I made a discovery yesterday. Not exactly the “life-long learning” that people have in mind, but nonetheless it added to my knowledge base. The institution of higher education in this particular case happened to be Target.
Yeah, I know, their record on donations to particular causes which I abhor is deplorable, and they have spent months talking out of both sides of their face trying to get away from it, but just like their arch-nemesis Wal Mart, sometimes there’s no alternative.
In this case, we needed a baby gift. Actually, we needed two since our friends are having twins. So we found ourselves in the baby department at Target wandering around trying to find something suitable and arguing over what’s an appropriate baby gift.
While looking at the “wall o’ stuff” offered – I tend to like gift basket type things with lots and lots of little nit-noid things on the theory that something will ring a bell and be the “perfect” little gift – I saw them.
A card hanging up with three rolls of colored plastic bags on them.
“That’s odd,” I thought. “Why would they have doggie poop bags here in the baby department?”
Now, let me start by saying that we have some of these. I tend to opt toward the newspaper bags to take care of the dog’s mess, because it recycles something that would otherwise be thrown away and my frugal nature likes to do that. I have to admit, though, that we have some of these fancy little odor-resistant bags as well because sometimes they’re more convenient to carry, being rolled up and fitting into a little dispenser.
I don’t care for them because they are neon colored and if you see someone walking down the street carrying one, dog on the leash, you know what’s in it. This does not tend to encourage people to engage you in friendly conversation as you walk along. They usually to go to the other side of the street, not being quite sure what you have in mind for that bundle – are you carrying it to the trash, or to someone’s front porch?
Part of the reason we have those plastic bags is that cleaning up after your dog is a function of being a responsible pet owner. It’s annoying when people let their dogs do their business and other people have to deal with it. Part of it is selfish, though, because it’s less disgusting to pick up after the dog than to have to clean off your shoes later. Given that his early morning walks to the yard are sometimes in my favorite fuzzy slippers, I’m especially concerned that we remain vigilant about this.
Either way, plastic bags are involved and during the drought the newspapers haven’t provided enough plastic bags to keep up with puppy demand. That still didn’t explain why they were being sold in the baby department, though.
When I looked at the card, I realized they were the same product, merely repackaged to make them appealing to those with human infants. It makes sense, I guess – it’s easier to deal with the mess of human babies up front rather than to have to clean it off your shoes later.
What didn’t make sense, though, is that the product was a full $2.00 cheaper when marketed toward babies than toward pets. The only difference is the cardboard labeling on the package. Nothing else.
It’s always seemed deceptive to me to sell the same product at different prices based solely on misinformation given to the public (i.e. “marketing”), especially when the products are sold in the same store. Everybody’s got to make a living, but c’mon, let’s be fair about it and give the buyers a straight shot!
So the trip to the semi-evil retailer was worthwhile, since I learned something. From now on, when I have to buy plastic poop bags I’ll be heading over towards the baby aisle rather than the puppy aisle.
Oh, and the baby gift? Apparently twins go through incredible quantities of diapers and a couple of cases are a more than appropriate offering. This, from the dad of twins who was having flashbacks (not to mention dry heaves and was breaking out in a cold sweat) at the thought of dealing with newborn twins.
I thought 168 sounded like a lot of diapers, but apparently it’s not.
I may throw in a couple of sets of earplugs as well. From the non-parental perspective, that’s one of the things that I’ve always appreciated when trapped in close proximity to infants.
We didn’t opt for poop bags, though. I’m betting that they take a newspaper already.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Cell Phones and Brain Irritation
The New York Times reports that there is some new research out that studies how cell phones affect human brains. Apparently the National Institutes of Health (NIH) strapped a cell phone on the heads of victims – I mean “volunteers” – and ran them through a PET scanner for close to an hour.
If the phone was off, nothing unusual was happening. If the phone was on playing a pre-recorded message, there was activity on the side of the brain closest to the phone.
This should surprise no one. Even my untrained medical mind knows that the activity that shows up is irritation, like the red skin around a cut or scrape as it tries to heal itself.
Think about it – this is the part of the brain closest to the phone and it’s listening to a prerecorded message. If I had to listen to an hour long robocall I’d be irritated on more than just one side of my brain.
They’re trying to figure out if cell phones are detrimental to us.
Of course, most people don’t need a study to answer that question. Of course they are. Think back to the time pre-cell phones, just a couple of decades ago.
People walked down the street looking at things, rather than staring at a screen sending text messages and causing a “blackberry jam” on the sidewalk.
While dinner at home might be interrupted by a ringing telephone, dinner in a restaurant was usually safe. You could actually talk to the people you were eating dinner with and know that you had their attention because they made eye contact.
Look at how much everyone's lives have changed in the time since cell phones became common. It should surprise no one that our brains are irritated. Now they have to figure out what to do to stop the irritation.
One possible solution, of course, is to simply stop using cell phones but that’s just crazy talk.
People have been concerned about radio waves impacting their brains for years. In the 60’s and 70’s, you could tell them by the tin foil caps they wore around town, to keep the government from reading their thoughts.
At least, you could if you lived in a small town. Now it’s a little harder, because someone walking down the street talking to themselves may just have a good Bluetooth connection.
I think that's the tact I'm going to take, though, and will start lining my cap with foil. I might even forego the cap and just wear a sheet of tin foil on my head.
If I do it long enough, I bet people stop calling.
If the phone was off, nothing unusual was happening. If the phone was on playing a pre-recorded message, there was activity on the side of the brain closest to the phone.
This should surprise no one. Even my untrained medical mind knows that the activity that shows up is irritation, like the red skin around a cut or scrape as it tries to heal itself.
Think about it – this is the part of the brain closest to the phone and it’s listening to a prerecorded message. If I had to listen to an hour long robocall I’d be irritated on more than just one side of my brain.
They’re trying to figure out if cell phones are detrimental to us.
Of course, most people don’t need a study to answer that question. Of course they are. Think back to the time pre-cell phones, just a couple of decades ago.
People walked down the street looking at things, rather than staring at a screen sending text messages and causing a “blackberry jam” on the sidewalk.
While dinner at home might be interrupted by a ringing telephone, dinner in a restaurant was usually safe. You could actually talk to the people you were eating dinner with and know that you had their attention because they made eye contact.
Look at how much everyone's lives have changed in the time since cell phones became common. It should surprise no one that our brains are irritated. Now they have to figure out what to do to stop the irritation.
One possible solution, of course, is to simply stop using cell phones but that’s just crazy talk.
