The Name Game

Hello World,

Well, I certainly hope that everyone got their licks in on June already, because almost before we know it, the whole month will be over, and we'll be staring July right in the face, as impossible as that might seem. In fact, we can't even count on June 31st to stretch things out for us, because there is no such thing, and you can believe me when I say that June will stop short this coming Monday on the 30th, whether we're ready for it or not. It certainly seems as if the month just started, and I for one can certainly say that I have nothing to show for it, that's for sure, and yet here it is practically over already. They say that time is relative, and frankly, I wish that my relatives would give me some of it back, because at the rate that I'm not getting things done around here, I'll have to live to be at least 150 just to catch up with where I should have been decades earlier. I can see now when they talk about the test of time, I must have slept through that class, because I definitely failed that test, and badly.

Speaking of tests reminds me of a story from the 2008 Assembly, while we were still in the throes of electing a new Bishop, and we were introduced to Rev. Reilly, who brought us greetings from the New Jersey Synod. He explained that he would be the mentor to our new Bishop-elect, after returning from what he referred to as "Baby Bishop Orientation" at the headquarters in Chicago. That got a big laugh, although I'm sure we all felt it was reassuring to know that the new Bishops at least get some training to take on these challenging responsibilities. But it occurred to me later that the man who ended up being elected as our new Bishop, Robert Rimbo, was already a past Bishop of a different Synod, and probably didn't need to go to Baby Bishop Orientation like some greenhorn neophyte fresh out of seminary. So I couldn't help but wonder if they would send him to "Bishop Day Care" instead, with the rest of the more advanced pupils, whose Baby Bishop days were behind them. In fact, if there were a lot of them, you could call it a "Baby Bishop Boom," and I suppose that too few of them could be a "Baby Bishop Bust," although boom and bust do sound a little bit too explosive for what we might normally hope for out of our Bishops. Or to quote another phrase from the Rambo movies, "You can either live for nothing or die for something," and I suppose there's no way to improve upon that.

And also on the topic of Bishops and their ilk, there was a bittersweet moment at the Assembly, when the President of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod, Dr. Benke, was speaking about us electing a new Bishop of our Synod. For so many years, he and our previous Bishop had worked so closely together, and been such media darlings and practically inseparable, that to the untrained observer, it would have appeared that our ELCA denomination and their LCMS denomination were getting along a whole lot better than they do. (They aren't, believe me.) So he said he was observing this election with great personal interest, because he felt like half a person since our previous Bishop left for Chicago, and he was looking forward to working with whoever we chose to be the new Bishop. He quipped, "Right now I'm Frick, just waiting for Frack." He got a huge ovation, which is no surprise, because it's been my experience that he brings the house down wherever he goes, and I've seen it happen plenty of times already. Heck, he's not even in the ELCA, and I guarantee that he could be elected Bishop at any of our Synod Assemblies by a landslide. Of course, it would be a grouchy Lutheran landslide, which would not be a pretty sight, and that would be putting it mildly.

Meanwhile at church, we have yet to see the return of our recovered and improved pew cushions, and this business of dragging ourselves out of these seats every Sunday, week in and week out, has gotten old fast, and it would not be an exaggeration to call it a pain in the butt and then some. I shared the pew cushion story with a cyber-friend in West Virginia (yes, Virginia, there really are computers in West Virginia!) and she sent along the following:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
We just finished having new carpet put in our church. And boy does that glue stink!!! The carpet people finished laying it on Saturday morning. Sunday morning we go in and we can smell right away something that smelled like wires burning. My hubby and I make our way up to our spots in the choir loft and we can smell it even more. As more choir members came in they were smelling it too. As the minutes passed and we're all up there sniffing like dogs looking for a buried bone, Father starts his announcements. He's trying to keep on his topic but keeps looking up at us as we're still being very investigative, trying to find the burning wires. Finally he stops what he's saying and without missing a beat, he looks straight at us and remarks, "The Church isn't burning down, so you're safe there, however the smell is the glue from the carpet, and you'all up there are getting the most benefit from the fumes, so I expect lots of smiles and happy tunes"! Then he goes right back into his announcements.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I thanked her for the great story, and said I guess it's fortunate that our church could never afford new carpeting, after all. Probably if it ever did happen where they replaced the carpet, they'd probably make us walk on the walls in the interim, which would be a whole new workout video that I wouldn't even want to think about.

