Christmas Eve Advice

I saw a COTA bus on the way to work today. The front of the bus had an electronic sign that switched from its route name – “Hamilton Road” – to “Happy Holidays.” It made me wonder in passing if “Happy Holidays” would offend anyone.

I’ve been thinking about that as I put in my half day at the office, waiting to celebrate Christmas Eve with my family. It seems to me that the vast majority of us are simply well-intentioned, everyday people who want the best for all of us. We’re not extreme supporters of the NRA or the ACLU. We see the good and bad in these organizations and, for that matter, in almost every group or person or belief.

So, it is my hope that we will all assume good intentions. I read that piece of advice on the blog of a successful businessman: Assume good intentions. He was talking about office situations, but it’s applicable to all of us, every day.

If someone wishes you “happy holidays,” assume it’s offered as a friendly greeting, not as intentionally disparaging to your religion.

If someone wishes you “merry Christmas” and you don’t celebrate Christmas, assume the same.

From the unthoughtful gift you receive to the unappreciated gift you give, don’t look for trouble. Assume good intentions.

Merry Christmas to all of you, my friends. I hope to see you soon.

Flu Me Once

I don’t get flu shots. I had one about 20 years ago and I swear it made me sick and I haven’t gotten one since.

I know, doctors and the CDC contend that flu shots don’t make you sick. That wasn’t my experience but, as I said, it was a long time ago.

Last year at my physical my doctor suggested I get a flu shot and I said I didn’t want one and she said okay. That’s why I love my doctor. And, luckily, I rarely get sick (knock on wood).

All that being said, I got a flu shot today. My employer provided them for free. Many of my co-workers got one this morning. It occurred to me that maybe the vaccine has been improved over the years and my body would react differently (or not at all). Maybe it was better to be safe than sorry. Maybe I could trust the CDC.

So after lunch on the spur of the moment I walked into the room where they were giving shots.

Nurse: Are you here for your flu shot?

Me: I don’t know. I didn’t sign up to get one.

Nurse: That’s okay, we can give you one anyway.

Me: I don’t have any ID with me.

Nurse: You don’t need ID, you just need to fill out the paperwork.

Me: I don’t know. I haven’t had a flu shot in like 20 years. What are the side effects?

Nurse: You might have some tenderness or swelling at the site of the shot, your arm might be sore for a day or so, but you won’t get sick.

Okay. I sit down at a table and fill out the paperwork. There’s an information sheet about flu shots. I read it. The nurse calls me over to another table to actually get the injection.

Me: You know how you said I wouldn’t get sick? (I point to the information sheet) This says reactions to a flu shot can be (I start reading) “hoarseness; sore, red or itchy eyes; cough; fever; aches; headache; itching; and fatigue.” Isn’t that “sick?”

Nurse: There’s a small chance you might have that reaction to the shot, but it wouldn’t be the flu. It would just be a reaction and only last a couple days.

Huh. The flu shot won’t give me the flu, but it might make me feel like I have the flu. Fine distinction I say. Still, I got the shot. We’ll see what happens. If I don’t have a bad reaction to it, I imagine I’ll get one every year. If it does make me sick – I mean, if I have a reaction - I’m never ever getting one again.

Like they say: Flu me once, shame on you. Flu me twice, shame on me.

Yet More Fun with Customer Comments

Here's the boot we posted on our Facebook page:


 

and here's what one of our customers posted:


IS THESE BOOTS ARE GOING TO GO OVER MY CALFS THOES LONG TOO THE KNEE BOOTS HUH (my company name omitted) ? HOW MUCH ARE THEY GOING FOR ? I BE DRESSING MY ASS OFF FOR A FULL FIGUAR WOMEN !

Sweet tap-dancing Jesus.

Sweet Tap-Dancing Jesus

I'm offering this phrase up to you because I love it and I want to share it - kind of like Oprah's Favorite Things.

Sweet Tap-Dancing Jesus.

I saw the phrase "Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ" on a "best of" Craig's List car ad. It was used as a superlative:

JESUS
TAP-DANCING
CHRIST
Never in your life has a car made you so appealing to the opposite sex.
(it's a good ad,  check it out )

Never one to shy away from a good turn of phrase, I decided to use it for comic effect whenever I could. My mind, however, turned the phrase a little more.

