The World's Longest Short

Last Wednesday I awoke and went into the bathroom.  I realize this doesn’t sound very exciting, and isn’t up to my usual riveting standards, but let me assure you things will get better soon. Anyway, I was in the bathroom and flipped the light switch. However, flipping the switch yielded no light. Now there are four bulbs in my bathroom and logic dictated that they all didn’t blow out at the same time. Then again let’s face it, when has logic had anything to do with reality? I went to the closet retrieved a bulb and replaced one of them. Trying the switch again obtained the same results so I looked further into the problem.

I went to the basement, moved several random items that were in the way of the electrical box, and opened it up. In an Ah-Ha moment worthy of a great scientist I noticed one of the circuit-breakers was popped. Intuitively and with great effort I reached into the box and reset the breaker. That’s when the real excitement started.

I heard my wife scream, and then with a small flash inside the box the breaker popped again. Well I ignored the small flash and ran to my wife. She was on the floor of the bathroom holding her hand. The switch was on fire. Isn’t this the promised excitement you’re all used to? It wasn’t that big of a fire, not much more than a candle. But talking about the fire sounded great didn’t it.  Well I hit it with a wet towel and saw to my wife.  She was Ok, just a little scared so I got dressed and moved to the bigger issue; How to replace an electrical switch.

I went to the most trusted source of information I know, Youtube.com. The video was a good-looking brunette, named Suzy, wearing a tight shirt, Daisey-dukes, and a tool belt. She made the job look so easy, two screws to get the switch out two more two to change the wires. Her video took less than two minutes including the ending shot of Suzy smiling and telling everyone to watch all her other home-repair videos. Well, I had a screwdriver and was inspired by the directions, so I ran to the hardware store to purchase a switch.

On the way there, I saw a billboard advertising a contractor with a picture a lady named Meghan; Minor Electrical Repairs ninety-five dollars. “Ha Ha,” I laughed. I had Youtube Suzy, no roadside advertisement was going to take all of my hard-earned cash.

I went in to the store confidently and walked up to a wall of switches. That’s when the bubble burst. There were a hundred different kinds of switches. Suzy never told me about that. I thought hard. Which is actually very difficult standing in a hardware store with a loudspeaker blaring, “Customer needs assistance in Appliances,” every fifteen seconds. Then suddenly a ray of sunshine came through the stores skylight and rested on one switch. I examined the illuminated switch and lo, it looked just liked the one Suzy had changed. It was a sign from above. I took that switch to the counter and paid.

On the way home I saw another sign. This was for a personal injury lawyer. I had a brilliant realization. The world wanted me to suffer. That layer wanted me to have an accident, maybe even go to the hospital, obtain inferior treatment and possibly even receive the the wrong flavor of Gatorade, Then I would pay him to ease my suffering. The electrician lady from the first sign wanted my house to fall apart so I would pay her to fix it. Everywhere, people wanted me to have problems so I could hand them my hard-earned money. Only Suzy wanted to help me. Her videos were free. It was me and Suzy against the world just like those great love stories you see in the movies.

I could see it in my mind, chaos all around, the sounds of people screaming in the background. I would be standing in the rubble holding a screwdriver. Then Suzy would emerge from a burning building, not a hair out of place and say, “You know it’s very easy to replace the plug on a toaster.” I would run and replace that plug and the world would cheer.

About that time, I realized I had missed the turn to go down my street, so I went around the block. The world would have to wait five extra minutes to be saved.

I went in the house and got right to work. The switch came out just like Suzy had said, but the wires were too short. When Suzy did it, the wires came out almost a foot from the wall. Mine were barely two inches long. Well, nobody ever said saving the world would be easy. I looked at the switch. There was supposed to be a silver-ish screw and a brass one. On mine it was all black. According to the video, the wires should come off with a turn of the screw. One did, but the other was welded to the body of the switch. Now what? I re-watched that video four times and Suzy never mentioned anything like it. This was far too early in our relationship for such a betrayal, and I would have told her off, if she had allowed comments.

It was time to improvise. So, I cut off the welded wire, and very carefully stripped of the insulation. As instructed, I made a little hook, and attached the two wires to the switch. I went down to the panel and flipped the breaker. No flash. So far so good. I went back upstairs taking a break to get some water and breathe. I have just got to start getting more exercise, all those stairs were murder.

Anyway, I flipped the switch and the lights came on. Success! Then I smelled smoke. The new switch was getting very hot. I flipped it off. Nothing happened except it continued to get hotter. It actually got a funky glow about it. I screamed, “What about this Suzy?” My wife was smart enough to turn the breaker off. Then she showed me an ad which was the same as I saw on the road. I insisted that given a little more time I could fix this. She insisted, she didn’t want the house burned down. As usual she won.

