecasts of pro golf tournaments as the strongest sleep inducing items that can be taken non-intravenously.  An acquaintance of mine shows them to his elementary age daughters to get them to go to sleep…although care must be taken since an overdose can induce a coma-like state.

          From the cross-section of fishermen we have looked at today I feel it might be a good idea, maybe even necessary, to organize clinics for the treatment of compulsive fishing disorders.  It may be possible to arrange Fishermen’s’ Anonymous meetings on a weekly basis.  Whole support groups would be very helpful:

“Hello, Bob?  It’s Wally.  I hate to bother you at this hour but I…I really want to bait a leech on a lindy rig.”

“Okay Wally.  You make some coffee, alright?  And I’ll be there as soon as I can get dressed.  Just promise me you’ll stay away from your boat until I get there, alright?…alright?”

          This could be a business opportunity if I could get co-payment from the medical insurance community.  With a good salesman to sell the concept I think it could work.

          Maybe I’ll talk to a professional fisherman – I bet he could sell this idea.

HOLD THE PHONE

By on February 7, 2017

          Personal Electronic Communication.

          These are the buzzwords for the coming decades – whether you capitalize them or not.  Actually, you can hear them buzzing and beeping and whistling and ringing everywhere you go.  The air is filled with assorted frequencies of electromagnetic waves radiating in all directions, missing your spleen by mere microns – some of them even passing through your head!

          This appalling situation can be traced back to two people…Adam and Eve.  No!  Though I guess we can blame pretty much everything on them if we could keep from having a literal and religious argument, that’s a little farther back than I meant to go.  The people I was thinking of were Alexander Graham Bell who, with his assistant Watson (a professional assistant who formerly worked for Sherlock Holmes) invented the telephone, and Marconi, who invented those little elbow noodles and also had something to do with radio…I think.  I believe it was the military that first united these two ideas into wireless communication.  For this reason, early on in this technology you were bombarded by radio waves generated mostly by military messages.  You may have heard these unrefined signals in your head by means of a paranormal phenomenon called, um, bio-electromagnetic reception, a known scientific effect, which I just made up.  It’s possible you mistook these messages for an announcement over the speaker system in one of those big department stores.

“Attention Maj…(garble, garble) systems int…(fuzz, pop) arg lnt ez fangle…over, thank you.”

          While this may be similar to what you heard in your head, the high-tech, state of the art electronic equipment used by the military at that time enabled the trained soldiers receiving the communications to hear, well, pretty much the same jumbled message.  The Signal Corps, however, sent these soldiers through intense screenings, serious testing and in-depth training to enable them to understand these messages.  This training program was so effective that it is employed today by fast food restaurants in teaching their employees to understand orders at the drive-through window.

          Thanks to these and several other technological advancements, such as additional expendable cash, you are today walking around in an atmosphere teeming with Captain Kirk-ular communication on all levels of society.  Calls ranging from top-level, multi-gazillion dollar business dealings to queries on the status of the monthly economic assistance check.  Many people don’t even have telephones, or, as they call them now, “land lines,” at home.  Because of that fact, you can no longer tell your boss you were outside, or you ran to the store or you couldn’t answer his call because you were at a PTA meeting and he can expect you to answer his call at any time of day. 

`Well, thank you very much!

And where can we aim our gratitude?  That would be the mobile or cellular phone, the precursor to the “communicator” used only by the “Federation” on Star Trek because the intergalactic service plan costs so much that only the government can afford the monthly fees.  The word “cellular” is a technical term which means that eventually, through dealer incentives, lower costs and a trained and knowledgeable sales force, even small one celled creatures like amoebas and various other intelligent microscopic organisms will own and operate these communication devices.  Unfortunately the development and mobilization of this area of science has also put wheels on other aspects of personal electronic communication.  The answering machine, for instance, has become a part of the service plans supplied by the cellular service carrier (a small service charge may apply per answered call – or after a base number of calls – or per month – or on any message received from cellular phones in AMC Gremlins – or…).  Yes, through modern technology you can now be out even when you’re not in. 

