Here's one thing that makes me uncomfortable: Hearing the toilet flush in the bathroom next to the doctor's office, right before the doctor comes in and proceeds to poke his fingers in my nose and throat.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Mutiple Choice
Guess which of the below is the most fun you can have while sitting in a windy and cold football stadium:
a) Sitting directly in front of a group of loud, beer lubricated football "experts" who generously share their knowledge and nonstop wit, while using their fifteen word vocabularies- half of which are swears?
b) Sitting in front of the lubricated parents as their prepubescent spawns are continuously screeching in their one octave shy of dog whistle voices, while they bang on the seats in front of them- all in a delightful display of their innocent rambunctiousness?
c) Sitting in the seat diagonally behind a huge woman who's crammed into a too-small seat, while she continually dumps fistfuls of popcorn into her gaping maw, only to have the wind blow about a third of the popcorn onto you like yellow, buttery snow?
If you answered, "Gee, I can't decide. They all sound so great!", then give yourself a pat on the back. The answer is: " All of them"
It is The Most Fun You Can Have!
Saturday, October 26, 2013
My Friday
There was no Friday Night Video this week- for the first time in I don't know how long. Why? Well, because, as unbelievable as it sounds, I had a scheduling conflict! That's right, I actually had, for the first time in maybe forever, more than one thing to do. So something had to give. In this case, it was my extremely popular, "Friday Night Video" feature.
What could possibly pull me away from sitting alone in front of my computer on a Friday night? In this case, it was a trip to World Famous Boston, Massachusetts! Yes, the cradle of democracy, and now, unfortunately, a veritable boiler room for liberal "thinking". Despite this, I had a pretty good time.
Here, for your enjoyment, are a few random shots from my exciting day:
First stop was the famous State House, sitting atop the even more famous, Beacon Hill. I was there pretty early so there wasn't much going on.
Pretty soon though, traffic started to pick up. Here's the tail end of one of the many tour buses that passed by. How could someone not want to hop on one of these, with so many luxurious amenities offered?
Looks like someone didn't like the tour. Perhaps they chose a substandard tour line that offered something less than "100% padded seats".
Here are some cute kids watching a marching band parade that came through a little while later. I wonder, does a seed gets planted in their minds at this young age? Will one of them want to play an instrument? Will one of them want to become a drum major? If so, I peg the one on the right- saluting. Fight that liberal indoctrination kids!
A little later in the day, I decided to do a little early Christmas shopping in China Town. For such a supposedly "liberal" city, I found it kind of surprising the looks I was getting- just because I was walking around with a Hello Kitty bag.
I saw a concert later that night at the Boston Symphony Hall. Wasn't too bad. Wonder what that "O" stands for?
From there, I headed back home, arriving past midnight- way too late to post a Friday Night Video, seeing as it was technically Saturday. Sorry about that.
Oh, and that parade I mentioned? Here's a pic that I came across:
This apparently is that same band that appeared in my post from last Saturday. For some reason, I think I have maybe another hundred or so of these photos from throughout the day. I'm gonna have to find something to do with them.
What could possibly pull me away from sitting alone in front of my computer on a Friday night? In this case, it was a trip to World Famous Boston, Massachusetts! Yes, the cradle of democracy, and now, unfortunately, a veritable boiler room for liberal "thinking". Despite this, I had a pretty good time.
Here, for your enjoyment, are a few random shots from my exciting day:
From there, I headed back home, arriving past midnight- way too late to post a Friday Night Video, seeing as it was technically Saturday. Sorry about that.
Oh, and that parade I mentioned? Here's a pic that I came across:
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Adventures in Grocery Shopping
I was stuck in line at the courtesy desk for about fifteen minutes tonight. The woman in front of me was complaining to the girl behind the desk about how she had only bought a half a chicken and yet it seems she was charged the full per pound price. The woman reasoned that it wasn't her fault that she lived by herself and a whole chicken was "just too much chicken for one person"- and that charging her the full per pound price was, in her mind, "discrimination".
The manager was called.
That's when I left.
The manager was called.
