Something odd happens when the clock strikes about 40 in this numbers game we call life. We develop this obsessive concern about our health and well being. This transition seems to happen overnight like turning a light switch on and off. One day you're a young and vibrant person with nary a thought of your health, the next day you are possessed by words and terms—cholesterol, hyper-tension, sciatica—that you had never heard of or understood.
And suddenly there is an un-agreed upon competition with your friends which pits your latest illness and doctor's report against theirs:
"My physician says that if my cholesterol were any higher I could go to Harvard!"
'That's nothing, my sciatic nerve is so inflamed that it looks like I'm carrying a chub of salami in the back of my pants."
I started to complain the other day to my wife about some symptoms that I apparently picked up from a T.V. commercial or show.
She looked at me with a gaze that only she can muster and said "If you truly have these symptoms I suggest you call my gynecologist because there is something wrong with your ovaries."
Now I'm really worried because I wasn't born with ovaries—I checked!
I lived in Florida for several years and loved to ease-drop on the geriatric set when they were in full debate. It was much like watching Grand Masters in a bridge tournament with everyone strategizing their bids:
"I got Shingles, two-impacted teeth, and my doctors says that if I go in the sun, I'll die."
"I can beat that with my nephritic condition, gingivitis, in all four quadrants, and I have already been scrapped 6 times for skin cancer."
"You're all a bunch of nobodies. I got 3 weeks to live, and the doctor doesn't even know what's wrong with me."
It finally dawned on me that health issues are never a topic when you are young because there were no health issues. Everything still works! For those of us with good family genes, well, the warranty has expired. For those of us with genes that are suspect—kind of like a machine built with used parts—we're going to have plenty to talk about by the time we get to the care center!
My wife wondered aloud that if the Republicans win the election with their new V.P., will the government close on the weekends for soccer practice? I reassured her that the government was already closed.
The British created an anti-terrorist force named, Fast Action Response Team. Make an acronym out of that! For real!
I just finished reading a book entitled, “The Post American World.”
Among many brilliant observations the author makes is to point out that:
The tallest building in the world is in Taipei
The richest man in the world is Mexican
The largest publicly traded corporation is Chinese.
Macao, not Las Vegas, is the gambling capitol of the world.
The largest refinery is in India.
The Indians also produced more motion pictures than anyone in the world.
Singapore… Singapore, for cripes sake, has the LARGEST FERRIS WHEEL!!
And to add insult to injury—regarding an American creation—shopping, of the ten top malls in the world, only one is located in America!
Just remember, Rosetta Stone promises it can teach you a foreign language fast and easily.
Billy P.
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Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
"You Are What You Eat!"
According to something called NHANES (The National Health And Nutritional Educational Survey), 16 percent of our youth between the ages of 6 and 16 are obese. I tip the scale pretty good myself, but does anyone know how to pronounce NHANES? (Stay tuned for a BLOG on acronyms and the people who devise them.) Over the years, fighting the Battle of the Bulge has encouraged many diet fads; and just to name a few:
The, South Beach Bar Diet—allows you to eat all that you want as long as it is consumed in Miami.
The, Bangladesh Eat All The Sand You Want Diet—works, I guess? Every time I see the ocean I have to make potty!
The, Only Eat In Months That End In "R" Diet—doesn't work; too many months end in "R."
The, Eat But Don't Swallow Diet—tends to be a bit messy, especially with Chinese food.
The, Cloned Meat Diet—an up and comer; you tend to eat half as much as you want because it looks like you've already eaten what you're eating!
The, Eat All The Donuts You Want Diet—you're only allowed to eat the centers.
I had dinner with a friend recently and couldn't help staring at his 12-year-old son who had devoured 3, heaping plates of pasta as fast as I can swill a shot of Peppermint Schnapps.
At one point he must have noticed that I was fixed on his activity and he asked, "Billy, are chins a good thing?"
"They must be," I replied, "God gave you 5 of them!"
My statement must have had some affect on him. He seemed to struggle with his next 2 plates of spaghetti.
It is amazing to me to know at what length people will go in denial of their obesity. I mean if you're fat, you're fat, right? I mean, can you lie about your height?
'Yeah, I know I measure 5'8", but I'm really 6'10"."
I have one friend who is particularly delusional. This women gargles with Kahlua and Creams, but blames her thyroid for every thing. You could keep your spare change in her belly button, and she doesn't see any thing wrong!
She finally told me she was in counseling and I immediately thought, "With the Keebler Elves, right?"
I heard recently that she submitted to that hideous operation that short cuts your pooper. I also heard that she dropped the Kahlua for Amaretto!
I have an opinion, scientific or not, about how this eating-thing all started.
Take yourself back in time. Let's talk about the hours, days, and weeks spent in a bassinet, baby crib, or whatever your time period called that thing you slept in when you were first born.
We all have something in common; something that has mystified us and energized what we now know as "hunger-pangs."
Our feet—it all started with our feet!
Remember?