Sweet Tap-Dancing Jesus. It's better my way, isn't it?

Here are a few ways you can pepper it into your own conversations:

For OSU football games - Sweet tap-dancing Jesus did you see that catch?

While shopping - Sweet tap-dancing Jesus that is one ugly sweater.

At work - Sweet tap-dancing Jesus, will this day ever end?

Complimenting your children - Sweet tap-dancing Jesus, you got an A!

Talking to me: Sweet tap-dancing Jesus, Jeano, that's the best phrase I've ever heard. It should be in the dictionary under "brilliant!"

Enjoy.

The Little Swede

A friend of mine has a grandson, Alex, who lives in Sweden. Pretty much from the date of his birth we've referred to him as "the little Swede." I finally got to meet Alex, now 10, at dinner last night.

He's a good looking boy with fair skin and straight blonde hair. His English is excellent and he speaks with only a slight accent. He was dressed in a tee shirt with a skateboard graphic and an oversized ball cap - apparently the universal wardrobe of 10-year-old boys.

We ate at CiCi's Pizza. It's a pizza and pasta buffet with the added bonus of a small game room. I had never been there before but it was highly recommended as a place kids love and adults tolerate. We'd tolerate it more if they served alcohol. About the time Alex was on his 3rd plate of pizza he declared: "In the future, I think all restaurants should be just like this one." High praise indeed.

Other conversations with Alex:

Me: Do you have a pet back in Sweden?
Alex: Yes, a dog.
Me: What's his name?
Alex: It's in Swedish.
Me: Tell me anyway.
Alex: Eddie.


As we were about to play a game of air hockey:
Alex: Nobody has ever beaten me at air hockey.
Me: Aw, that's a shame it's going to happen while you're on vacation.
(Nothing like trash-talking a 10 year old. He did go on to beat me soundly, fair and square. His record is intact.)


In my car with the top down. Alex was in the back seat. It was hard to hear.
Me: Why don't you teach me some Swedish words?
Alex: Like what?
Me: Like how do you say hello in Swedish?
Alex:  You can say "hi" or "hey"
Me (laughing because I couldn't hear very well but it was obviously the same in English): WHAT?
Alex (very slowly and patiently to the stupid deaf woman in the front seat): You can say "hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii" or "heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey."

Got it.

So that's it. Hej da for now. (Which is "goodbye" and Alex pronounced it something like "hey duo" which sounds Italian to me but I'll take the kid at his word.)

Cowboy Names

I wasted a lot of time Saturday watching old John Wayne movies on AMC. I couldn't tell you the exact movies without doing research which I'm not inclined to do. They're pretty much the same anyway. John Wayne's a cowboy or John Wayne's a soldier. In these, he was a cowboy. The first movie had a very young James Caan in a supporting role as the greenhorn upstart cowboy and his name was Mississippi. The next movie had a young Ricky Nelson (sadly there was never an old Ricky Nelson) in the same supporting role, and his name was Colorado. I expected to meet Dakota or Nevada in the next movie but I didn't. It was Johnny (played by Ron Howard). I started wishing I could meet a cowboy named Vermont or New Hampshire. Men from those states had to go west, right? And what about Georgia or Virginia? That would have given those John Wayne movies an entirely different tone.

The Cow Poetry Commonplace Book

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus


Until lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify the hunter.
African Proverb


In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.
Robert Frost


If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.
Anonymous


The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts.
Bertrand Russell


Nothing primes inspiration more than necessity.
Rossini


Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.
George Carlin


Deep within the soul of the lonely caged bird
Beats the rhythm of a distant forest
Etched upon its broken heart
The faded memory of flight. 
Ginni Bly


A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.

Pioneer Girls Leaders’ Handbook


I, myself, have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is. I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a door mat or a prostitute.
Rebecca West

So many gods, so many creeds,
so many paths that wind and wind,
while just the art of being kind
is all the sad world needs.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox


How many legs does a dog have if you call the tail a leg?
Four. Calling a tail a leg doesn't make it a leg.
Abraham Lincoln

Commonplace Books

Here is a summary of what Wikipedia has to say about commonplace books:
 
Commonplace books were a way to compile knowledge, usually by writing information into blank books. They became significant in Europe around the 17^th century.