People have been concerned about radio waves impacting their brains for years. In the 60’s and 70’s, you could tell them by the tin foil caps they wore around town, to keep the government from reading their thoughts.
At least, you could if you lived in a small town. Now it’s a little harder, because someone walking down the street talking to themselves may just have a good Bluetooth connection.
I think that's the tact I'm going to take, though, and will start lining my cap with foil. I might even forego the cap and just wear a sheet of tin foil on my head.
If I do it long enough, I bet people stop calling.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Beauty of the Beast
Yesterday as I was cleaning out my email box, the Groupon Deal of the Day happened to catch my eye.
I’ve talked about these before – it’s usually a good deal, except it doesn’t exist in Hickory. Instead, we get Charlotte and New York City’s deals so most of the time we don’t get to take advantage of whatever it is.
I wish I’d been able to do this one, though – it offered “Eyebrow Perms”.
Whoda thunk?
As I get older, I admit my grooming standards change. Hair in places that I’d like it is rapidly reducing to mere wisps of its former self, while I appear to have inadvertently fertilized for hair in places that I’d just as soon go bare. Being determined not to end up one of those guys with huge ears, nostril hair that could whip back and forth and lash someone during allergy season or giant caterpillars over my eyes I tend to take some note of these things.
I never thought of turning those eyebrows into an asset by perming them.
I remember it was a big deal when Mom and Grandma used to, “. . . give each other a permanent,” at home, although it seemed more like a “temporary” as it had to be redone on a fairly regular basis.
It involved squirt bottles of stinky stuff that we were forbidden to touch, plastic gloves and the kitchen timer. There seemed to be a zillion fine little curlers (as opposed to the pink foamy ones they wore to bed sometimes) that had to get all tangled up in their hair as they sat in the kitchen for hours laughing and gossiping. When it was getting close to time for the bell to “ding” on the timer, all the kids were forbidden to use the bathroom in the house because they would rush in, stick their heads under the bathtub and douse the framework of curlers on their skulls before taking it all loose and dropping them in the bathroom sink.
Once during this process, dad was working on the water well and sent me inside to tell them that the water was turned off. I walked in to see Mom leaning not over the bathtub, but instead over the toilet where Grandma was frantically scooping water up with a cup and dousing her head.
Fortunately, it’d been flushed although with a houseful of little boys you never know. I don’t think it would have mattered all that much right then, anyhow.
Since I’ve moved to my mid-life grooming regime, Herr Ronaldo has tended to my coif, at least as much as a person can. He still refuses to give me the haircut that instantly makes washboard abs and a 32 inch waist magically appear, but I understand that he took certain oaths when licensed as a cosmetologist that preclude him from sharing this information, along with their secret handshake. I don’t hold it against him (much). I’ve been going there long enough that I don’t have to try and describe what I want, something about which I am continually clueless.
I want a haircut. Take what I got, back it off about 3 weeks and put me there. What’s to understand?
I am hurt, though, that he’s not offered to perm my eyebrows rather than simply combing and clipping them. Here’s a potential grooming asset at a time when I am in definite need of a facial upgrade and he’s holding back the latest technology.
So I may look into it next time we go to NYC. I wonder if I ought to let them grow out some, though, so they got something for those little curlers to grab into?
I’ve talked about these before – it’s usually a good deal, except it doesn’t exist in Hickory. Instead, we get Charlotte and New York City’s deals so most of the time we don’t get to take advantage of whatever it is.
I wish I’d been able to do this one, though – it offered “Eyebrow Perms”.
Whoda thunk?
As I get older, I admit my grooming standards change. Hair in places that I’d like it is rapidly reducing to mere wisps of its former self, while I appear to have inadvertently fertilized for hair in places that I’d just as soon go bare. Being determined not to end up one of those guys with huge ears, nostril hair that could whip back and forth and lash someone during allergy season or giant caterpillars over my eyes I tend to take some note of these things.
I never thought of turning those eyebrows into an asset by perming them.
I remember it was a big deal when Mom and Grandma used to, “. . . give each other a permanent,” at home, although it seemed more like a “temporary” as it had to be redone on a fairly regular basis.
It involved squirt bottles of stinky stuff that we were forbidden to touch, plastic gloves and the kitchen timer. There seemed to be a zillion fine little curlers (as opposed to the pink foamy ones they wore to bed sometimes) that had to get all tangled up in their hair as they sat in the kitchen for hours laughing and gossiping. When it was getting close to time for the bell to “ding” on the timer, all the kids were forbidden to use the bathroom in the house because they would rush in, stick their heads under the bathtub and douse the framework of curlers on their skulls before taking it all loose and dropping them in the bathroom sink.
Once during this process, dad was working on the water well and sent me inside to tell them that the water was turned off. I walked in to see Mom leaning not over the bathtub, but instead over the toilet where Grandma was frantically scooping water up with a cup and dousing her head.
Fortunately, it’d been flushed although with a houseful of little boys you never know. I don’t think it would have mattered all that much right then, anyhow.
Since I’ve moved to my mid-life grooming regime, Herr Ronaldo has tended to my coif, at least as much as a person can. He still refuses to give me the haircut that instantly makes washboard abs and a 32 inch waist magically appear, but I understand that he took certain oaths when licensed as a cosmetologist that preclude him from sharing this information, along with their secret handshake. I don’t hold it against him (much). I’ve been going there long enough that I don’t have to try and describe what I want, something about which I am continually clueless.
I want a haircut. Take what I got, back it off about 3 weeks and put me there. What’s to understand?
I am hurt, though, that he’s not offered to perm my eyebrows rather than simply combing and clipping them. Here’s a potential grooming asset at a time when I am in definite need of a facial upgrade and he’s holding back the latest technology.
So I may look into it next time we go to NYC. I wonder if I ought to let them grow out some, though, so they got something for those little curlers to grab into?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Gay Marriage and Healthcare
One of North Carolina’s uber-conservative Senators is introducing – as someone has for every year since 2004 – a state constitutional amendment that would prohibit gay marriage.
That in itself is not such a big deal to me. I don’t care about the religious connotations of “marriage”, but do think it patently unfair that individuals who are similarly situated are not afforded the same legal rights in this country. For the most part, other than the 1,031 extra categories of taxes that LGBT people must pay that aren’t imposed on straight married folks, I can accomplish the same results through legal manipulation.
It ain’t easy, but it can be done. It irritates me to no end, though – same sex couples pay the same taxes, obey the same laws and have the same responsibilities. We should be afforded the same benefits under the law.