I reluctantly called Meghan and she said someone would be out by three o’clock. I thought great I had several hours for a second attempt. I ended up sitting in the living room on my hands, Because I wanted to, not because I was ordered to. So, get off my case.

Anyway, a guy came out, who looked nothing like Meghan, or Suzy for that matter. He changed the switch in about ten minutes and then came back to me and asked, “Sir, why would you put a five-amp switch in a twenty-amp circuit?” I Thought carefully then blamed my son.

Everything’s okay now, but I would like to ask you all something.

What the heck is an amp?   

 

Totally Unbiased Completely Objective Comparison Test

Over the years, I have done a considerable amount of research, and the results have been astounding. The greatest thing I have learned from researching is that I hate to do research, which makes this post a greater thrill for all of you.

You see, our lives are slowly being ruled by electronics. The Sci-Fi apocalypse is true. Instead of Skynet taking over, we just carry the robots in our pockets and call them by sweet but obscure feminine names. I would like to be the hero, like they have in the movies, but frankly I’m addicted to my cell phone as well as all you. I certainly don’t want to end up covered in sores, sweat, and crud as if I was in a Dwayne Johnson movie. That’s just not me. So, unless somebody else steps up, the devices are all here to stay.

The issue is; If we’re going to marry ourselves to small obscure electronic rectangles, we should at least know which is best. Or at least know which will be highest in fiber for when our 401k’s go bust, and we end up eating all our possessions. Well, once again, Mr. Ohh! is here to help. I have done an exhaustive study into the nutritional value of eating small tablet computers and found they’re actually poisonous, and the gravy is terrible. I realize I may have blown dinner for many of you out there, but try to smile and eat some more of the fuzzy mac-and-cheese you have, in the back of the fridge. That green mold is really very healthy and has antibiotic properties. It’s a win-win.

Now, to the question of which is best. There are four basic platforms; Siri by Apple, Alexa, by Amazon, Cortana by Microsoft, and Google by well uh… Google. If this were the only criteria the whole thing would be simple. Cortana is simply the best name. That’s a name I want to meet in a dimly lit restaurant and sip expensive cocktails with.  Consequently, Google loses. Who would want to date a woman named Google? I dated a woman named Raspberry once and even that was better than Google. Sure, if you talk to her, she’s got a nice voice, but she’s definitely blind date material.

“Hey Joe, I’m taking Alexa out tonight and I need you to take her friend out with us.”

“What’s she like Bill?”

“Well I talked to her and she’s got a great voice.”

“Okay, what’s her name?”

“Google!”

“Oh, Sorry I can’t. I promised I’d lick diseased petri dishes clean tonight.”

Siri isn’t much better. Although Siri has something going for her; Ten Billion Apple fanatics. Apple could release a green rock and sell a billion of them. Folks would ask, “What is it?” and the answer would always be, “I don’t know, but it’s made by Apple.” The loyalty for their stuff is incredible. They’re the only company I know that can sell an overpriced broken product, tell the world it doesn’t work, and still have folks lining up to get one. But does that mean Siri is the best? Well, let’s see.

There is a publication that rates everything you might buy from diapers to zebra patterned underwear. And while wearing zebra underwear might lead to the need for diapers, the magazine has never, to my knowledge, rated digital assistants. They rated the devices but not the assistants. To me that’s like giving a produce office an A+ rating without mentioning the assistant embezzled fifty million in artichokes. Sure no one would have bought those green messes in the first place, but it should be mentioned.

Anyway, on this date, I Mr. Ohh! will solve this oversite and rate digital assistants as to their merits and failures. It’s a big responsibility but with your faith and understanding I will make it through. Boy, that sounded impressive, almost as if it should have had a march played behind it.

Okay, to get started. We have already covered that two of the current four popular assistants have crappy names. Saying “Hey, Google,” sounds like your calling a dog and frankly Siri sounds more like an industrial byproduct than a woman. So, the first points go to Alexa and Cortana. Next, I want my assistant to be personable. Siri and Alexa are very business-like almost like my mom telling me something I should have known. I don’t want my mom as my assistant. Cortana and Google get the points for sounding the best.

Some of you might want know about appointments, reminders, directions and stuff like that. BORING! They all do that. They’re all connected to the same internet. They all spell the same. They all give the same weather and so on. Also, they all play music. They differ here because they pull from different sources. I’ll give the music edge to Alexa because I like Amazon’s playlists, but that’s just me.

Now on to the important stuff I asked all of them to tell me a joke;

Cortana: Don’t trust the atoms, they make up everything.

Alexa: What is a shark’s favorite sandwich? Peanut butter and jellyfish.