That's when I left.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Saturday Afternoon Videos
Where was I last night, you ask? Well, I was at the Fine Arts Center watching what will likely be the last concert I will ever see there- certainly the last concert featuring people I know personally. It was a night mixed with pride and some sadness over the inevitable passing of an era.
For many years I've attended concerts there that involved All District Chorus performances and various band performances. If this had to be the last one, it was a good way to end it. Still, I'm gonna miss it.
Sorry for the home movie-like quality, but they are, after all, home movies. They play better on YouTube, where you can scale them larger than my tiny blog format allows. Make sure you watch 'em both!
For many years I've attended concerts there that involved All District Chorus performances and various band performances. If this had to be the last one, it was a good way to end it. Still, I'm gonna miss it.
Sorry for the home movie-like quality, but they are, after all, home movies. They play better on YouTube, where you can scale them larger than my tiny blog format allows. Make sure you watch 'em both!
Friday, October 18, 2013
Friday Night Video
Not much time left before it's no longer Friday night. It's too late to come up with something, so I'll just post this. Maybe more over the weekend, we'll see how it goes. For now, good night.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Treasured Memories
Back in early grade school, we had a savings account “club” that the school offered in cooperation with a local bank. This club, if that is really what it was, came with a little yellow savings book that slid into a clear plastic sleeve. Every week we would bring it to school, along with a few coins inside, where the teacher would collect them and some lucky teacher's pet would bring them to the principal’s office. Then, at some point, the bank would presumably collect all the loot, stamp our books, and our money would grow, grow, grow!
I remember one particular morning when these bank books were being collected, and I, thinking I had forgotten mine, didn’t pass it in. Unfortunately, a few minutes later I discovered it when reaching in my pocket, and more unfortunately, I said something about it to my teacher.
My teacher at the time was Mrs. Hickson. Mrs. Hickson was, shall we say, a “Large” woman, and by “Large”, I’m not talking “large to a second grader” large. I’m talking “large to a normal human being” large. Before going into second grade, my brother Steve had told me that if you did something wrong in Mrs. Hickson’s class, she would sit on you. I don’t know if he would deny ever having said that today, but he denied it back then- at least he did when I quoted him at the dinner table (“What??!!! I NEVER said that!”, Steve exclaimed. His voice was a mixture of indignation and outrage over this slanderous accusation.) Mom and Dad looked at him with disgust. It sounded like something he would say. But then again, I had been pegged as a liar, so who knew?
That being said, it was with some amount of caution that I raised my hand and told Mrs. Hickson that I had forgotten to give her my savings book. She didn’t sit on me, as I had feared. Instead, she chose to take this opportunity to make an example out of me in front of the entire class. She called me up to the front of the room, where she berated me and droned on and on, acting as if this was some kind of major disruption- second only to the invasion of Poland.
As she wrapped up her scornful diatribe, I was instructed to march myself down to the principal’s office, where I could explain my buffoonish and inconsiderate behavior to Mrs. Perry.
Mrs. Perry was the stern principal of the school. She had one of those overly wrinkled faces that comes from too many years of heavy chain smoking. To me, the wrinkles made her resemble one of those dolls that people in Appalachia make using an old crab apple for a head. This, combined with an abundance of rouge and a deep red lipstick applied by someone who never mastered coloring between the lines, made her both a curious and frightening figure. Some people said she was nice, but I never saw it. She must have been nice to someone though, because after they tore the school down, they named the resulting park after her.
Anyway, I found myself standing in Mrs. Perry’s office, explaining the situation to her as she silently glared at me from behind her big oak desk, her bony index fingers pressed against each other, making the shape of an arrowhead. As she listened, she squinted at me and pursed her deep red lips tightly together, as if she were trying to suck up a marble through some invisible straw. When I was done explaining, there was nothing but silence for what seemed like an eternity- though in reality it was probably more like fifteen seconds. Finally she said, “Let me get this straight. You want me to get up, go over to that bag, unlock the bag, and put your bank book in it- all because you couldn’t hand it in on time?” She glared at me some more.