It also has nothing to do with all the hoopla over forcing churches to violate their principals and perform marriages; there’s a difference in a civil relationship and a religious one which many people can’t seem to comprehend. The church people are free to go off and do or believe whatever they’d like. From a civil aspect, though, there’s not a legitimate reason in the world that any two adults cannot go to the courthouse, pay the fee and obtain a license to legally recognize their relationship.
Would anyone argue that a woman should not be able to get a driver’s license simply because of her gender? Other than religious beliefs – in which we are supposed to be able to follow our own consciences in this country – there is no legitimate argument for prohibiting same sex marriage.
This time there is a difference in the proposal, though. The Senator who is introducing this bill – a particularly virulent fundamentalist who’s offered similar bills up before – seems to be expanding it a bit this time. Instead of just prohibiting marriage or the recognition of any civil domestic arrangement between individuals of the same sex, it is also going to try to prohibit anyone – including private companies – from recognizing same-sex couples in any way.
What does this indirectly mean? Let’s just look at one example – healthcare.
Companies that offer healthcare benefits to same-sex partners will now be prohibited from doing so in North Carolina. Not just government agencies, but private companies that now offer this will not be allowed to do so.
Aside from the disincentive for big businesses to locate here – many now offer this benefit, some because of state law mandates in other locations and others just because it’s the right thing to do and what they have to do to entice quality individuals to work for them – it will result in a significant number of people who currently have health insurance becoming uninsured.
I hadn’t thought about it until I was talking with a friend of mine yesterday. He and his partner, both of whom are employed, get their insurance through the partner’s job. My friend works for a small company that doesn’t offer that kind of benefit.
If he were buying insurance on the open market, it would be about $500.00 a month – the cost through his partner’s employer is about $200.00 a month. It’s even worse because his two children get their insurance through the partner’s job as well. Try to buy coverage for an adult and two children – you’re looking at about $650.00 a month, with a $2,500.00 deductible and no dental coverage.
The first thought someone else might have would be, “Wow. He will have to pay another $7,300.00 a year for healthcare coverage. That’s gotta suck for him.”
Let me tell you how it sucks for all of us, though.
On $36K a year, he’s not likely to buy that insurance for a couple of reasons. First, it simply won’t fit into the budget, especially with two kids that age. Instead, he’s likely to take the risk that he’ll use less than $7,300.00 a year in healthcare, even with the kids. Every year he spends less than that is a year that he makes money (or at least doesn’t lose as much) gaming the system.
Here’s the bigger reason, though. Some stuff can just go by the wayside. Although it's not quite as effective, most minor stuff kids get can be treated over the counter. Same for adult maladies -- chronic indigestion and the occasional cold or sinus infection is dealt with through a trip to Walgreens. Annual checkups for adults aren't really that important, especially if you're looking at dropping $500+ out of your own pocket, and sometimes the kids can get a “physical” through the sports programs at school.
Here's the other thing, though. Even if they have a bad year – car wreck, broken arm from falling off a bike, heart attack, cancer – whatever major illness or injury you want to name – they’ll still get treatment regardless of their ability to pay. There’s a federal law on the books called EMTALA – the Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act – that requires all healthcare facilities to treat anyone, at least to the point of stabilizing whatever medical condition a patient has and working towards remedying the situation. There’s a lot more to it than that, but that’s the foundational premise.
The result is that he won’t have to pay for my medical treatment, either for himself or his kids. You and I do. Along with every other taxpayer out there, because there are no reimbursement provisions in EMTALA. The hospital has to treat and just bump up everyone else’s costs to pay for the services that people in this situation would receive. It’s one of the reasons that emergency departments in hospitals have become primary healthcare providers rather than “emergency” providers.
It's free and there are no repercussions. Sure, the hospital will send you nasty letters about your bill, but those are easily ignored, especially if someone is worrying more about a major illness or health condition. Get your friend the lawyer involved and it’s even easier to delay, if not avoid, payment.
So because of the religious bigotry of some who will undoubtedly have a slick campaign pointing out the evils of same-sex marriage and who will have buried this requirement which will prohibit his partner from BUYING insurance with THEIR money deep in the language of the bill, my friend and his two children will become uninsured and will rely on the rest of society to pay their medical bills.
Where we’ll all be unlucky is that it would take a lot more of his time, and quality of life might not be quite as good as before. Instead of going to his doctor for checkups like he does now – and for which he pays the copay and his partner’s insurance company pays the balance – they’ll likely wait until someone is truly sick and then go to the emergency room of our local healthcare facilities where the facility will be required to do many, many more tests and examinations – all at a higher cost – to rule out lots of things and then figure out how best to treat the condition I presented.
Is this really what’s in everyone’s best interest?
That in itself is not such a big deal to me. I don’t care about the religious connotations of “marriage”, but do think it patently unfair that individuals who are similarly situated are not afforded the same legal rights in this country. For the most part, other than the 1,031 extra categories of taxes that LGBT people must pay that aren’t imposed on straight married folks, I can accomplish the same results through legal manipulation.
It ain’t easy, but it can be done. It irritates me to no end, though – same sex couples pay the same taxes, obey the same laws and have the same responsibilities. We should be afforded the same benefits under the law.
It also has nothing to do with all the hoopla over forcing churches to violate their principals and perform marriages; there’s a difference in a civil relationship and a religious one which many people can’t seem to comprehend. The church people are free to go off and do or believe whatever they’d like. From a civil aspect, though, there’s not a legitimate reason in the world that any two adults cannot go to the courthouse, pay the fee and obtain a license to legally recognize their relationship.
Would anyone argue that a woman should not be able to get a driver’s license simply because of her gender? Other than religious beliefs – in which we are supposed to be able to follow our own consciences in this country – there is no legitimate argument for prohibiting same sex marriage.
This time there is a difference in the proposal, though. The Senator who is introducing this bill – a particularly virulent fundamentalist who’s offered similar bills up before – seems to be expanding it a bit this time. Instead of just prohibiting marriage or the recognition of any civil domestic arrangement between individuals of the same sex, it is also going to try to prohibit anyone – including private companies – from recognizing same-sex couples in any way.
What does this indirectly mean? Let’s just look at one example – healthcare.
Companies that offer healthcare benefits to same-sex partners will now be prohibited from doing so in North Carolina. Not just government agencies, but private companies that now offer this will not be allowed to do so.