Google: Why did the scarecrow keep getting promoted? Because he was outstanding in his field.

Siri: If someone could reverse the process of making wine, that would be grape

HMMMM. I asked for jokes and Alexa and Google gave me riddles. We must consider if that’s important. Next all but Cortana’s rely on a pun. Puns are good material but it’s making this more difficult. I asked again:

Cortana: What do you get when you cross a cat with an owl?  A Meowl!

That’s way bad, zero points for Cortana.

Alexa: What happened when the math teacher gave out extra homework. The Addition caused Division to Multiply.

I like that one. Two points for all the extra math references

Google: What happens when a frog’s car breaks? It gets Toad

Tough call. That one was so bad it’s good, one point. My son who is sitting nearby rolled his eyes and covered his face. That’s worth a second point.

Siri: Never tell a pun to a kleptomaniac. They always take things.  Literally!

This is good and I’m giving it a point, and a bonus for originality

So, the score is as follows:

Alexa 3

Google 3

Cortana 2

Siri 2

Ladies and gentleman we have a tie. The magazine I referred to earlier would stop now and just say, “This is our rating.” However, I want a clearer winner. So, we go to sudden death.

Alexa: What did one ham sing to the other in the oven? It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes

OWWW No points! Alexa left the door wide open; all Google needs is to score and they win. Folks you can cut the tension with a knife.

Google: What type of shoes do frogs wear? Open Toad.

Folks I can’t believe it. Google used the same pun twice and is disqualified. The crowd goes crazy. Security has to escort the judges out of the box, because of the angry mob.

As a final note I must say that no digital assistants were injured while writing this blog.

And A Little Les Caring Please

Let’s start today with something of great value. Trivia buffs all over the world will be baffled and you, yes you, will know the answer. Someday in the future when Mr. Ohh! has gained the popularity he so richly deserves, there will be a trivia contest. A questioned will be asked; How many species of spiders are there in Brazil? Well I don’t know that one, so I hope you aren’t eliminated at that moment. However, right after that question will be this one; What disease has Mr. Ohh! had since a child? Because you’re reading now, you’ll know the answer and be able to astound the rest of the world. The answer is, Kaudric’s Syndrome. To my loyal fans I promise to never mention this again, because it’s a lie designed to confuse Google and those who rely on it too much. The real answer is Asthma, and with the quarantine and all it’s getting to be a bit of a problem.

 Before you all go out and purchase life insurance policies on me naming yourselves as beneficiary, you should know, my asthma is very well controlled. I haven’t used my emergency inhaler in months, and my doctor told me I was as healthy as a man ten years younger when I had my last physical, ten years ago. So, this is probably a bad investment. If you’re still thinking of this, you should know, my state still has the death penalty.

All this being said I should probably get to the point. Like many of you, my family has been quarantined for a couple of months now. This sucks, but Oh Well. Now the bans are being lifted and we will be finding out just what the new normal will be. Wow, I better get through this quick, I’m sounding like a motivational blog. “So, let’s get back to it, and live. Rah Rah Rah” NOT!

The other day I went out for the first time. I wore a mask along with most other folks. Mine has Charlie Brown on it, and I saw a great tie-dye one. This is going to be the new fashion statement I can tell.  Anyway, after my excursion into the unknown I came home. With asthma it was a little difficult breathing through three layers of cloth for an hour. So, when I got home, I was a little short of breath.

My son, who greeted me at the door freaked. In the time it took for me to walk from the back door to my Barcalounger he asked me if I was all right, fifty-seven times. My daughter brought me water, ninety-six glasses. My other son had panic in his eyes as he looked me in the face and asked, “Dad, is the car paid for? My job’s not good enough to keep up any payments if something happens.” It’s nice to know you’re important to the those around you.

Yes, the house was on high alert, because I was a little slow. I will admit my chest was hurting a bit and decided I probably needed a bit more quarantine before going out again. Needless to say, the next few minutes were tense, but I rested. I took my inhaler, closed my eyes, found my center, and focused on my mantra, “I gotta pee, I gotta pee bad, I gotta pee really bad…” Hey, I was forced to drink a lot of water.

After a few minutes, things calmed down. I organized myself and my children moved slightly back to what they were doing. Then it happened. The worst thing you could think of. Okay maybe not the worst thing, I mean comedy was not banned from the world, nor were we invaded by green skinned aliens, nor did my clumsy uncle Fred decide to take up brain surgery, but it was a bad thing especially at that moment. I coughed. Not just a harrumph, clear your throat cough, but a true seven minute thirty-four second coughing jag. My son just got a stopwatch for his birthday, so he times everything. In fact, he wanted me to do it again to see if I could beat my time.