I glanced at the money bag sitting on the chair behind me. The money bag had a tiny little lock on the top, as if it were a joke, and the bag itself looked like one of those money bags from an old cops and robbers movie- only without the dollar sign on the outside. The chair though, looked exactly like what I had imagined the electric chair to look like.
She continued to glare at me in silence, as if to make the point that she was even more disgusted than Mrs. Hickson was at the special treatment that I apparently thought I deserved.
What was I supposed to say? She seemed to have a pretty good grasp of the situation. She continued with her scowl for several more minutes, just to make sure I fully appreciated the gravity of situation. Finally, she slowly reached across her desk ,then snatched the bankbook out of my sweaty little hand. She graciously agreed to make an exception “just this one time".
I stood there as she silently stared- first at me, then at my bankbook, then finally down into my bankbook. Then she glared back at me as she slowly tipped the envelope upside down and shook it. Nothing dropped out. “There’s no money in here”, she said.
Well, what do you know. Apparently, this had all been a big misunderstanding.
I can still feel the burning of Mrs. Perry’s cold, beady eyes at the back of my head as I slinked out of her door for my long, silent walk of shame through the cold, deserted halls of the penitentiary. As I left, she was no doubt reaching for my permanent record, where she would add yet another black mark.
Why I never made a run for it, I don’t know. Instead, I headed back to class.
There is only one thing worse than being called out in front of your entire class. That is having to come back into the class, midway through a lesson, and having the teacher and the rest of the class watch in silence as you slink back to your seat.
I remember sitting there wishing I were invisible and thinking, “Please, at least let me make it until lunch time.” And I remember the relief I felt when lunch time finally came- only to discover I that had forgotten my lunch money.
I remember one particular morning when these bank books were being collected, and I, thinking I had forgotten mine, didn’t pass it in. Unfortunately, a few minutes later I discovered it when reaching in my pocket, and more unfortunately, I said something about it to my teacher.
My teacher at the time was Mrs. Hickson. Mrs. Hickson was, shall we say, a “Large” woman, and by “Large”, I’m not talking “large to a second grader” large. I’m talking “large to a normal human being” large. Before going into second grade, my brother Steve had told me that if you did something wrong in Mrs. Hickson’s class, she would sit on you. I don’t know if he would deny ever having said that today, but he denied it back then- at least he did when I quoted him at the dinner table (“What??!!! I NEVER said that!”, Steve exclaimed. His voice was a mixture of indignation and outrage over this slanderous accusation.) Mom and Dad looked at him with disgust. It sounded like something he would say. But then again, I had been pegged as a liar, so who knew?
That being said, it was with some amount of caution that I raised my hand and told Mrs. Hickson that I had forgotten to give her my savings book. She didn’t sit on me, as I had feared. Instead, she chose to take this opportunity to make an example out of me in front of the entire class. She called me up to the front of the room, where she berated me and droned on and on, acting as if this was some kind of major disruption- second only to the invasion of Poland.
As she wrapped up her scornful diatribe, I was instructed to march myself down to the principal’s office, where I could explain my buffoonish and inconsiderate behavior to Mrs. Perry.
Mrs. Perry was the stern principal of the school. She had one of those overly wrinkled faces that comes from too many years of heavy chain smoking. To me, the wrinkles made her resemble one of those dolls that people in Appalachia make using an old crab apple for a head. This, combined with an abundance of rouge and a deep red lipstick applied by someone who never mastered coloring between the lines, made her both a curious and frightening figure. Some people said she was nice, but I never saw it. She must have been nice to someone though, because after they tore the school down, they named the resulting park after her.
Anyway, I found myself standing in Mrs. Perry’s office, explaining the situation to her as she silently glared at me from behind her big oak desk, her bony index fingers pressed against each other, making the shape of an arrowhead. As she listened, she squinted at me and pursed her deep red lips tightly together, as if she were trying to suck up a marble through some invisible straw. When I was done explaining, there was nothing but silence for what seemed like an eternity- though in reality it was probably more like fifteen seconds. Finally she said, “Let me get this straight. You want me to get up, go over to that bag, unlock the bag, and put your bank book in it- all because you couldn’t hand it in on time?” She glared at me some more.