Aside from the disincentive for big businesses to locate here – many now offer this benefit, some because of state law mandates in other locations and others just because it’s the right thing to do and what they have to do to entice quality individuals to work for them – it will result in a significant number of people who currently have health insurance becoming uninsured.
I hadn’t thought about it until I was talking with a friend of mine yesterday. He and his partner, both of whom are employed, get their insurance through the partner’s job. My friend works for a small company that doesn’t offer that kind of benefit.
If he were buying insurance on the open market, it would be about $500.00 a month – the cost through his partner’s employer is about $200.00 a month. It’s even worse because his two children get their insurance through the partner’s job as well. Try to buy coverage for an adult and two children – you’re looking at about $650.00 a month, with a $2,500.00 deductible and no dental coverage.
The first thought someone else might have would be, “Wow. He will have to pay another $7,300.00 a year for healthcare coverage. That’s gotta suck for him.”
Let me tell you how it sucks for all of us, though.
On $36K a year, he’s not likely to buy that insurance for a couple of reasons. First, it simply won’t fit into the budget, especially with two kids that age. Instead, he’s likely to take the risk that he’ll use less than $7,300.00 a year in healthcare, even with the kids. Every year he spends less than that is a year that he makes money (or at least doesn’t lose as much) gaming the system.
Here’s the bigger reason, though. Some stuff can just go by the wayside. Although it's not quite as effective, most minor stuff kids get can be treated over the counter. Same for adult maladies -- chronic indigestion and the occasional cold or sinus infection is dealt with through a trip to Walgreens. Annual checkups for adults aren't really that important, especially if you're looking at dropping $500+ out of your own pocket, and sometimes the kids can get a “physical” through the sports programs at school.
Here's the other thing, though. Even if they have a bad year – car wreck, broken arm from falling off a bike, heart attack, cancer – whatever major illness or injury you want to name – they’ll still get treatment regardless of their ability to pay. There’s a federal law on the books called EMTALA – the Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act – that requires all healthcare facilities to treat anyone, at least to the point of stabilizing whatever medical condition a patient has and working towards remedying the situation. There’s a lot more to it than that, but that’s the foundational premise.
The result is that he won’t have to pay for my medical treatment, either for himself or his kids. You and I do. Along with every other taxpayer out there, because there are no reimbursement provisions in EMTALA. The hospital has to treat and just bump up everyone else’s costs to pay for the services that people in this situation would receive. It’s one of the reasons that emergency departments in hospitals have become primary healthcare providers rather than “emergency” providers.
It's free and there are no repercussions. Sure, the hospital will send you nasty letters about your bill, but those are easily ignored, especially if someone is worrying more about a major illness or health condition. Get your friend the lawyer involved and it’s even easier to delay, if not avoid, payment.
So because of the religious bigotry of some who will undoubtedly have a slick campaign pointing out the evils of same-sex marriage and who will have buried this requirement which will prohibit his partner from BUYING insurance with THEIR money deep in the language of the bill, my friend and his two children will become uninsured and will rely on the rest of society to pay their medical bills.
Where we’ll all be unlucky is that it would take a lot more of his time, and quality of life might not be quite as good as before. Instead of going to his doctor for checkups like he does now – and for which he pays the copay and his partner’s insurance company pays the balance – they’ll likely wait until someone is truly sick and then go to the emergency room of our local healthcare facilities where the facility will be required to do many, many more tests and examinations – all at a higher cost – to rule out lots of things and then figure out how best to treat the condition I presented.
Is this really what’s in everyone’s best interest?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
It's Time to Change
Change seems to be inevitable right now. Not just the coming of spring that’s evidenced by the green shoots from the flower bulbs that are starting to peek through the mulch and the increasing number of joggers on the streets.
Incidentally, the first shirtless – and brave – jogger was spotted on the sidewalk yesterday morning. It’s pushing 70, but c’mon – jogging shirtless in February is more about ego than the heat!
Part of the change is showing up in the plants that aren’t coming back in the yard this year. Between the drought, the baking summer we had last year and the last two frigid winters, we’ve lost 9 or 10 trees and shrubs in the yard. Some I had hopes for don’t show those early signs of life, despite my best efforts.
So the landscape is going to change a bit. This is unfortunate, because I just had it the way I liked it.
In the house, our apartment tenant asked if we could turn the “swing room” – a room that can go either with the apartment or the house, depending on which door is locked – into an art studio. It’s been a bedroom for our daughter since the remodel, but let’s face reality – that room has been used as a guest room less than a dozen times in the last couple of years. We have another and don’t need it for that and the room, with a second story sun porch and huge northern windows will make a GREAT studio.
So it’s been dismantled, the bed shipped off to the kid’s house to replace a worn out mattress, the linens all sucked down in one of those plastic storage bags.
As someone who would prefer to nail the furniture to the floor when he moves into a house and then just leave it there when he moves out, this is somewhat traumatic for me. Once the decision was made, though, it becomes kind of exciting as the room is remade.
Around town there are changes too, and you have to giggle at some of it.
On the main drag coming into town there used to be a restaurant called “The Peddler”. Apparently it was once quite nice, although I never ate there in the dozen years I’ve been lived here and it closed up several years ago.
There’s a new sign out front, though, announcing that another business is moving from a strip mall to go in there. It’s called “Night Secrets” and is an adult novelty store. Those businesses tend to cause way more controversy than is warranted. A few years ago, one called “Pricilla’s” went in just a couple of blocks away from this location, right at the top of the I-40 exit ramp.
You’da thought they were sacrificing babies there or something for all the fuss that happened. In reality, they sell cheap lingerie that doesn’t show anything different or more than you can find at the mall, crass gag gifts that are intended for adults and a few DVD’s of dirty movies – which I bet nobody buys any more because it’s all over the internet. It really was much ado about nothing.
So things are changing all over. We can fight it or adapt. Most of the time it’s more of a terror in our minds than in reality and most of the world won’t even notice that it’s happening.
You don’t have to like it, but there’s not much point in fighting it. The best approach is to breathe deep and lean into the project.
So in a few weeks, when I think that we’ve figured out what didn’t make it through the winter, I’ll start pulling the dead stuff out of the yard and figuring out how to re-arrange things to fill in the gaps.
And when we get tired of doing that, we might wander through Night Secrets to see what the spring merchandise has to offer.
Probably nothing there suited to my taste, but it never hurts to support an independent business that's trying to hang on in a tight economy.