Now, I may as well admit right up front that I am easily amused, and it seems like I can spend hours at YouTube just watching old and goofy clips of things, one after another. Somehow, TV commercials that we complained about in our youth, now 40 years later seem refreshingly adorable. You could spend an entire day just watching videos of kittens that have been posted, and still not see all of them. There is no musical act throughout the entire history of music, however obscure, that does not show up somewhere in their vast library of subjects. It's a fascinating, if passive, way to waste huge amounts of time and accomplish nothing while doing it. On the other hand, for people who yearn for something a little more interactive, if not necessarily more productive, I can recommend something that's about as much fun as the proverbial barrel of monkeys, and twice as preposterous.

Apparently, these things are all over the place, or you can just go right ahead and visit our friends at http://wishafriend.com to see for yourself, and try their random name generator for the fun of it. It turns out that My Reptile Name Is: Psycho Crocodile, which certainly wouldn't surprise my old friends the dinosaurs, who could have told you that from hundreds of millennia ago, back in the days when a crocodile really meant something. But that's not all! These nice folks also offer you the chance to find your name in a wide variety of other incarnations, such as Insects, Birds, Fish, Easter Bunny, Fruit, Computer, Halloween, Christmas, Fantasy, Romantic and many others. Well, I don't mind saying, this is like waving a red flag in front of a bull, and you can be sure that I was not going to pass up an opportunity like this one. So I'm happy to share with you the results of my inquiries there, and at various other web sites offering the same service.

My Leprechaun Name Is: Polly Leaf-ducker

My Superhero Name Is: The Violet Vixen

My Rock Star Name Is: King Flintstone (rock on!)

My Rapper Name Is: Threepac Cracka Fool (ya gotta love that one!)

My Porno Name Is: Lana Quickie, which is especially surprising, because it turns out that -

My Pimp Name Is: Sweet Chocolate Lady Quick, which sounds like I'm in kind of a rut, although a fast and delicious one, I guess (my favorite part is you click the button that says "PIMPAFY!" to get your name)

My biggest problem turned out to be one that I thought would be pretty straightforward, perhaps even a lucky shot, but that's not how it happened. This was my first attempt at it -

1. My Mafia Name Is: The Sinister Don, which I thought sounded just too, well, sinister for me, so I tried again, with this result -

2. My Mafia Name Is: The Happy Mustache, which could be considered an improvement over the first one, but maybe a little too far in the other direction for a mobster looking for any street cred, as it were, so I gave it one last chance and came up with -

3. My Mafia Name Is: Tiny "Two Fists" Bambino, which I figured was a gangster name I could live with.

So there you have it, all of you fans of the arcane and irrelevant (and don't think I don't know who you are!) who may be looking for a fun way to while away some time, or perhaps strike out on a new path in your life, with a new identity to go with it. You could do a lot worse than a random name generator, and I ought to know, or my name isn't -

Polly Leaf-ducker
Sweet Chocolate Lady Quick
Tiny "Two Fists" Bambino
King Flintstone
The Happy Mustache
Lana Quickie
The Violet Vixen
Threepac Cracka Fool
The Sinister Don

Go Directly To Jail

Hello World,

Happy Summer! I don't know about where you are, but so far, this would only be anyone's idea of summer in the Bizarro Universe, where nothing is as it should be, and no doubt, Comrade Mischka reigns supreme. The last week in May around here was over 90 degrees with wilting humidity, and if this was Spring, it was not for the faint-hearted. Last night it was so cold that I couldn't sleep, and I had to get up and put on more clothes just to go to bed. The weather forecasters tell me that today is the summer solstice, the official first day of summer, although I don't mind saying that for the most part, they have no idea what they're talking about, so I have no reason to believe them now. But I suppose that it's just barely possible that somewhere else, in some enchanted other place, and not just in the mythical memories of yesteryear and halcyon days of yore, the first day of summer is actually behaving like summer, to the delight of contented locals. On the other hand, we're having the kind of weather that always makes me shudder and wonder, am I really going camping in three weeks? The mind reels.