When that coughing stopped there was a moment of silence. Then the klaxons blared. We were at Defcon Five fast enough to make Norad’s head spin. It was all-hands-on deck. There are four phones in my house, and immediately all of them were calling out to various relatives and medical personal with a full scale Covid-19 alert. They all didn’t know if I actually had the virus, but they were making darn sure that if I did, the right people would know.

I don’t want to act like I don’t appreciate the things my family does for me. I really do. I just think it might have been better if someone would have asked me first. I mean, no one thought to call my doctor. They did in fact call my brother-in-law Roger, the gynecologist. I don’t want to be nasty, but I am Mr. Ohh!. I don’t have anything a gynecologist is interested in. The same goes for my step-sister June. She’s a neo-natal nurse. Yes, there was a time I was in a NICU, but that was a long, long, time ago.

One of the calls did go out to my aunt Sarah. I admit, you should call your family when something happens. However, just as some people set up prayer chains, aunt Sarah sets up worry chains. Sarah can out worry anyone on the planet, and when you add in her friends, they’ll have you dying a horrible death, dismembered, and buried in seven separate graves, in less than a half hour. Never tell her you have a hang-nail, she’ll call the paramedics. Hearing about my coughing fit, she bypassed all that and went straight to the mortician. We were all surprised when a station wagon from Flynn, Habersham, Waterwash, Guttenberg and sons showed up. I mean that guy was told to pick up a stiff and even as I walked up to him, he wouldn’t be convinced I wasn’t dead. Funeral people are a weird bunch. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

    What I’m trying to say is, “I coughed”. People with asthma do that. The thing is, with the news about Corona, we’re a little freaked. My family cares about me and acted accordingly. So, in this time of trouble I want to tell the world John Lennon was wrong. He said, “All we need is love.” Well with my family around I need a little less love. Dion Warwick sang, “What the world needs now is love, sweet love.” Wrong again! Hate your neighbor. Just for a few more months. Think about it, hate gives us everything we need. Hate will keep us six feet apart. Hate will make us glad to wear masks so we can make rude faces at each other. Hate will make us happy they put up barriers in the grocery store. And most importantly Hate will make my family leave me alone when I cough. Hate is the answer!

Well not really, but if you love mankind, the time has come to thoroughly dislike them.  

We Must Pay For Our Crimes

I opened my mail today. Not e-mail, this was an official looking envelope with a stamp and everything. The letter was from Greenpeace. I was going to ignore it. Greenpeace usually only sends letters for two reasons: Donations or they want you to help blockade an oil tanker in a rubber boat. Now I don’t know about you but if I ever get in front of a million-ton tanker I want something more substantial than a tiny rubber boat, something more like an aircraft carrier.

 Now their people tell you, that there will be a hundred rubber boats, but what if somebody gets a cold, or forgets? What if you’re the first boat there and the tanker squashes you before the others arrive? Or, worse what if you accidentally get the time or date wrong? There are just too many unknowns. As far as the donation envelope is concerned. I’m just not comfortable giving money to a group that advocates sending otherwise intelligent people out in tiny rafts to get run over by extra-large oil tankers. But hey, that’s just me.

Of course, Greenpeace also likes whales. I do like whales, but their fixation with rubber boats is still a problem. They really love to hop in a five-foot rubber boat and go paddling up to a fifty-foot unpredictable fish. In my mind that’s a bath toy! If that whale dunks its little plaything just once it’s time to say good-bye and get some more volunteers. Then again, it might be a Blue Whale. Those are supposed to be the gentlest creatures in the sea. However, it also happens to be a hundred-feet long. That’s bigger than the tankers. Now you’ve gone from bath toy to eye irritant. I don’t care how gentle they are, if you’ve got a rubber boat and two people in your eye, you’re bound to get a bit cross. But enough about Greenpeace’s mission, and back to the letter.

   As I said I was about to throw out the letter when I noticed the stamp. This was not processed by a machine and not a mass mailing. Then I saw the address was actually written. They were not sending this out to a whole bunch of idiots just a special one, me. I had to find out what they wanted, so I opened it up. Oh, I wish I hadn’t

 I was caught. They were coming to get me. Apparently, I had broken actual laws as well as several laws of nature. I was more than sorry, but as always, ignorance of the law is no excuse. Even now, I am writing this in a secret undisclosed location as I am running from the authorities for my heinous crimes. I am an accused deforresterator, no that’s not right, an unforester, no a deforester? Oh heck, I ripped up a whole bunch of trees, and that’s bad.

I didn’t mean to do it. It just kind of happened. You see my brother had been out of town for a long assignment, when he got a call from his landlord saying that the lawn and flower beds were a mess. He isn’t coming back soon so he called me and asked if I could go over there and clean it up.