“I’m sorry, but Bob is at home now.  If you leave your name and number with a brief message, Bob will return your call the next time he’s gone.”

          Of course, you can use this service to screen your mobile calls the same way you used to when you only had a phone at home.  With this system there will soon be phone solicitors calling to sell you tires, lube jobs, new cars or even a better cellular plan…provided you give them the names and license numbers of all the friends and relatives you regularly call.

          Another phone pheature which took to traveling is the ignore idea.  This is more commonly and euphemistically known as the “hold” button.  Either way, you’re still being ignored.  The positive point to this is for the first time while on hold you can have something to do besides stare at a sink full of dirty dishes or look at the pile of paperwork on your desk.  Now you can dodge in and out of traffic at interstate speeds, a phone stuck in your ear with one hand, the other hand on the wheel and the cruise control set fast enough to get you to next week by tomorrow.  Oh, you could use the hands- free speaker phone mode, but the sound quality is somewhat lacking …to the point that no matter what you say, the person on the other end of the connection hears:

                     “bzzzzzt…ould you like fries with that?”

In addition, you can send a written message if you don’t want to actually converse with the people you’re talking to.  This is also a wonderful complementary option to other social networking options such as Facebook, MySpace, LookAtMe and HoldMyBeerAndWatchThis.    I believe it is spelled “d-i-s-t-r-a-c-t-e-d  d-r-i-v-i-n-g” by the insurance and law enforcement communities.

          Perhaps cellular headsets should be more available for motorists who spend a great deal of time on their phones.  This would allow them to place both hands on the wheel while they weave in and out of traffic accidents involving people who dodge in and out of traffic at interstate speeds with one hand…well, you get the idea.  Of course, it is entirely possible that these people fell asleep at the wheel – probably while they were on hold at cellular phone rates waiting for their party to answer, but that’s just a guess.  

LINE BLINDNESS

By on January 31, 2017

          I would like to discuss a serious medical problem rampant in American society today.  A problem which threatens personal injury and property damage nation wide…a problem which afflict otherwise normal, selfish individuals.  I’m talking about the previously undiagnosed disease I call “line blindness.”

          What is this disease?, you ask.  Is it contagious?  Is it deadly?  Are there medical specialists available to treat it at ridiculously high, BMW  lease rate fees?  What, you also ask, are the credentials which allow me to make such an observation?

          In answer to your question, this illness causes the inability to visually distinguish a straight line…particularly in yellow or white.  It is manifested in its primary symptom as an inability to park within the lines painted on the asphalt of any given parking lot or street.  It’s my medical theory that these people are unable to even see these lines.

          Oh, the answers to your other questions are:  No, possibly, you can rest assured there will be after publication of this article and haven’t you asked enough questions?

          You will find the vehicles driven by those stricken with line blindness parked in variations of three different ways, beginning with the “centered” stop.  In this early stage of the disease the person will park in the same orientation as that of the line, but usually placing the line somewhere between the wheels of the vehicle, thereby negating two of the boundaried parking spaces.  This type of “parker” will allow others to park in series with them, provided the others don’t mind humoring the auto-placement disabled person and themselves park over the line.  Those of us who are determined to remain orderly in the face of deviance are required to park across the street at the Piggly-Wiggly lot and walk.

          The next driver exhibits diagonally skewed traits consistent with more advanced cases of the ailment.  In a diagonal parking environment, these people will park diagonally…but from the other direction at a 90 degree angle to the painted line.  This does away with at least two spaces, possible more since you should still leave them room to back out without pushing your vehicle into the middle of the lot.  Of course, if you drive an old beater, as I do, by all means, leave them hemmed in.  This may give them pause to consider their situation and seek professional help.  It is, however, a good idea to take down their license number before you leave your vehicle.