Of course, last Saturday was Flag Day, and the flag brigade was out early to run up the colors upstairs and downstairs, and lend some welcome patriotic hues to the neighborhood on Old Glory's special day. It was a lovely morning, and there's nothing like seeing those bright white and red stripes snapping in the wind to put you in mind of purple mountain's majesty, rocket's red glare and oceans white with foam, from sea to shining sea. Unfortunately, it didn't hold up, and by 3:30, the flag brigade had to step lively to pull in both flags just barely ahead of the thunderstorms that blew in out of nowhere and spoiled an otherwise glorious day. Carrying the flags back into the house had the usual effect of terrorizing the cats, in spite of the fact that between Memorial Day (traditional and observed) and Flag Day and July 4th, I do this exact same thing with the flags on two floors, about four times in six weeks, and have done so for two dozen years now. But no amount of repetition is making this any more popular with our cats, although at least with some of them, the thunderstorms are even less so. Between the flags and the thunder, I was about as unpopular with the cats as a law against catnip. That is, except in cases of medical emergencies.

Speaking of medicine, we have Bill to thank for the following venture into therapeutic remedies:

====================
I went online again, looking for people who had problems with one blood pressure drug and who were now taking something else. Well, the first place I ran into actually turned out to be a site selling the original stuff instead. But for some reason, I hesitated to send them my money. Their site said:
Good afternoon. You welcomes *1 TOP PILLS - SHOP PHARMACY. We are very glad you to see at us! Also we can offer you set of
various preparations various a direction, for example: Male Enchancement, Female Enchancement, Sleeping Aid, Anti-Acidity,
Anti-Diabetic, Anti-Herpes, Weight loss, and many other things! The flexible system of discounts, an individual approach to
the client Operates! Very convenient delivery, and fast. For earlier it is grateful, for visiting.
====================

For earlier it is grateful, indeed. Bill couldn't help but wonder, who wouldn't want their female enchanced, after all, and he might be onto something there. But as for me, I'd be more willing to fork over my hard earned cash for an individual approach to the client Operates! They certainly got our attention, and not just because they were very glad us to see at them. I don't mind saying that no less than the giant of retail online commerce, amazon, has never once told us they were very glad us to see at them, so I think we can all agree that there is a lesson to be learned in all this.

As we all know, last Sunday was Father's Day, and a nicer day would be hard to imagine. Personally, I think that any day that starts with presents is a good day, so Bill had reason to rejoice in this feature of his special day. The cats were on top of their game, bringing their "Daddy Cat" gifts of apparel, entertainment, gadgets and even some organic treats for mind and body. Best of all (at least for people with a lot of cats) might have been the candle warmer, which is like a little hot plate that you plug in and it holds a scented jar candle, and warms it up to release the fragrance of the candle without burning it. We put it in the front hall, right next to one of the litter boxes, and although the candle gave it everything it had, I would have to say that unfortunately the litter box has been the clear winner so far, at least in the categories of strength and distance, which the candle simply cannot match. So far we've tried it with two different candles that we liked the scent of, and my feeling is that if we find a candle with a smell that we don't like (eucalyptus springs immediately to mind) that would probably do the trick.

After the excitement of Father's Day had died down around here, I went outside to do some more yard work, in my never-ending battle against encroaching weeds, vines, foreign invasives and pests of all kinds. I soon discovered that Father's Day was still in full swing in other areas of our fair city, with what sounded like a wild and rollicking concert from the band shell at the nearby park. It was a lovely day, and it was actually a nice treat to have musical accompaniment to my gardening efforts, which are boring at the best of times, and interspersed only with the maniacal rage that comes from too much rampant mutant alien poison ivy in your yard. Although I will say, if I was choosing my own music to garden by, it would not have been hours of blaring Latin dance songs, with their throbbing guitars and maracas, but from a distance, it was nice enough and an interesting change of pace. But even I was not prepared for the climax of their show, which was evidently the salsa version of Jailhouse Rock at full volume, and you can believe me when I say that it obliterated everything in its path and took no prisoners. I didn't go by later to see if the band shell was still standing after their epic rendition of this classic rock anthem, but you could certainly hear the cheers for miles in any direction when they finally wrapped it up. So Father's Day was certainly one for the books, at least in terms of decibel level, with a little something for each and every one of the fathers out there, and even the ones in the ol' calabozo.