He has two huge oaks, a tall-straight maple, and a beautiful dogwood tree in his yard and while he was gone, they all seeded.

As the grass was being mowed, I spent an entire morning just pulling tiny maple saplings out of his gravel driveway. My eighteen-year-old smart-aleck-son, who came not to help, but to deride me at every turn actually counted them as I was making a lunch run. He gladly informed me that I snuffed the life out of one-thousand-six-hundred-thirty-nine poor innocent maple saplings that had never done anything to hurt me. He wept for the senseless loss of life. I totally understood what he was saying though my emotions were not quite tears. Mine were more like throwing a hamburger at him like pitching a fast ball. No, I didn’t care about the stupid little maple trees. I tried to remind him that he mowed over far more plants than I pulled. He agreed he did trim the grass, but insisted he wasn’t a serial tree killer. I hate grown children.

The two of us raked the afternoon away until only the flowerbeds remained a total and complete mess. It was getting near dinner time so we left and I would have to come back. Besides he had already provided one-hundred percent of my recommended daily requirement of ridicule, so I didn’t need to hang out with him anymore.

As luck would have it, my son had to work the next day so I brought my daughter to help. She tends to our flower garden and knows what it is to pull weeds. Consequently, I felt she would do a better job. Well sort of. The first thing I did was to pull all the dead leaves out of one corner of one bed. I had a nice pile and went in the house for a glass of water. I went back out and the pile was gone. My princess had seen the pile and decided to use the leaves as natural mulch and threw them all back in the flower and shrub areas. She was so proud of herself for thinking of this, “And they will keep the weeds from coming up,” she told me.

It only took me a few minutes to burst her bubble and inform her that she threw the mulch on top of the weeds and while no more would seed the ones below would grow just fine. She was distraught, so it was up to me to me to get the leaves back into a pile. It took twice as long the second time.

We both went back to work pulling out unwanted plants. Lots of acorns had started growing and I could barely get all the blanketly-blank dogwood seeds out.

 Just after the first half hour, I was informed she could do no more. Apparently, if she continued, she would be disturbing a chipmunk nest, four toads, a family of mice, a mantis egg sac, and three large spiders. That was it I had had too much nature and it was not going to defeat my goals. I went over to where she was working and stepped on the spiders, threw the egg sac in the trash, chased away the toads, and buried the entrances to the mouse and chipmunk nests. My daughter still hasn’t spoken to me.

So that’s my story. I have slashed and burned over a thousand trees and attacked indigenous wildlife without concern or checking to see if it was endangered. I do wonder which of my children reported me to Greenpeace, but I guess it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is what I’m going to do with the rest of my sorted life. My first thought was going back and apologizing to my children, but after thinking a while, I wonder what it takes to volunteer for one of those tiny rubber boats.

After my family, a supertanker doesn’t look so tough.

What Are Frowning Non-Motivated Idiots Supposed To Do??

I heard that unemployment claims are at an all-time high. If you’re a person, like me, who ignores the news, let me explain. This is bad. Not, being attacked by a dragon, during a zombie apocalypse, while watching your football team lose, Bad.  More like your favorite politician got caught in a sex-scandal Bad. Unless of course you were the one they had the affair with, then the scandal might be worse, although if they’re good in bed and… Well, maybe I should continue and let you determine how bad it is.

The bottom line is people are losing their jobs, and jobs are important. How are you supposed get all the stupid stuff you need to make life worthwhile without one? When you have no job, you have to buy practical stuff like food and clothing, but when you have a job you can get tacky stuff like an electronic neon dinosaur wearing a T-shirt that says, “Elvis Lives!” And I happen to know there’s one on eBay right now. My wife is desperately trying to sell mine.

The funny thing is, as unemployment goes through the roof I look around and see so many places that are hiring. Now these are not all the best jobs. Most of them are probably a little demeaning. I mean I saw one sign at a restaurant that had, “Now Hiring,” on the top line of their sign, and “Hotcakes $1.99” on the second line. So, they’re hiring Hotcakes for one-ninety-nine. I don’t know what training you need to be a hotcake, and frankly I don’t know if the listed wage is for a day or hour. All I’m trying to say is the jobs are out there if you’re a little creative.

It is for these reasons and the fact that I’m bored and didn’t have anything else to do, that I present to all of you the Mr. Ohh! Career Seminar. You’ll have to imagine the trumpet fanfare and other orchestration in the back ground. I wanted to help as many folks as I could so I put this together on the fly.