I glanced at the money bag sitting on the chair behind me. The money bag had a tiny little lock on the top, as if it were a joke, and the bag itself looked like one of those money bags from an old cops and robbers movie- only without the dollar sign on the outside. The chair though, looked exactly like what I had imagined the electric chair to look like.
She continued to glare at me in silence, as if to make the point that she was even more disgusted than Mrs. Hickson was at the special treatment that I apparently thought I deserved.
What was I supposed to say? She seemed to have a pretty good grasp of the situation. She continued with her scowl for several more minutes, just to make sure I fully appreciated the gravity of situation. Finally, she slowly reached across her desk ,then snatched the bankbook out of my sweaty little hand. She graciously agreed to make an exception “just this one time".
I stood there as she silently stared- first at me, then at my bankbook, then finally down into my bankbook. Then she glared back at me as she slowly tipped the envelope upside down and shook it. Nothing dropped out. “There’s no money in here”, she said.
Well, what do you know. Apparently, this had all been a big misunderstanding.
I can still feel the burning of Mrs. Perry’s cold, beady eyes at the back of my head as I slinked out of her door for my long, silent walk of shame through the cold, deserted halls of the penitentiary. As I left, she was no doubt reaching for my permanent record, where she would add yet another black mark.
Why I never made a run for it, I don’t know. Instead, I headed back to class.
There is only one thing worse than being called out in front of your entire class. That is having to come back into the class, midway through a lesson, and having the teacher and the rest of the class watch in silence as you slink back to your seat.
I remember sitting there wishing I were invisible and thinking, “Please, at least let me make it until lunch time.” And I remember the relief I felt when lunch time finally came- only to discover I that had forgotten my lunch money.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Friday Night Video
Tonight we have an instructional video on how to deal with a nuclear attack- the perfect video to watch before bedtime. This was produced in the mid to late fifties, a time when the pervasive fear and paranoia was largely directed at foreign countries and their ideologies, plus fellow citizens, unlike today where it is directed at fellow citizens and their ideologies- plus foreign countries.
I don’t remember seeing this film in school. This may be because I started my lengthy stay at Harris School in the early sixties, so I was on the backside of this wave- barely. I do have vague memories of the fear it instilled, but I think this is more likely part of the general fear that was induced by the “teachers” (as they liked to call themselves) during my formative years.
I think if I had seen this film back then, it would have had one of two results: It either would have kept me from falling asleep at night, or it would have offered some relief that at least there was a small change that I wasn't going to have to go to school the next day.
So, sit back, relax and enjoy a little piece of good old American history.
Sweet dreams.
I don’t remember seeing this film in school. This may be because I started my lengthy stay at Harris School in the early sixties, so I was on the backside of this wave- barely. I do have vague memories of the fear it instilled, but I think this is more likely part of the general fear that was induced by the “teachers” (as they liked to call themselves) during my formative years.
I think if I had seen this film back then, it would have had one of two results: It either would have kept me from falling asleep at night, or it would have offered some relief that at least there was a small change that I wasn't going to have to go to school the next day.
So, sit back, relax and enjoy a little piece of good old American history.
Sweet dreams.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Old and Older TV Shows
Friday, October 4, 2013
Friday Night Video
"Supercar" was a show that I watched in the early sixties. I believe it was on early Sunday evenings-though I could easily be wrong about that. It seems like pretty much every show I watched was either on Friday night, Saturday morning, or Sunday evening.
I remember three things about this show. First, the car was totally awesome. The astounding sequence at the beginning said it all. Who wouldn't want one of those?
Second, I remember the ATV symbol at the very end of the show. ATV, I gather, was the production company in Great Britain that hatched these shows. Why this stands out in my mind, I have no idea.
But the third and most important thing I remember about this show, was that everything in between those first two things, totally creeped me out. The "stars" of this show were a bunch of puppets- marionettes actually. The producers called this "supemarionation", which I believe is Latin for "puppets that scare the crap out of you".
Below is part of the first episode. Watch it and see if you don't keep your Dad awake with all those "bad thoughts" that haunt you at bedtime. I would say, "Enjoy", but I know better.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
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