In other news, at least for us, we actually went to the movies last night, and saw the new Indiana Jones film. We probably haven't been to the cinema since the last Star Wars movie came out, whenever that was, so we were looking forward to it as a fun diversion in an otherwise ordinary week. Like the Star Wars franchise, I'm on board with the idea of seeing all of the Indiana Jones movies, just for the sake of seeing them all, and I'm sure there are people who felt the same way about The Godfather, Rocky, Alien, The Matrix or Harry Potter, sticking with it through the whole series. I would have gone to see it anyway, even if everyone said it was horrible, because I had already seen the first three anyway, but the fact is that I never saw any reviews of it, so I had no idea what anyone else may have thought of it in the first place. So it wouldn't be fair to say it was a big disappointment, because that would imply that we had some special expectations for it, which we didn't. It would be safe to say that it's very loud, and has lots of action and some amazing special effects, and what they must have spent on locations and sets would have been more than the entire gross national product of many small countries. At one point, after the umpteenth tomb in the umpteenth cave in the umpteenth cemetery, I said to Bill that I only wish I had the synthetic cobweb commission for this movie, and I could retire in luxury. When it was all over, all we could say about it was that it was plain stupid, in spite of a wealth of high-powered talent and vast resources that should have been enough to make it better. The story made no sense, and the characters were alternately dull, annoying, uninteresting or ridiculous. The special effects so completely overwhelmed the people, and they were so dwarfed in scale, that it was like watching a cocker spaniel lumbering through a model train layout. The chase sequences and battle scenes were almost laughably absurd, except that instead of laughing, you couldn't help groaning instead. I wouldn't say it was bad, it wasn't boring, and it didn't lack entertainment value for all of its technical wizardry, but it was just utterly stupid. I never do understand how they can take so many talented people, with decades of motion picture experience between them, and all the money in the world, and they can't tell a simple story which makes sense that people would want to see. All they needed to do was throw Jar-Jar Binks in there, and it would have been complete. Personally, I think their biggest mistake was killing off Sean Connery's character, so what they should have called it instead was "Indiana Jones and the Revenge of Bond ..... James Bond." I say throw them all in the calabozo and make them watch classic movies until they figure out how to do it right. Or at least learn to sing Jailhouse Rock in Spanish.

Out With The Old

Hello World,

Happy Father's Day! I know it seems ridiculously early, but this is what happens when the month starts on a Sunday, and suddenly, the holidays are upon us before we know it. Sunday is the time to recognize the contributions of all the fathers, or father figures, that have made a difference in our lives over the years. Let's take the opportunity to give them all a big cheer, and treat them to a red-letter, brass-plated, double-barrel celebration on their special day, and please don't spare the horses. (Now, there's a perfect example of another one of those timeworn colloquialisms that would be lost on young people nowadays, and more's the pity, I'm sure.) Meanwhile on Saturday, it's Flag Day, so I'm sure I don't have to tell you what that means, in terms of flying the colors of the free and the brave, which so proudly we hailed, o'er the ramparts still gallantly streaming, and long may they wave.

Speaking of notable dates, last Saturday was one for the books, and yet it seemed to slip by with no fanfare. For the numerologists among us, the first Saturday in June could be written as 06/07/08, and being the first time in a hundred years, I would have expected it to make more of a splash. But the pundits seemed to take no notice of it, as they did when it was 01/02/03 or even more so when the time was 01:02:03 on 04/05/06. I guess after a while, everything becomes old hat (another one of those outdated colloquialisms again!) and even the pundits lose interest in it. Another notable date that seemed to be generally overlooked was Friday the 13th, which usually causes more of a stir in the media, but I found it sneaking up on us unawares this month. You can only have a Friday the 13th when the month starts on a Sunday, and since this is the only one that there will be all year, you would think that people would have taken more notice of it. But I suppose that was just wishful thinking on my part, or I would say that I was just whistling through my hat, but I'm trying to avoid those old-fashioned colloquialisms that are lost on young people nowadays.

For all of you old-timers out there, Bill and I watched a TV special featuring the stand-up comic Rita Rudner in Las Vegas, and she was complaining about a friend of hers who suffers from "story-heimers." That is, she keeps telling the same stories over and over again, not seeming to realize that her friends have heard them numerous times already. At one point, when she launched into yet another retelling of one of these old yarns, Rita in exasperation simply stepped in and finished it for her, so she didn't have to listen to the whole thing all over again. Now she says, her friend thinks she's psychic.