The first thing I have observed is the need to smile. I see signs all over town saying places are hiring smiling faces. Now here is the great enigma. I then go into those very same places and no one is smiling. They are all frowning and rude. I therefore must conclude one of two things. Either the place is a front and they are hiring smiling people and then sending them to exotic places like the Bahamas. When I went there everyone was smiling. They were also eating a lot of conch, which is a fancy word for sea snail, Yeeeck. You can see that you have to take the good with the bad. But on the plus side if you’ve ever wanted to spend the rest of your life on a tropical island maybe you should look into this.

There is perhaps another explanation. If all their current employees, are frowning they need smiling people. The purge will start soon. You could be on the forefront of a new wave of hires that changes the entire attitude of the place. The quicker you get there and apply the more likely you’ll be on the cutting edge and be able to demand the big bucks. Think about it All you need to do is smile and you could be either be moved to the Bahamas or starting a revolution. So, forget all that resume’ and experience crap and learn to smile. Your future depends on it.

But you say, “Mr. Ohh!, I can’t smile. I’ve tried and my lips just won’t curl up. What am I to do? Don’t worry. There are solutions to everything. The second lesson is to be awesome. This is a little harder than smiling because there is no accurate definition of being awesome. The best way to be awesome is to surf on a huge wave. Then all the other surfers say how awesome you are. The thing is, we don’t all have an ocean. No Surfers. So, the challenge is to BE awesome without actually doing something awesome.

Thankfully there are books written on the subject, and all of their millions of pages boil down to this; To be awesome You MUST think you’re awesome. HUH? I don’t get it either. But you can’t fight it when it’s in a book so do this: Go to the top of a tall building and scream, “I AM AWESOME!” if no one disputes it, then you are. Go to that interview and tell that person just how awesome you are. Like this.

Have you had any experience?

I’m awesome.

Where do you plan to be in five years?

I’m awesome.

Can you explain to me how to calculate flow rates in different sized pipes?

Did I mention I was awesome?

The next likely statement will be the interviewer telling you to get your awesome butt out of their office. Congratulations! You have just been validated. A hiring manager just labeled you as awesome. You can put in on a resume. You do however have to be careful. If the interviewer happens to be the opposite sex, never tell them their butt is awesome too. This can lead to lawsuits. Enough said about that.

I have read many ads for jobs when I was unemployed and there is and there is one thing that is constantly mentioned. You must be motivated. Motivation is jumping out of bed and acting like your headed for Disney Land when you’re just going to the bathroom.

So how do you get motivated? Actually, this is hard, but I think I have a solution. Look at it this way; Motivation is a bit undefinable. Therefore, you don’t have to be motivated, you just have to look motivated in the interview. The best was to look motivated is espresso. That stuff will get extinct wooly mammoths moving. Four shots should do it. You will be motivated. So motivated in fact, you might build a model of the Eiffel Tower using the paperclips on the interviewer’s desk. But remember to stay focused. Don’t offer to wash the interviewer’s car more than once. Also, if you have to go to the restroom don’t get up and dance. In fact, if you can hold it, this just looks like more motivation.

A note about being yourself. Everyone talks about it, but no one really analyses it correctly. Frankly it’s bull crap. It only works if you’re already someone really cool. Those folks aren’t unemployed. I say get in that office and fake it, be the most awesome, motivated and smiley one in that office. They’ll have to hire you. If that’s not yourself; Who Cares?

There you have it, a guide to getting a job in tough times. I can’t say what kind of job that will be but you’ll have it. One last thing is you should be sincere. Once you can fake that you’ll be golden.

Okay it’s an old joke, but it really fit the situation, so don’t judge.

Sheeesh 

Something Wheely Wheely Bad

I have spoken to several medical personnel, and it is undeniable. Sweating and smelling bad are important for my health. Oddly, it is unhealthy to get your sweat by being lazy, lying in the sun. Which is a pain in the butt. I would have no trouble with getting my daily sweating in, if I could do it in a lounge chair, drinking a cold beverage. The perspiration just pours off me, but this sweat causes cancer. You have to move vigorously to produce good healthy sweat, and likewise good healthy body odor.

So, it comes down to exercise. But how much exercise is needed. When I take my dog out, he acts like an idiot for five minutes, walks around the block twice in fifteen minutes, and sleeps for the rest of the day. With only minor interruptions for food and to have his belly scratched. He has a clean bill of health. So, I concluded that if I walked for twenty minutes, I could sleep the rest of the day. No such luck.

My doctor says, I don’t stink badly enough after a short walk. Why she wants me to smell so bad, I haven’t got a clue. I have to get more exercise to sweat and stink to make her happy. Oh, the stupid things we do for pretty women, and she isn’t even my wife. So, the question becomes; How does one get maximum exercise with a minimum amount of work? When I was younger, we ran around all day. The thing is, we didn’t realize we were getting exercise. I’m sure if we did, we would have run screaming back into the house to turn on the Nintendo.