          The third picture of paltry parking is the parallel person.  The driver who exhibits this trait usually does so in a long vehicle, or with a trailer in tow, by parallel parking in an open bank of perpendicular or diagonal spaces.  This eliminates parking spots at a rate directly proportional to the size of the vehicle in question.  In defense of this person, I should point out that there is often no other parking space available for extended length vehicles at, say, McDonald’s, and it’s necessary for these people to park over the lines even if the driver does see them.  The downside is, this forces you to drive all over the neighborhood looking for a place to park while the kids get more and more restless waiting for this one guy to finish his Big Mac and free up the eight parking spots he’s taken and while you’re in a hurry, he’s having a second cup of coffee and you could have just gone to an actual restaurant in the first place.  So while this driver probably isn’t suffering from line blindness, he should get some kind of consideration training or something.  Now, the person who parks in this fashion in, say, a 1972 Pinto is, no doubt, quite spatially challenged…although this particular car can be easily removed by a well placed tap on the rear bumper.

          It has been suggested by other observant scientific types, one being my friend Mike who generated a B minus in his college introduction to science class, that these people are merely lazy.

          “What!?”, I said. This was my exact word, question mark, exclamation point and all.

          Well, Mike hypothesized (scientific word for “guessed”) that these folks, too lazy to walk from the end of the parking lot, yet not wishing their vehicles to become dinged by the doors of an adjacently parked automobile, are parking in odd configurations to keep people from parking next to them.

          “Nay!”, said I, aghast at the prospect…you’ll note that I speak in a colonial American manner when I am aghast.

          Another reason, interjected by our friend Dan, supports the theory that people are parking in this fashion because they simply don’t care about anyone else (Dan is not so much a scientist as he is a pragmatist)…and they’re lazy.

          After serious consideration of the available facts, I have come to the conclusion that while some people are inconsiderate slobs, some are actually suffering from this little known disease.  In order to assist us in identifying these individuals who need help, we would ask those of you who are lazy reprobates…I mean, you who are in a hurry and do not wish to walk great distances, to help us by parking away from other vehicles.  This approach would leave only those afflicted by line blindness parking in these unorthodox manners and would make it simple to whisk them away to institutionalization.

          So please help us deal with this disease before the government becomes involved and mandates all lots of over 50 parking spots to staff line psychologists during normal business hours.  This will do nothing but raise the cost of business and increase the price of coffee faster than a Colombian blizzard.

          Thank you for your attention and support in dealing with line-blindness…and stay in touch for our next medical manifesto when we will address another serious line disease:

          Line dancing. 

PMS: PARENTAL MEMORY SYNDROME

By on January 24, 2017

This day is a dark, depressing Roman numeral in the outline of my life.  Today, after blood tests, x-rays, cat scans, MRI’s and stress tests – particularly stress tests – I have been diagnosed as the parent of a sixteen-year-old!

Now don’t get me wrong, I knew from the start that he was my son and we’ve been raising him all these years, so that part was no surprise.  The problem stems from the fact that, up to this point, I dealt with the parental issue fairly well because I could recall, vaguely, that I was, at one time, a child.  I could work with the child management issues easily because, after all, I was once a kid and I made it through.  Plainly, it couldn’t be too difficult.  There are, of course, some easy rules that apply – children should go to school, they should be quiet and if there is a chance they are doing something wrong, they probably are.  At least that’s the obscure recollection I seem to have about early youth.  I was comfortable with that.

Now, my son still goes to school and he does quite well.  I assume there are really cute girls in the college prep courses.  He’s hardly ever quiet, however.  Even when he does the teenaged-moody-introspective thing he’s noisy.  The times he is quiet is when the probability of his misbehaving increases – after all, it’s difficult to brew your own whisky or build self-attaching automotive nuclear pipe bombs when the stereo is blasting the current top 40 social degenerate anthems… although, at least it’s not Lawrence Welk.

At first I thought my problems in dealing with his sixteenth birthday had to do with my own aging, but that isn’t really what bothers me.  I already passed the 40 mark and I got up and went to work that day just like any other…at least that’s what people tell me because the memory isn’t as good as it was when I was, say, 39.