Meanwhile at work, I got a call from the coordinator of the computer department at our sister institution in Mount Vernon, who wanted to ask me about a purchase order for print cartridges needed by her department. This is a darling lass from the Old Sod, who would put you in mind of Maureen O'Hara, and I have spoken to her many times and always try to be helpful, which everyone knows is my aim in life. It's possible that Tuesday was not a good day for me when she called, because when she asked me to look on my computer to check the status of her order, instead I found myself saying with ice cold logic, "But Maureen, don't you have your own computer that you can use to look up orders, the same as I can look them up on my computer?" (Here I'm thinking that her being in charge of the computer department, surely they would have given her a computer of her own to use.) I realized that didn't sound very helpful, although I tried to say it in a nice way, but I was totally unprepared for what happened next. In reply to my question about whether she had her own computer to use for looking up orders, she said, "Oh, I don't know." [Now this is me, holding the phone away from my head and staring at it as if there's a three-headed polka dot space alien on the other end.] You don't know??? I frankly can't understand how it could be possible that you wouldn't know, and even if it was true, I don't see why you would say that to anyone. Of course, everyone knows that I have a long-standing policy against using logic with irrational people, so I forwent (I'm coining this new past tense of "forgo") the opportunity to pursue that further, on the theory that any attempts at clarification would likely lead instead to reduced comprehension, rather than an improvement of any kind. And believe me, I was not just whistling Dixie.

Last Sunday after church, I was busy doing yard work, which on our property means that you try to rein in the rampant vines that are running amok, and choking off everything in the flowerbeds that they can get their tendrils on. After getting a rash the week before, I was steering clear of the poison ivy, but there's plenty of other invasive pests that require attention, especially the porcelain berry, which seems to be everywhere at once. A bigger problem is closer to the house, and not for the faint-hearted. I will tell anyone who is looking for a hobby that they should plant wisteria, because just keeping after it so that it doesn't completely take over the yard (and the house) is a full-time job, and no place for half-measures, or letting the chips fall where they may. It's already climbed more than halfway up our sycamore tree, which is taller than our house, and I routinely have to chop it out of the driveway, which is 30 feet away. It's amazing to me that there aren't simply vast forests of wisteria out in the wilds, because nothing seems to stop it from spreading in every direction, both horizontal and vertical, and probably other directions that haven't even been invented yet. I would say that it's like a bull in a china shop, but everyone knows how I feel about those old colloquialisms.

In other gardening news, and this time in the back yard, it was after dinner last Saturday when Bill and I were watching television, and suddenly it got very dark and blustery all at once. It didn't rain hard, but the wind was gusting in short, intense bursts that buffeted the house like a prizefighter. This went on for a while, without even the blissful idiocy of the television to distract us, because the electricity kept going on and off, and our cable went out completely. Then we started to hear that unmistakable snapping and crackling sound so familiar to homeowners with old trees, when you hope that you're not going to be the one with the picture on the front of the newspaper, where the tree falls down and crushes the family car. Fortunately, it didn't last long, and when it let up, we still had our electricity, unlike more than 15,000 other county residents, who lost their power and suffered through 95 degree temperatures with no way to cool off. It wasn't until the next day that Bill noticed what should have been the top of the linden in our back yard, at about our attic level, was instead, very much on the ground, and making a huge mess of itself over a wide area. It demolished a metal arbor and flattened three rosebushes, while just barely missing the cellar doors, bay window and one very historic bird feeder built by my grandfather. Bill is nothing if not game, so he headed straight out and tackled it head-on, but there was so much of it everywhere, that he couldn't make much of a dent in it. He succeeded in dragging most of it out of the way, so at least we could get from the driveway to the back door, but even after cutting some of it apart, there were still massive sections whose sheer weight made them almost immovable. Of course, Bill has the strength of many because his heart is pure, and is not easily defeated by cantankerous botanicals, so he was able to accomplish more than was seemingly possible in one afternoon, and 95 degrees besides. Back in the old days, we would say that he was the bee's knees, but heavens to Betsy, people just don't talk like that anymore, do they?