Such books were essentially handwritten scrapbooks filled with items of every kind: medical recipes, quotes, poems, tables of weights and measures, proverbs, prayers, legal formulas. Commonplaces were used by readers, writers, students, and scholars as an aid for remembering useful concepts or facts they had learned. Each commonplace book was unique to its creator's particular interests.

I learned about commonplace books quite a few years ago and started filling a small tablet with any quote or saying that I came across and especially liked. I still have it and I still like it. More recently I’ve started doing the same thing digitally – I have a “commonplace book” document on my computer and copy into it snippets of writing that interest me.

It wasn’t too much of a leap, then, to decide to keep a commonplace book on my blog.

In fact, I think everyone should keep a commonplace book just for the pleasure of it. It’s not like journalling, which can be accompanied by a sense of guilt (at least for me), but it’s still reflective of your personality and personal interests.

Easy to access, easy to update, easy to share.

A lot like Pinterest, come to think of it.

Unexpected Bliss

Expectations decline.

Not a rut, a routine.

Work, home, eat, sleep.

An occasional departure

planned in advance.

Then suddenly,

unexpected bliss

anoints us like a blessing.

A fiery sunset sky

seen by eclipse,

a warm, whispered sigh

from a time thought passed,

an unbearably sweet smile

from a new-found friend.

Unexpected bliss.

Incandescent moments for which

we didn’t even know to hope.

English as a Second Language

A few funny (and disturbing) abuses of the English language -  

Directions on an online solitaire game:

"This game is not as scary as it sound it is quite the contrary! Spider Solitaire is an amazingly fun game. This is the spider solitaire game in one suit."

(These directions were not well written, it is quite the contrary!)


From Facebook:

"The older alum has been asking about The Memorial monument in front of the old high school honoring servicemen. Well here is what Marilyn M class of 67 has wrote in a message to Tom P class of 60"

(Jean G class of 73 has wrote off this entire post)


And, my old favorites, online customer comments from my place of employment:

"I have worn these paints six times. I have had to sew these paints twice at the seams. This is the second pair of tall paints I purchased lately that I have had to saw. Please keep the quality of the clothing well."

(She's wearing paints? Must be a Comfest-er)


"Cause I had purchase something in the store it would be ship to the store n I paid the next day ship n it don't come in 4 days later I was every upset cause I needed that for a weeding"

(Apparently she's every picky about what she wears in the garden)


"the bras givd goo soupoty "

(Say what?)


"i did buy a Bra but next day i ahve to change for a diferent size i went to the store with my recsive but the employee the day before did not put code correct tehy dont eant to exchange my bra the manager of the store treat me like i was a liar, i was stiling from the store, she did not even apologize, i have to argue with her for over one hrs to get my bra change, the other one bother me."

(I, too, hate it when I get treated like I was stiling, especially when it lasts over one hours)

FML

Hard to believe, I know, but this upstanding fellow has had a minor scrape with the law: drunk driving his truck with a zebra and parrot on board. (read the article)

That's not what bothers me, though. What bothers me is he is 55 years old. LOOK AT HIM! Dear god, he's younger than me.

FML.

Why My Job Is More Fun Than Yours

The office building I work in is undergoing renovation. Like most office buildings, the work areas consist of actual offices with walls and doors, and cubicles. In my area, the cubicles have all been reconfigured and we are adding two actual offices. The offices in the building are all consistent with a nice wooden door next to a large glass wall that's framed by nice wood to match the door.

Two large wooden frames without glass are propped up in our hallway, waiting for installation. A lot of people probably walk by them and take little notice. A carpenter might see them and think "that's really nice wood." An accountant might think "Wow, I'll bet those cost a pretty penny." Count on an art director, however, to say what he's thinking: "We should totally set fire to those and jump through them."

I love working with creative people.

No Autographs, Please

I submitted a First Person essay to the Columbus Dispatch that they published today (link)

They did some editing, so I thought I'd post the original article I sent so my loyal reading public - all 4 of you - could see it.