Incidentally, the first shirtless – and brave – jogger was spotted on the sidewalk yesterday morning. It’s pushing 70, but c’mon – jogging shirtless in February is more about ego than the heat!
Part of the change is showing up in the plants that aren’t coming back in the yard this year. Between the drought, the baking summer we had last year and the last two frigid winters, we’ve lost 9 or 10 trees and shrubs in the yard. Some I had hopes for don’t show those early signs of life, despite my best efforts.
So the landscape is going to change a bit. This is unfortunate, because I just had it the way I liked it.
In the house, our apartment tenant asked if we could turn the “swing room” – a room that can go either with the apartment or the house, depending on which door is locked – into an art studio. It’s been a bedroom for our daughter since the remodel, but let’s face reality – that room has been used as a guest room less than a dozen times in the last couple of years. We have another and don’t need it for that and the room, with a second story sun porch and huge northern windows will make a GREAT studio.
So it’s been dismantled, the bed shipped off to the kid’s house to replace a worn out mattress, the linens all sucked down in one of those plastic storage bags.
As someone who would prefer to nail the furniture to the floor when he moves into a house and then just leave it there when he moves out, this is somewhat traumatic for me. Once the decision was made, though, it becomes kind of exciting as the room is remade.
Around town there are changes too, and you have to giggle at some of it.
On the main drag coming into town there used to be a restaurant called “The Peddler”. Apparently it was once quite nice, although I never ate there in the dozen years I’ve been lived here and it closed up several years ago.
There’s a new sign out front, though, announcing that another business is moving from a strip mall to go in there. It’s called “Night Secrets” and is an adult novelty store. Those businesses tend to cause way more controversy than is warranted. A few years ago, one called “Pricilla’s” went in just a couple of blocks away from this location, right at the top of the I-40 exit ramp.
You’da thought they were sacrificing babies there or something for all the fuss that happened. In reality, they sell cheap lingerie that doesn’t show anything different or more than you can find at the mall, crass gag gifts that are intended for adults and a few DVD’s of dirty movies – which I bet nobody buys any more because it’s all over the internet. It really was much ado about nothing.
So things are changing all over. We can fight it or adapt. Most of the time it’s more of a terror in our minds than in reality and most of the world won’t even notice that it’s happening.
You don’t have to like it, but there’s not much point in fighting it. The best approach is to breathe deep and lean into the project.
So in a few weeks, when I think that we’ve figured out what didn’t make it through the winter, I’ll start pulling the dead stuff out of the yard and figuring out how to re-arrange things to fill in the gaps.
And when we get tired of doing that, we might wander through Night Secrets to see what the spring merchandise has to offer.
Probably nothing there suited to my taste, but it never hurts to support an independent business that's trying to hang on in a tight economy.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Prepare To Be Assimilated
We had to make one of our semi-annual trips to Hell yesterday. We couldn’t avoid it, there are some things you just can’t get anywhere else.
By “Hell”, of course I mean that scourge of retail in the western world, Wal Mart.
Wal Mart stores are like kudzu. Once it gets a toehold somewhere, you usually can’t eradicate it and it takes over and kills everything in its path. At that point, you simply have to recognize that it’s there and you have to deal with it as best you can.
In my case, that means shopping there only when there is absolutely no other choice – about twice a year. One of those times was last Sunday morning, about 7:00.
This is a “safe” time in WalMart. The drunks who go there after the bars close have already left, but the morning crowds aren’t usually out yet You can get in and out without being overwhelmed by the crush of humanity.
Here’s what I predict, though.
This is the shopping venue of the future. When I was growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, first you went downtown to lots of different stores to shop. That turned into the enclosed mall in the early 70’s and 80’s, and it then became the place to hang out as well.
Malls have since fallen out of favor, and there’s nothing sadder than a once high-end shopping mall that’s gone by the wayside. The anchor stores leave, then come the nail shops and “As Seen on TV” specialty stores. Roving gangs of adolescents take over and older people, single women and young mothers no longer feel safe, so they stop going. Of course, the fact that those same people can take care of much of their shopping for big-ticket items online doesn’t hurt. Anyone who’s had to drag a fussy baby through 37 stores knows that it’s worth twice the price to be able to “click and ship” an item.
So what’s the next retail sensation? I predict that Wal Mart will take over an increasingly larger part of our retail sector. We have a larger store in Hickory, complete with groceries and a McDonalds. They also have a bank, an optician, an urgent care clinic, a tax preparer, a beauty salon and a photography studio.
Excuse me, but that sounds a lot like what I remember being in downtown, or in a mall. In an attempt to expand their influence, they’ve taken out several registers and are building more cubicle-type storefronts to go in there as well. They are assimilating more and more formerly independent businesses in those blue vests.
Is this the town square or mall of the future? Like both town squares and malls, you can get most of what you routinely need in one place, there’s lots of parking – too much, in some opinions – and it’s convenient, being open 24 hours in most cases.
I hope not, but I’m afraid it’s going to turn into that especially if our society continues to buy into the “get it as cheaply as possible” culture.
Until then, I’ll continue to make my twice-yearly trips, getting those things that I absolutely cannot procure anywhere else.
By “Hell”, of course I mean that scourge of retail in the western world, Wal Mart.
Wal Mart stores are like kudzu. Once it gets a toehold somewhere, you usually can’t eradicate it and it takes over and kills everything in its path. At that point, you simply have to recognize that it’s there and you have to deal with it as best you can.
In my case, that means shopping there only when there is absolutely no other choice – about twice a year. One of those times was last Sunday morning, about 7:00.
This is a “safe” time in WalMart. The drunks who go there after the bars close have already left, but the morning crowds aren’t usually out yet You can get in and out without being overwhelmed by the crush of humanity.
Here’s what I predict, though.
This is the shopping venue of the future. When I was growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, first you went downtown to lots of different stores to shop. That turned into the enclosed mall in the early 70’s and 80’s, and it then became the place to hang out as well.
Malls have since fallen out of favor, and there’s nothing sadder than a once high-end shopping mall that’s gone by the wayside. The anchor stores leave, then come the nail shops and “As Seen on TV” specialty stores. Roving gangs of adolescents take over and older people, single women and young mothers no longer feel safe, so they stop going. Of course, the fact that those same people can take care of much of their shopping for big-ticket items online doesn’t hurt. Anyone who’s had to drag a fussy baby through 37 stores knows that it’s worth twice the price to be able to “click and ship” an item.