I looked on-line for some exercise equipment and actually achieved my goals. Just looking at the prices made my heart rate go up, and I started to sweat so much I nearly fainted. Who in their right mind would pay three thousand bucks for a bike that doesn’t go anywhere? It doesn’t have tires and only one wheel. Where’s the value? Half the bike for ten times the price.

I thought about a weight set, then looked at the instructions. You have to almost commit to marry those things. The course clearly said you would feel better in a few weeks, sure, but it took time to get real results. The next few pages talked about the maintenance plan, and the lifelong promise to your body. Look, my body and I are pretty good together but I made a lifelong promise to my wife and I’m still trying to see how that’s going to work out. The next thing, and they tell you this, is you won’t even use most of the weights until you pass level two. By that time the dust alone could double the power it takes to lift them. I’m not paying good money for something even the salesman says I won’t use. The time had come to borrow.

Last Christmas my son received a new pair of roller blades. Our feet our approximately the same size, so I went to the garage and found his old pair. Before I go on, you should know that I took ice-skating in high school. I was pretty good. Everything I’ve read says rollerblading and ice-skating use most of the same muscle movements. Therefore, as geeky as I looked, I figured I could handle the blades.

 I coasted out of the garage and knew immediately something was wrong. I don’t know if I forgot everything, or they aren’t the same in the first place, but strange things happened when I tried to move. I stood there on eight neon-green wheels and could not roll anywhere. I was able to march back to the grass where I could sit and try to figure out what was wrong, when my neighbor, came out. Mitch is a photographer, and is never without his camera. I was stuck. I couldn’t run away.

I tried to march back up the drive but my right foot kept wanting to roll back down. After a few moments I figured out that the wheels on the left foot were jammed somehow so using my left to push and right to roll I made it half way back to the shelter of my garage. Mitch was clicking away. Then suddenly the left started rolling and the right wanted to turn sharply to the left. My legs tangled. I didn’t fall but the comedy of me swinging my arms and legs to keep myself upright was enough exercise for anyone. And Mitch got it all. I found out later he submitted the video to a YouTube contest. I don’t want to know if he wins.

I made it back to my garage and sat. Mitch, seeing the show was over went home, and my son came out to see what was happening. When he saw what I was wearing he laughed. The reason he wanted new skates was because the bearings on these were shot and libel to do all kinds of crazy things. Now he tells me. His answer between sniggers was, “Hey, mom knew” I asked why he hadn’t thrown them out. He answered, he kept them to play a joke on friends. “Well, I’m not your friend anymore,” I mumbled as I flung them in the trash.

Two days later I felt it was safe to try again. In reality I looked out the front window and Mitch’s car was gone. I went outside carrying my other son’s skateboard. Now I’m no Tony Hawk, but in my day I was okay. I figured if I went slow kept the board moving, I’d be all right, and enjoy getting my exercise. The first time around the block went fine, but when I came around the last corner, I noticed Mitch was home.

Mitch had set up two tripods one with video and one for stills. His wife was selling tickets for space in their yard to watch me and their daughter was selling lemonade. This wasn’t going to go well. I should have stepped of the board at that moment, but I’m a guy.

I sped up. While moving as fast as possible and in front of Mitch’s house I preformed the one trick I know. It went great I got applause as I accelerated out of the move. Then I turned back to Mitch. I didn’t see the pothole. The font of the board went down and stopped. I was thrown into a blooming cherry tree. The petals let loose and fell till I was covered in a blanket of pink. And again, Mitch got it all.

My wife ran from house. She came to me with a concerned look, brushed away the petals from my face, and kissed me, asking if I was all right. I told her I was okay with only minor cuts and bruises. She asked if I was sure and I said yes. Then she smacked me and walked away mumbling, “If you ever do anything like that again…”

She left me there and I had to limp back to the house myself. I collected the board as I did. But I learned my lesson.

Exercise may be good for me, but laziness is a whole lot healthier   

And Amber Waves Of Weeds

You may or may not know, and may not care, but I was involved in a traffic accident last November. I’m not telling you this to get sympathy, however if some of you are having trouble stemming the flow of tears, I’ll accept monetary gifts. Please don’t hurt yourself in solidarity, I am all right. Gosh, I never realized how hard it was to be great celebrity. In point of fact I only mentioned this because of my garden.