All right, so maybe having a 16-year-old is no big deal to you…  Clearly, you have never been the parent of a 16-year-old.  Think back.  Do you remember being 16?  I do.  I remember 16 as a milestone in my life.  I remember the things I did.  I remember the way I saw the world, my life, my family.  I remember what I thought and what I felt.  And that’s where the whole problem lies… I remember!

The deviousness of the youthful mind trying to exert its independence comes first to mind.  Basically, that means I recall periods of being a self-centered little creep.  Not everyone goes through this.  For instance, some of the kids I went to school with were self-centered big jerks.  The primary determination has to do with how popular you are.

Many youth in this age group will use the trust parents have in them as a tool.  They can scheme within this trust to say they are camping out at the lake with the guys when, in fact, they are trying to get by with spending the night at a party with a co-ed group where they do absolutely nothing wrong, not because they don’t want to but because they don’t know how.  This is a common type of deceit among youth moving into young adulthood and is the primary source of the personal belief that they are smarter than their parents are.  Again, this is a self-centered point of view based on the fact that parents have other children and other life issues to deal with in addition to one teenager.  Most kids find this out in adulthood when they become parents and realize that their folks didn’t actually believe they were going to a church youth group meeting at 9:00 PM, but they were much too happy to have the couch and the television set to themselves in peace and quiet to ask any questions.

I also recalled the temptations and difficulties involved with growing into your own person.  The WIWAK Syndrome* notwithstanding, youth still have severe problems to deal with – some new ones and many of the same ones we had as kids: career choices, the opposite sex, drugs, alcohol, smoking and, worst of all, adults who seem to have forgotten their part in the placement of Mr. Schaefbauer’s Volkswagen on top of the retaining wall at the school after wrestling practice… though I should point out that it wasn’t my idea.  At least, not entirely.

Finally, as if recollection of the world at 16 wasn’t bad enough, it didn’t stop there.  Just like an amnesiac in a bad suspense movie like those black and white ones that you see late at night when you’re sick and you slept all day and then you can’t sleep at night so you watch whatever is on because you’re still miserable but wide awake and…  Well, just like that, you remember everything about your childhood.  So not only did I run through all the memories from my teenaged years, I was stampeded by other thoughts.  Such as accidentally burning down the neighbor’s junk pile, which was hollowed out to form a secret fort that no one knew about except the people on the northwest side of town.  Or the one girl I invited to my eighth birthday party thinking none of the other 3rd grade boys would notice.  Or the times I got in trouble for all those things my brother did.  (I do seem to remember my brother getting in trouble for things I did, but I won’t bring up anything in particular.  His son will turn 16 next year so I’ll let him think of that on his own.)

This last memory engram easily does the most damage to a person’s approach to youth guidance.  It moves the parenting picture from black and white into shades of gray, or maybe pastels, in which everything varies according to the severity of the transgression and the intent behind the action.  It was much easier when each offense resulted in a standard 9 months of being grounded with time off for really good behavior like saintly acts or the drafting of ground-breaking legislation.

After all, when we remember that there are actual reasons for the deeds of children and you once again understand their viewpoint, you realize that the problem is not so much spite or stupidity as it is genetics and upbringing.

NOW do you understand my anxiety?

 

 

* The WIWAK Syndrome is a seemingly natural phase in the human condition, which is believed to date back to a prehistoric era of early man.  Cave drawings have been found in north-central Africa which, when finally translated, read, “When I was a kid, we had to skin our own mastodons!… And we were happy to be able to do it, too!”

 

THE MANE THING IS LOVE

By on January 17, 2017

The sun was out and the skies were clear…somewhere.  Here, however, it was grey as a dirty Goodyear radial without a whitewall.  Everything was wet – it wasn’t raining but there was a dampness like the earth was in a cold sweat because she knew what the day held.

And the sounds were gone.  The moisture soaked up the vibration and everything was dull and muffled.  There was action. But it was a television with the volume turned down… or seen from another room…or maybe broken altogether.

Don stood on the corner at the park watching the traffic light change; not seeing the colors.  He unconsciously shrugged deeper into his wind breaker.  He should have worn something heavier but hadn’t thought about it, wasn’t thinking about it now.  He was lost elsewhere…supposition…maybe suspicion…no, thought, yes it was thought.