So what’s the next retail sensation? I predict that Wal Mart will take over an increasingly larger part of our retail sector. We have a larger store in Hickory, complete with groceries and a McDonalds. They also have a bank, an optician, an urgent care clinic, a tax preparer, a beauty salon and a photography studio.
Excuse me, but that sounds a lot like what I remember being in downtown, or in a mall. In an attempt to expand their influence, they’ve taken out several registers and are building more cubicle-type storefronts to go in there as well. They are assimilating more and more formerly independent businesses in those blue vests.
Is this the town square or mall of the future? Like both town squares and malls, you can get most of what you routinely need in one place, there’s lots of parking – too much, in some opinions – and it’s convenient, being open 24 hours in most cases.
I hope not, but I’m afraid it’s going to turn into that especially if our society continues to buy into the “get it as cheaply as possible” culture.
Until then, I’ll continue to make my twice-yearly trips, getting those things that I absolutely cannot procure anywhere else.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Reading Library
There was a trend a few years ago to post pages out of the newspaper in frames over the urinals in the men’s room of some restaurants and bars. I guess the theory was that since you were going to be standing there looking straight ahead and not talking to anyone you may as well get some of your reading out of the way.
So I was a little surprised yesterday in a local restaurant – a nice, upscale place – when I went in and there was a bookshelf immediately over the urinal. This was awkward because on the upper shelf was a plant that wanted to reach out and grab you like something from "Little Shop of Horrors", meaning you had to either stand further back than was socially comfortable (or hygienic) or kind of arch yourself backwards so you could aim and hope for the best.
While trying to contort myself to do my business, though, I then saw that the lower shelf had reading material on it.
Not a brochure or flyer about an upcoming event or specials in the restaurant, but books.
And these weren’t those old leatherbound things that decorators are so fond of buying from lawfirms and placing around so that they look smart. These were just used paperbacks like you’d get from a “Friends of the Library” sale for a quarter.
They obviously weren’t reading material to use in the adjacent stall because of their location. Reaching for them if someone were using the urinal would simply have been too invasive in a place where most guys like a little space and most certainly DON'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED BY A STRANGER.
There are times in a man's life when he is especially vulnerable, and anyone with common sense will understand and respect the need for personal space on those occasions. One of them would be most any time that your fly is open.
Similarly, I can’t imagine anyone reading “Photoshop for Dummies” in a restaurant toilet.
Especially a one-holer that’s bound to see some traffic on the average Friday night.
By the same token, most men standing at a urinal are tending to the business at hand, not looking to increase their intellectual knowledge.
Besides, their hands are busy. It’s one thing to read a newspaper posted on the wall and quite another to try and thumb through War and Peace with your business wavin’ in the breeze.
So, despite my love for books, I opted out of using the restroom as a reading library.
There are some things that you only do in the privacy of your own home.
So I was a little surprised yesterday in a local restaurant – a nice, upscale place – when I went in and there was a bookshelf immediately over the urinal. This was awkward because on the upper shelf was a plant that wanted to reach out and grab you like something from "Little Shop of Horrors", meaning you had to either stand further back than was socially comfortable (or hygienic) or kind of arch yourself backwards so you could aim and hope for the best.
While trying to contort myself to do my business, though, I then saw that the lower shelf had reading material on it.
Not a brochure or flyer about an upcoming event or specials in the restaurant, but books.
And these weren’t those old leatherbound things that decorators are so fond of buying from lawfirms and placing around so that they look smart. These were just used paperbacks like you’d get from a “Friends of the Library” sale for a quarter.
They obviously weren’t reading material to use in the adjacent stall because of their location. Reaching for them if someone were using the urinal would simply have been too invasive in a place where most guys like a little space and most certainly DON'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED BY A STRANGER.
There are times in a man's life when he is especially vulnerable, and anyone with common sense will understand and respect the need for personal space on those occasions. One of them would be most any time that your fly is open.
Similarly, I can’t imagine anyone reading “Photoshop for Dummies” in a restaurant toilet.
Especially a one-holer that’s bound to see some traffic on the average Friday night.
By the same token, most men standing at a urinal are tending to the business at hand, not looking to increase their intellectual knowledge.
Besides, their hands are busy. It’s one thing to read a newspaper posted on the wall and quite another to try and thumb through War and Peace with your business wavin’ in the breeze.
So, despite my love for books, I opted out of using the restroom as a reading library.
There are some things that you only do in the privacy of your own home.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Unhappy Hour
So last night we went to a “Take Over Friday”. These events are popping up in various cities, but basically what happens is that word goes out that a certain bar or restaurant will be a meeting place for happy hour on Friday at 5:00. Otherwise ostensibly “straight” locations become “gay bars” for a short period of time.
We are not normally “happy hour” people. These events, though, do a couple of things. First, they support restaurants that have been gay-friendly. Second, it gives a place the opportunity to showcase their best efforts to a potential new client base that tend to spend more than the average demographic on food and drink.
The other thing you ought to know is that it’s not a surprise. The event is coordinated with the restaurant to make sure that there’s not a wedding rehearsal dinner or Sunday School party going on that might clash, either ideologically or space wise. The idea is to have a good time and show the power of a group’s consumer habits, not to provoke ideological confrontations. The event was coordinated long before the email went out announcing the date and location.
So it was a little surprising when 20 or so of us showed up over the course of about two hours to find that the restaurant – which was a pretty upscale place, linen tablecloths, above average price point and pretty good food – completely unprepared.
Basic drink orders couldn’t be filled because they were out of liquor.
Think about that – Friday evening, group coming and the bar was out of key ingredients and had to send some of the already overwhelmed bar staff out to get more.
Bottled beer was handed over unopened, and then there was a delay while the staff tried to find a church key to pop the top.
Then, as we handed over pictures of dead presidents to pay for our libations, we were told that they had no change, but someone was going to try to find some – after the banks had closed on Friday evening.
Most of us were pretty well dumbfounded. It was almost as if we were unwelcome relatives who’ve shown up at Thanksgiving dinner unannounced and without our covered dish in hand.
This wasn’t a garage sale, where when some schmuck pops a $100 bill on you first thing and there’s no change left. This is an established retail business.
Some of us came with the intent of eating dinner there, or at least ordering some food during happy hour. It was pretty quickly apparent this wasn’t possible, though, because nobody brought out menus. There wasn’t so much as a saltine cracker with a bowl of store-bought pimento cheese to nibble. It was as if it never occurred to them that people would come to a restaurant to eat, or that thirsty men buy more drinks.