The last word on how people talk is from Bill's daily online calendar, which serves as an endless fount of trivia, eccentricities, skewed humor and the arcane.
======================
WORDPLAYTWISTED ENGLISH SEEN IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES“Danger! This toy is being made for the extreme priority the good looks. The little part which suffocates when the sharp part gets hurt if swallowed is contained generously. Only the person who can take responsibility by itself is to play.”—warning label on a children’s toy“Soft Drinks: Cola, Ginger Ale, Milk, Flesh Juice”—on a restaurant menu“My Fannie”—toilet paper brand name
======================

Hmmm, seems like there are more people using those online translation services again, and not to good effect, as far as I can tell. Oh well, there's no sense beating a dead horse ..... what I mean is, it's no use crying over spilt milk ..... that is to say, every cloud has a silver lining, or rather, it's an ill wind that blows no good ..... why, if that don't just beat all, as well as take the cake, and knock the wind out of the sails, I've gone all the way around Robin Hood's barn here, and can't seem to wrap this up without dragging in some tired old chestnut from days gone by, and I've tried everything by hook and by crook, not to mention, every nook and cranny, to no avail. So you can just go ahead and stick a fork in me, because I'm done.

War And Peace

Hello World,

Ah, what is so rare as a day in June, and centuries of poets hit it right on the head when they sang its praises, for those sunny days, soft breezes and the intoxicating perfume of flowers everywhere. It's enough to bring out the gardener in the most horticulturally challenged individual. Speaking of horticultural challenges, last weekend, I was cleaning out a corner of our yard that should have had some Thorndale ivy and a yew, but which had been wildly over-run with poison ivy, garlic mustard, porcelain berry, flowering almond and barberry, among other invasive weeds and pests. The poison ivy got its revenge, because I did not take adequate precautions, and ended up with an ugly rash on the inside of my arms above my gloves, and it was only the miracle of modern topical medications that helped me survive the ordeal with my sanity intact. But I was surprised to find some strange mystery vine in with everything else, with round leaves so that anyone could tell that it wasn't Thorndale, poison ivy or porcelain berry, or any other vine I had ever seen, that apparently came out of nowhere. I have no idea what it is or where it came from, but it was really running amok in that corner, and climbing over everything that was there. Honestly, it's bad enough waging war against all of the rampant mutant alien vines that we already know, without introducing whole new mystery interlopers from who knows where, and tossing them into the fray.

Meanwhile, in the never-ending annals of juvenile delinquent squirrels around here, last week they did not dig my impatiens out of the planter on our front porch, as they had been doing. What they did instead was dump the entire container off the porch, so that it landed upside-down in the flowerbed behind the wisteria, and everything flew out of it in every direction, thanks so very much not. (This is where Bugs Bunny would say, "Of course, you realize this means war!") So there I was after work, crawling on my hands and knees between the wisteria and the rock wall, trying to scoop up the potting soil and poor bedraggled impatiens where they had been tossed like battlefield casualties all over the place. (I thought I could hear the juvenile delinquent squirrels in the trees whistling "Garry Owen," but I'm sure I must have been mistaken.) I picked up all the ones that I could find, and carefully replanted them back in the pot once again, this time wedging it securely between the barbecue grill and two other planters, so that it couldn't be moved. A few days later, they had perked up considerably, and almost looked like their old selves again, so I found that very encouraging. And I'm sure those artillery emplacements and troop movements of the juvenile delinquent squirrels are just routine maneuvers, and my other flowerpots have nothing to worry about. Say, is that Garry Owen I hear?

However, in the war against boredom, that sound you don't hear is the sound of people being interested in the Stanley Cup playoffs, which were finally narrowed down to the Detroit Red Wings and Pittsburgh Penguins, to the apparent disinterest of millions of sports fans the world over. It's true that we didn't watch any of the playoff games after the Rangers had been eliminated in the second round by those self-same Penguins, but I would still have expected the sports section of our newspaper to have reports of the subsequent games and results of the divisional and conference match-ups on the way to the finals. But nary a peep out of them, all the way up to the end, and it was only Bill who saved me from being the last person to know that the playoffs were over, when he mentioned that Detroit had in fact won the Cup, apparently amid deafening silence from the world at large. Alas poor hockey, which is well on its way to becoming the women's bowling of professional sports, and more's the pity, I'm sure.