Ann was upset.  They had been seeing each other exclusively for eight months.  Well, they saw other things like traffic lights and ice cream trucks, but not other people.  Actually, they saw other people, they just didn’t see people of the opposite sex.  Naturally, they saw them, but…well, you know.  Things had been going great and Don was beginning to think she was the one.  She was perfect.  She was pretty, thoughtful and caring.  Ann made the best strawberry preserves in the state and in the bedroom she was, well, a little messy, what with the strawberry preserves but…  She could bake a mean lasagna, fix a crumpled pick up fender and her theories on astrophysics were well known.  They had so much in common – he liked lasagna, too.

So why was she mad…angry…maybe upset?  Was it infidelity?  Inconsideration?  Some other “in” word?

Don couldn’t figure it.

She was fine when they met for lunch a couple days ago.  She had rambled on about the new spring fashions and their application as casual handball wear.  He was positive he hadn’t snored but couldn’t be sure his eyes hadn’t glazed over.  He hadn’t said anything and he didn’t forget to leave a tip or pay the bill.  No, that wasn’t it.

It began to drizzle and Don lifted his hood.  A cop watching him for signs of vagrancy frowned and drove off.  Apparently standing catatonic in the rain with your hood up is not a vagrant activity, even if you do have one foot in a puddle.  Don didn’t notice.  He was still lost.

Things seemed alright when they went to dinner and the monster truck opera on Friday.  They talked about crocheting and the new automobile models, quantum physics and the existence of invisible matter in the universe.  He loved conversing with Ann.  After all, he liked crocheting, too.

Everything had been fine…good…even okay, but…  She was cool when he took her home.  She didn’t kiss him goodnight.  She slammed the door in his face and he heard the bolts “click” into place.  That was unusual – she usually didn’t use all the locks.

So whatever it was, it had happened that night.  She didn’t eat her pie at coffee before they went home and didn’t say much after…  Wait!  He had commented on her hair.  It was odd, he had thought, but he didn’t actually say how he felt about it.  What did he say…?  “Unusual”, he had called it.  That was actually a euphemism…an understatement…a lie.  No, it was a euphemism.

He wanted to tell her that it looked like a half of a Princess Leia, like a bun on an old lady with no sense of balance.  She looked like she should lean to one side so she didn’t fall over.  But he didn’t say these things.  She was still beautiful, after all.  It was a temporary thing, a surface affect and it wasn’t important.

Besides, he should have known better than to make a non-positive comment about the way she looked.  There were, after all, rules which applied to these things:  you don’t ask a woman how old she is, you don’t degrade her clothing or her hair and you never say anything about weight.

Somewhere in the distance a church bell was ringing.  The sound filtered its way past Don’s reverie…remembrance…reflection.  He looked up in time to see Ann walking toward him, a thin fence of water dripping off her umbrella , separating her from the light rain.  It was like a welded wire fence…actually, it was more like a picket fence – with some boards missing.  Of course, there were no cross-support rails or…  Aw, jeez, it was just water!

Don looked into her eyes.  “Hi” was all he said.

“Hello, Don”, she said, more in reply than in greeting, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her.  He stood outside the umbrella, outside her space, and looked in at her.

“Ann, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I certainly didn’t want you to take it that way.  I…I was outta line and I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” she said, her eyes lifting, her face softening.  “I shouldn’t have been so sensitive.  I just thought you didn’t like the way I looked.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he said, honestly taken aback by the idea.  “I love the way you look.  It’s just that it was…different, is all.”

She lifted the front of her umbrella and he stepped inside her personal shelter.  They shared a smile as the relief rushed through each of them and their eyes locked as the tension subsided.

Don stepped close to her.  He lowered his hood and reached around her.  Ann looked into his face.  Her eyes widened and her eyebrows arched as she leaned back to broaden her view.

“That looks like a crew-cut!  Did you get a haircut or join the Marines!”