Most of the group left after an hour or so. Nobody ordered dinner, although lots of us made plans to go to other restaurants to eat once we left there.
There are lots of reasons that long-established restaurants fail. The rumor was that the owner was off at the Ms. Betty Ford Clinic drying out. The person who was apparently the manager would seem to need similar intervention, since her one appearance seemed to explain the lack of liquor in the bar. She’d drunk it all up. The bartender was overwhelmed and the waitstaff from the dining room (which was empty so early in the evening) weren’t pulled in to assist, probably because the manager was in no condition to write her own name, much less reallocate staff in the restaurant.
This place used to be a nice restaurant that was tough to get into. It’s been declining in recent years (probably for the reasons described above), and this was a chance for them to breathe a bit of life back into the place.
Unfortunately, it looks as though CPR has failed. It’s time to stop beating the chest of this old lady and let her expire with what little bit of dignity remains.
The disappointing thing for the community is that it won’t be replaced. The death knell of this place not only means the loss of another independent restaurant, but is going to mean not only that yet another building will stand empty, and that the invasion of the nationwide chains will continue to make our community just one more monotonous blip on the highway.
The take-away here, though is that restaurants – especially high end ones that charge a lot – need to recognize that there are few second chances for a disaster like that. This business relies as much on catering special events as they do the restaurant, and I can’t imagine anyone in attendance who would now entrust them with a “has to come off perfect” occasion.
I’m not putting the name of the restaurant here because I don’t want to add to their grief. I suspect they’re going to be busy dealing with the upcoming business closing, and after that it won’t matter any more.
We are not normally “happy hour” people. These events, though, do a couple of things. First, they support restaurants that have been gay-friendly. Second, it gives a place the opportunity to showcase their best efforts to a potential new client base that tend to spend more than the average demographic on food and drink.
The other thing you ought to know is that it’s not a surprise. The event is coordinated with the restaurant to make sure that there’s not a wedding rehearsal dinner or Sunday School party going on that might clash, either ideologically or space wise. The idea is to have a good time and show the power of a group’s consumer habits, not to provoke ideological confrontations. The event was coordinated long before the email went out announcing the date and location.
So it was a little surprising when 20 or so of us showed up over the course of about two hours to find that the restaurant – which was a pretty upscale place, linen tablecloths, above average price point and pretty good food – completely unprepared.
Basic drink orders couldn’t be filled because they were out of liquor.
Think about that – Friday evening, group coming and the bar was out of key ingredients and had to send some of the already overwhelmed bar staff out to get more.
Bottled beer was handed over unopened, and then there was a delay while the staff tried to find a church key to pop the top.
Then, as we handed over pictures of dead presidents to pay for our libations, we were told that they had no change, but someone was going to try to find some – after the banks had closed on Friday evening.
Most of us were pretty well dumbfounded. It was almost as if we were unwelcome relatives who’ve shown up at Thanksgiving dinner unannounced and without our covered dish in hand.
This wasn’t a garage sale, where when some schmuck pops a $100 bill on you first thing and there’s no change left. This is an established retail business.
Some of us came with the intent of eating dinner there, or at least ordering some food during happy hour. It was pretty quickly apparent this wasn’t possible, though, because nobody brought out menus. There wasn’t so much as a saltine cracker with a bowl of store-bought pimento cheese to nibble. It was as if it never occurred to them that people would come to a restaurant to eat, or that thirsty men buy more drinks.
Most of the group left after an hour or so. Nobody ordered dinner, although lots of us made plans to go to other restaurants to eat once we left there.
There are lots of reasons that long-established restaurants fail. The rumor was that the owner was off at the Ms. Betty Ford Clinic drying out. The person who was apparently the manager would seem to need similar intervention, since her one appearance seemed to explain the lack of liquor in the bar. She’d drunk it all up. The bartender was overwhelmed and the waitstaff from the dining room (which was empty so early in the evening) weren’t pulled in to assist, probably because the manager was in no condition to write her own name, much less reallocate staff in the restaurant.
This place used to be a nice restaurant that was tough to get into. It’s been declining in recent years (probably for the reasons described above), and this was a chance for them to breathe a bit of life back into the place.
Unfortunately, it looks as though CPR has failed. It’s time to stop beating the chest of this old lady and let her expire with what little bit of dignity remains.
The disappointing thing for the community is that it won’t be replaced. The death knell of this place not only means the loss of another independent restaurant, but is going to mean not only that yet another building will stand empty, and that the invasion of the nationwide chains will continue to make our community just one more monotonous blip on the highway.
The take-away here, though is that restaurants – especially high end ones that charge a lot – need to recognize that there are few second chances for a disaster like that. This business relies as much on catering special events as they do the restaurant, and I can’t imagine anyone in attendance who would now entrust them with a “has to come off perfect” occasion.
I’m not putting the name of the restaurant here because I don’t want to add to their grief. I suspect they’re going to be busy dealing with the upcoming business closing, and after that it won’t matter any more.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Lab Report
So here’s the latest in medical technology.
They’ve now managed to train a Labrador Retriever to do cancer scans on people. Like many medical specialists, their practice is very focused – they are able to detect colon cancer with a surprising degree of accuracy. This assumes, of course, that they can be convinced to quit licking themselves long enough to focus on the task at hand.
Like many medical procedures, the test itself has the potential to be somewhat distasteful.
Apparently, the dog(s) sniff either the breath or a stool sample of the patient and is able to accurately detect the existence of colon cancer in the patient.
One would hope that the dogs are separated in their tasks, such that the one sniffing your breath isn’t the same one who’s sniffing your butt. Or, at the least, he’s been trained to gargle between tests.
Otherwise, it would seem to be something of a cleanliness issue, although one has to question how a dog’s nose is going to be sterilized between patients. It’s hard to imagine that Fido is going to be thrilled about an alcohol sinus rinse, but undoubtedly some bureaucrat would dictate this to be the appropriate level of cleanliness.
So imagine your next physical, when the doctor is done probing and prodding, when you’re told to, “Hang on a minute before you put your pants on; we’ve got one more test to do.”
I used to think that there was little that could be more humiliating for a man than lying on his side (or bent over grabbing the chair) mooning the rest of the room waiting for “something” to happen (usually while the physician natters on about some nonsense for which I have no conceivable interest at the best of times, but much less so with my ass hangin’ out in the breeze).
I was wrong, though. Knowing now that before the rubber gloves come off the doctor is going to open the door and holler, “C’mere, Rex! C’mon boy!” I realize that it can actually get worse than it was before.