Just when you think that you're the only person who remembers something obscure and eccentric from your youth, sure enough, you can find it right there on YouTube for all the world to see. I'm apparently not the only person in creation who remembers Tennessee Bird Walk, or Alvin and the Chipmunks doing The Harmonica Song, or even Dog Police, which was probably only shown once on MTV during their Basement Tapes segment. But there they are on YouTube, big as life, where anyone can watch them, even if they don't remember them from a hole in the wall. You can easily find old commercials or music videos, as well as the opening credits and theme songs from just about every TV show that you can imagine, and some that you can't even imagine in your wildest dreams. These include foreign programs that can't help but give you a new appreciation for American television, by comparison. There are comedy skits and bloopers, cartoons and lectures, and musical performances that run the gamut from the truly inspired to the totally disastrous, not to mention, everything in between and way beyond. Bill and I were watching a news show last week where they said that people are uploading video content to YouTube at the rate of 10,000 videos a day, believe that or not. Soon it will be a new game to play "Stump YouTube" and try to search for a video clip that's NOT on YouTube, rather than trying to find one that is. Because believe me, if you can remember it, and I can remember some pretty bizarre stuff, it's probably already on YouTube. You can go right there and check it out for yourself. Tell them Garry Owen sent you.

On the topic of bizarre things, and perhaps I'm the only person who would find this strange, but the latest issue of PC Magazine is featuring their Top 500 Tips for computers, and as Dave Barry always says, "I'm not making this up," because coming in towards the end of the list is this arresting entry:

#442 - USE ONLINE SNAIL MAIL
When you need to send a letter but can't get to the Post Office,
use esnailer.com. Type your envelope and letter online and
click SEND. esnailer sends the letter via U.S. Postal Service,
and you either pay $1.50 per letter or have it sent free by agreeing
to receive advertising in return.

Will someone please let me know at what point this begins to make any sense to anyone? I think I would not only have to be out of my cotton-picking mind, but also have my brain hijacked by space aliens, before I would write a letter online and then pay someone $1.50 to mail it for me. I mean, it's just incomprehensible to me that someone came up with this as a business model and thought it would be a good idea, besides being popular enough to offer it to their advertisers. I realize that the dinosaurs and I are woefully out of touch with the world of today, and that's putting it mildly, but that whole concept just seems to me like a very bad April Fools joke gone horribly wrong. And here all along, I thought we were winning the war on drugs, but apparently not.

Speaking of things going wrong, I love the new bumper sticker that I just received that says -

PLEASEDON'T HIT ME
I'm not 100% sure about my coverage

I thought that was pretty funny for a bumper sticker, all things considered. It came in the mail recently, from my new best friend Tom Broderick, who is apparently my friendly neighborhood State Farm Insurance agent, and it certainly got my attention. In terms of insurance-related bumper stickers, I like it better than the one that says LET'S NOT MEET BY ACCIDENT, at least for the novelty factor. But both of these don't come close to my all-time favorite, if only for the vehicularly challenged among us, which says: IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY DRIVING, STAY OFF THE SIDEWALK. Frankly, I don't see any way to improve upon that, although it's probably funnier for those of us who are an automotive menace, than it would be for the pedestrians in our path, and I can't say that I fancy their chances all that much.

On the technology front, Bill has a snazzy new scale that registers weights in the tiniest increments, and is accurate to within thousandths or probably nano-thousandths of poundage. However, sometimes the most accurate weight is not exactly the results that a person might have hoped for, and this can be a discouraging outcome after implementing a new diet or fitness routine. I said to Bill that he needs what I call the "3-pound spot" on the floor. I have an old beat-up spring scale, and I carry it out into the hallway where the light is stronger, so I can see the numbers better. If I step on the scale and it registers 140, I can step off and move the scale slightly to one side, and when I get back on, now it says 137 instead. This is my kind of scale! Of course, this might only work in houses where the floor is uneven, but personally, I think every floor should have a 3-pound spot on it somewhere, because you never know when you can use a pick-me-up, and I can tell you, it works for me. And when it comes to the war on weight, I'm right there in the trenches and fighting the good fight, right along with the juvenile delinquent squirrels, and ..... say, do you hear what I hear?

Garry Owen