A couple quick thoughts: It's slightly disconcerting to see a small blurry photo of yourself in the newspaper and even more disconcerting to see a giant blurry photo of yourself online. Also - the Dispatch just had to publish my age. I've tried to keep that on the down-low with all the
25-year-olds I work with. Luckily, they don't read the paper.

Okay - here it is:

Easter Parade

I was born on Easter Sunday, longer ago than I care to admit. It was around one o’clock in the afternoon, right when my family would normally be in the midst of Easter dinner. Instead, my folks were off to the hospital. My aunt, who was visiting for the holiday, encouraged my parents to name me Bunny to commemorate the occasion. Instead, my parents named me after a friend of the family and I still appreciate their restraint.

My birthday doesn’t fall on Easter very often. The first time it did, after my birth, I was 11 years old. Something that would be of so little consequence today was apparently somewhat newsworthy back then. The Linden News ran a small article noting the event and I held onto the clipping for years. I also remember my mom called one of the local radio stations about it. I don’t recall which one, but it was one of two - she was an avid listener to both 610 WTVN and 1460 WBNS. I listened as the deejay announced my name, wished me a happy eleventh birthday and played Mom’s request for me: Easter Parade.

I don’t know whether it’s because I was born on the holiday or because my mom loved music and especially that song, but Easter Parade has always had a special place in my heart. I grew up listening to the radio with my mom and she always sang along. I thought she had a wonderful voice. If we weren’t in the kitchen with the radio on, she’d sing a cappella for me on warm evenings as we sat on the side porch steps. From when I was very young, I can remember her singing great songs like Dear Heart, Shine on Harvest Moon and I’m Getting Married in the Morning. As I learned the lyrics, I always sang along. When she sang Easter Parade, though, I knew she was singing it just for me. I’d never before seen an Easter parade, but I could imagine it: Pretty dresses and, of course, frilly Easter bonnets. I didn’t know what a rotogravure was back then, but I knew a photographer would snap my photo and there I would appear in my blue dotted Swiss dress and white straw hat.

It was years before I ever associated the song Easter Parade to the Judy Garland and Fred Astaire movie. Mom was always a Judy Garland fan. In fact, she told me she saw Judy perform at the Ohio Theater when she and my mom were both quite young. Maybe that’s part of the reason mom liked the song so.

I love the scene in the movie when they join the throngs on Fifth Avenue and sing the title song. Judy and Fred do a great job with it but, in my opinion, my mom’s version will always be the best.

When You Get On A Plane

I’m getting on a plane Saturday and heading to Florida for a week
of relaxation with a good friend. Most people would be happy.
Excited even. I just keep thinking: “I’M GETTING ON A PLANE.”

Not that I’m afraid of flying. That’s not quite accurate. If I could actually fly, like Superman, I think I might like it a lot.

But it is completely accurate to say I don’t like planes, and here’s why:

When you get on a plane, they lock you inside and you cannot get off until they say so. You CANNOT. You are at their mercy in plane prison.

When you get on a plane, you notice right away the air inside is wrong. It’s artificial, germ-infested air and I’m pretty sure it’s limited. They try to make you think there’s air aplenty by placing a tiny little blower above your head, but it’s a mere device - a placebo to make you think you might actually have enough air to breathe the entire flight.

When you get on a plane, it’s hot and stuffy, due to wrong air.

When you get on a plane, you sit shoulder to shoulder in tiny little seats next to complete strangers. Complete air-sucking strangers. It’s not bad enough that the seats are too narrow for a wide bottom and there’s not enough leg room for even the shortest legs. No, planes take discomfort to an excrutiating level by strapping you into a seat like that right next to a person YOU DON’T KNOW. (Notice to other flyers: I’m claustrophic and I still request a window seat so I can hug the wall and not have to touch YOU.)

When you get on a plane, you can't drive through McDonalds or stop to read that curious little historic marker by the Shoney's parking lot. Planes actually lift off from the road they are driving on and take you up in the air. Way up. Unnaturally up. Into a totally ashphalt-free and Starbucks-free zone.

I try not to think about it. I hug the wall in my window seat, close the little plastic shade and pretend I’m on a bus.