They’ve now managed to train a Labrador Retriever to do cancer scans on people. Like many medical specialists, their practice is very focused – they are able to detect colon cancer with a surprising degree of accuracy. This assumes, of course, that they can be convinced to quit licking themselves long enough to focus on the task at hand.
Like many medical procedures, the test itself has the potential to be somewhat distasteful.
Apparently, the dog(s) sniff either the breath or a stool sample of the patient and is able to accurately detect the existence of colon cancer in the patient.
One would hope that the dogs are separated in their tasks, such that the one sniffing your breath isn’t the same one who’s sniffing your butt. Or, at the least, he’s been trained to gargle between tests.
Otherwise, it would seem to be something of a cleanliness issue, although one has to question how a dog’s nose is going to be sterilized between patients. It’s hard to imagine that Fido is going to be thrilled about an alcohol sinus rinse, but undoubtedly some bureaucrat would dictate this to be the appropriate level of cleanliness.
So imagine your next physical, when the doctor is done probing and prodding, when you’re told to, “Hang on a minute before you put your pants on; we’ve got one more test to do.”
I used to think that there was little that could be more humiliating for a man than lying on his side (or bent over grabbing the chair) mooning the rest of the room waiting for “something” to happen (usually while the physician natters on about some nonsense for which I have no conceivable interest at the best of times, but much less so with my ass hangin’ out in the breeze).
I was wrong, though. Knowing now that before the rubber gloves come off the doctor is going to open the door and holler, “C’mere, Rex! C’mon boy!” I realize that it can actually get worse than it was before.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I See You!
It’s time for the spring eyeglass roundup here at the homestead. It happens at various times every year but is usually signaled by the fact that I find myself wearing a pair of clear safety glasses with bifocal magnifiers to read the newspaper.
While newspapers may be hazardous to the blood pressure, they seldom present eye-related injuries. It happens that these are the largest glasses in the pile and are the last ones picked. When I’m down to them, it means all the others have disappeared and need to be rounded up.
They are too ugly to wear out in public, although I will admit that they are handy for driving since you can see both the dashboard and the road with them. Usually, I just "estimate" about the things on the dash rather than try to juggle reading glasses while driving.
We are largely a no-glasses family, him due to contacts and me due to Lasik surgery about 10 years ago. After years of staring through bottle bottoms, I still maintain that it’s the best thing I ever did for myself and would gladly sell a child if necessary to repeat it.
I even have the list of children to sell already made out, but that’s another topic.
Surgery isn’t a panacea, though, and reading glasses still become necessary as we age. Unfortunately, reading glasses are much more feral than standard-issue glasses and they tend to wander off. Being somewhat parasitic in nature, they hitch a ride on any passerby and then jump off in unexpected places. Fortunately, they tend to congregate in places like nightstands, bathroom counters and coffee tables and we are able to return them to the stockyard in the kitchen cabinet.
We suspect that they sometimes breed, since previously undiscovered pair show up at times, often in styles that are obviously the product of slipshod breeding programs. No one, for example, will own up to having bought a pair that look to be straight out of 1955, with cat's-eye frames and enough rhinestones to make Dame Edna blush.
The problem with being an eyeglass wrangler is that you have to have some degree of althleticism as well as imagination to figure out where they might be hiding. The athletic ability, for example, is necessary to go after those that are encamped with the dust bunnies under the bed or deep within the bowels of the recliners in the den. It takes strength and fortitude to either crawl under or move the furniture to get to the nest.
The imagination comes primarily from trying to figure out how the heck they got to be in particular places – not the normal ones like suit jackets or briefcases, but mixed in with the holiday cookie cutters or on the very top of the television cabinet where you know you haven’t been for years. Did they crawl in there by themselves?
So it’s time for the spring roundup. One Saturday soon we will go through the house collecting them from their hiding places, then pile all the strays on the table, cull out those that are broken or too old or just too ugly to wear, even in the house when there’s nobody around and wait for them to wander off again through the spring and summer.
Of course, since they’re hard to see, I’ll probably be wearing an ugly set of safety glasses with bifocal magnifiers since that’s all I can find right now.
While newspapers may be hazardous to the blood pressure, they seldom present eye-related injuries. It happens that these are the largest glasses in the pile and are the last ones picked. When I’m down to them, it means all the others have disappeared and need to be rounded up.
They are too ugly to wear out in public, although I will admit that they are handy for driving since you can see both the dashboard and the road with them. Usually, I just "estimate" about the things on the dash rather than try to juggle reading glasses while driving.
We are largely a no-glasses family, him due to contacts and me due to Lasik surgery about 10 years ago. After years of staring through bottle bottoms, I still maintain that it’s the best thing I ever did for myself and would gladly sell a child if necessary to repeat it.
I even have the list of children to sell already made out, but that’s another topic.
Surgery isn’t a panacea, though, and reading glasses still become necessary as we age. Unfortunately, reading glasses are much more feral than standard-issue glasses and they tend to wander off. Being somewhat parasitic in nature, they hitch a ride on any passerby and then jump off in unexpected places. Fortunately, they tend to congregate in places like nightstands, bathroom counters and coffee tables and we are able to return them to the stockyard in the kitchen cabinet.
We suspect that they sometimes breed, since previously undiscovered pair show up at times, often in styles that are obviously the product of slipshod breeding programs. No one, for example, will own up to having bought a pair that look to be straight out of 1955, with cat's-eye frames and enough rhinestones to make Dame Edna blush.
The problem with being an eyeglass wrangler is that you have to have some degree of althleticism as well as imagination to figure out where they might be hiding. The athletic ability, for example, is necessary to go after those that are encamped with the dust bunnies under the bed or deep within the bowels of the recliners in the den. It takes strength and fortitude to either crawl under or move the furniture to get to the nest.
The imagination comes primarily from trying to figure out how the heck they got to be in particular places – not the normal ones like suit jackets or briefcases, but mixed in with the holiday cookie cutters or on the very top of the television cabinet where you know you haven’t been for years. Did they crawl in there by themselves?
So it’s time for the spring roundup. One Saturday soon we will go through the house collecting them from their hiding places, then pile all the strays on the table, cull out those that are broken or too old or just too ugly to wear, even in the house when there’s nobody around and wait for them to wander off again through the spring and summer.
Of course, since they’re hard to see, I’ll probably be wearing an ugly set of safety glasses with bifocal magnifiers since that’s all I can find right now.
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