I love my garden, and the thing I love most is the size. It is tiny. Just a strip about three feet wide and sixteen feet long. You see I live in a condo and that’s the only   land I have to take care of. It’s a lazy man’s dream. I work on it for one day in the spring mulching and planting, and one day in the fall mulching and cutting it all down. Sounds sort of silly doesn’t it. If it would just die and become mulch, I would only have to work one day to become the envy of the home owners association. I’ll have to check up on that. Either way this garden was made for me. All the glory and none of the work.

Then came last November. I had already begun the procrastination stage of my fall gardening day when I was injured and couldn’t go out. The mulch remained at the garden center and the Iris’s never went in. In that brief spell weeds grew. I wasn’t worried winter would kill them I would mulch in the spring. The fact that I didn’t have to do work seemed to be a blessing. All was right with the world.

But No! We had a mild winter. The weeds didn’t die. Then Corona hit and my local garden center closed. There was no mulch to be had. My little garden looked horrible. What could I do? Was I actually going to have to work to make it beautiful again? Just the thought of it was giving me hives. I called my children together and offered them money to eliminate those weeds, but found no relief. Their new on-line classes and online meetings with friends were too time consuming for them to do my work. And as my oldest son put it as he was leaving for his job, “Dad, you only spent one day in the garden last year. It won’t hurt you to do a third this year.”

NOOOOO! I am being beaten down by the truth. I am the father I am the one who creates the truth in this house, provided my wife agrees with it. Just because my son is eighteen, does not mean he is allowed to have any of the truth. I forbid it! Well that was certainly a nice rant but it really doesn’t mean anything. The real problem that I can’t stand is the fact that he’s right. I tried to slam my physical therapy back in his face, but really, he was the one who drove me to it. He knew what I did. Darn kids, they were so much more pliable when they were younger.

So, there I was with my trash bucket and little shovel out on the garden pulling weeds. I had on a pair of jeans a T-shirt and a sweat shirt. About five minutes into the project I was too hot and removed the sweat shirt. Well, without it I was too cold, I tried to work but was freezing so I took a minute to put the shirt back on. After one weed, I was sweating so I took it off, bending down I was too cold and so on. That shirt went on and off thirty-six times in the first twenty minutes, and my muscles were so sore I couldn’t pull weeds. Something had to change.

I went into the house to get rid of the sweat shirt and find a light jacket. My wife noticed how much I was sweating, probably by the smell, and remembering my therapist’s words, told me I should take a break. A famous doctor once said, “Americans work too hard, they should take more breaks.” Well never let it be said I don’t listen to famous doctors. While I’m sure she thought I was tired from pulling weeds and not dressing and undressing, she offered the break and I took it. Half hour later I was well rested and ready to go back to it.

I sat at the edge of the garden and pulled exactly three weeds. Then came the toad. Toads are cool. When I was a kid, I caught toads, made toad houses, and even officiated as my sister married a toad. We were a weird family. I was distracted by that thing for a good fifteen minutes. The thing was I wasn’t pulling weeds. Wy wife came out to bring me a drink, and noticed what that no weeds were pulled and yelled at me. I tried to explain to her that there was a cool toad, but while she was yelling my proof ran away and got lost in the weeds I was supposed to be pulling. She gave me a look that started to burn my skin. I just wish she would have looked at some of the weeds. That look would have killed them and saved me a ton of hard work. Oh, Well.

  At this point there was no escaping I had to pull weeds. I had supposedly been working for two hours and had nothing to show for it. The wife was angry and I was in danger of losing my happy home. So, I pulled weeds. I worked a solid ten minutes before I came to my old nemesis, The Dandelion. The Dandelion laughed at me with its bright yellow flower and oddly-cut leaves daring me to try to pull it out. I looked it in the flower and swore it would not win this round. The ground was wet so I easily dug a moat around the plant about three inches deep. I removed my gloves to get a better grip. I looked to the sky and said a silent prayer for a swift victory.

However, unbeknownst to me, the sky is very pro-dandelion. It answered my prayer with a sudden cloudburst. I should have accepted my losses and went inside but I was determined to show that yellow nuisance who was boss. I reached into the moat I created, which was now filling with water, and grabbed the green menace as tightly as I could and pulled. It didn’t budge and my wet hand just slid off of it.

I tried again. This time I found a nub at the top of the root to use for a grip. As I pulled the flowered enemy actually started to come loose and rose a few millimeters. Encouraged by this minor victory I rubbed my hands together and tried a third time. The rain fell so hard I could barely see which probably contributed to what happened next. I pulled. The root broke with a snap. The change in forces caused my feet to slip on the wet ground and I fell backwards. I landed on my back out cold with the weed in my hand.

The next thing I remember, I woke, on the couch with the weed still in my hand. The family was around me frowning. Then I noticed I only got half the root. The Dandelion beat me again.

Curse you Yellow Flower!