"Man, look at those chubby, red things at the end of the bed. And they are connected to me! Bet they sure would taste good, especially that big, fat one on the end. Oh, yeah—let me get you up here in my mouth, Big Guy. Yummy. Now I know why that hairy thing that smells so funny keeps licking them all the time. No wonder the Lady with the milk bottles on her chest keeps chasing him away. Aw, boy, life is great—there must be a hundred of them. These would go great with some milk. Hey, Lady!"
Too much reminiscing has made me hungry. I think I'll have some Sun Chips and a cold beer. My current diet craze!
Billy P.
The, South Beach Bar Diet—allows you to eat all that you want as long as it is consumed in Miami.
The, Bangladesh Eat All The Sand You Want Diet—works, I guess? Every time I see the ocean I have to make potty!
The, Only Eat In Months That End In "R" Diet—doesn't work; too many months end in "R."
The, Eat But Don't Swallow Diet—tends to be a bit messy, especially with Chinese food.
The, Cloned Meat Diet—an up and comer; you tend to eat half as much as you want because it looks like you've already eaten what you're eating!
The, Eat All The Donuts You Want Diet—you're only allowed to eat the centers.
I had dinner with a friend recently and couldn't help staring at his 12-year-old son who had devoured 3, heaping plates of pasta as fast as I can swill a shot of Peppermint Schnapps.
At one point he must have noticed that I was fixed on his activity and he asked, "Billy, are chins a good thing?"
"They must be," I replied, "God gave you 5 of them!"
My statement must have had some affect on him. He seemed to struggle with his next 2 plates of spaghetti.
It is amazing to me to know at what length people will go in denial of their obesity. I mean if you're fat, you're fat, right? I mean, can you lie about your height?
'Yeah, I know I measure 5'8", but I'm really 6'10"."
I have one friend who is particularly delusional. This women gargles with Kahlua and Creams, but blames her thyroid for every thing. You could keep your spare change in her belly button, and she doesn't see any thing wrong!
She finally told me she was in counseling and I immediately thought, "With the Keebler Elves, right?"
I heard recently that she submitted to that hideous operation that short cuts your pooper. I also heard that she dropped the Kahlua for Amaretto!
I have an opinion, scientific or not, about how this eating-thing all started.
Take yourself back in time. Let's talk about the hours, days, and weeks spent in a bassinet, baby crib, or whatever your time period called that thing you slept in when you were first born.
We all have something in common; something that has mystified us and energized what we now know as "hunger-pangs."
Our feet—it all started with our feet!
Remember?
"Man, look at those chubby, red things at the end of the bed. And they are connected to me! Bet they sure would taste good, especially that big, fat one on the end. Oh, yeah—let me get you up here in my mouth, Big Guy. Yummy. Now I know why that hairy thing that smells so funny keeps licking them all the time. No wonder the Lady with the milk bottles on her chest keeps chasing him away. Aw, boy, life is great—there must be a hundred of them. These would go great with some milk. Hey, Lady!"
Too much reminiscing has made me hungry. I think I'll have some Sun Chips and a cold beer. My current diet craze!
Billy P.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
"In Defense Of Indolence," Or, Confessions Of A Ten-Toed Sloth!
I suppose there is a lot to be said for the ability and willingness to work hard. I just can’t, for the life of me, think of anything to say at the present time or, for that matter, over the last 61 years of my existence, to justify that concept.
Hard work has all the attraction of the Plague, as far as I am concerned. I’d rather suck your nose when you have a head cold than work an over-time day. And you can keep the time and one-half pay, too!
Now I realize I’m stepping all over a cornerstone of our American heritage and the entire concept that has propelled our nation and our people to be whatever it is that we are today. I mean, dream what you will and then give it all you got—and then some—is the avenue we travel to reach our goals and successes, right? And all those who have traveled this path, reached great heights and attained great achievements are people to be admired—even venerated!
We even have created our own measuring stick to judge how successful these efforts are for those who choose to follow this path; how much money you make, what kind of car you drive, what kind of clothes you wear, how many bedrooms you have in your primary house—and, of course, the vacation home, cabin, or time-share—have all become accepted standards of success for our American way of thinking.
So, what do you think! Am I pushing the button a little to far to start a pro-indolence campaign?
Indolence is universally defined as “inactivity resulting from a dislike of work.”
It is a relative to the word “sloth” which has a similar meaning which is to have a “disinclination to work or exert oneself.”
Now I know that I’m not real smart. If you had taken my grade point average at Penn State University and added them individually for the 3 terms I attended, the total wouldn’t have been 1.0! I even flunk “ Gym.” So I’m an Alum-Bum—sue me!
In my lifetime, I have had three idols: Abraham Lincoln, Alfred E. Neumann, and Maynard G. Krebs.
Maynard G. Krebs, of “Dobie Gillis” fame, is my all-time “do nothing hero.” If fact, anytime anyone mentioned the word work, he would go into a hysterical frenzy and shout out W-O-R-K as if he had just been kick in the ass by a mule!
But by its definition—“a disinclination to work”—it doesn’t suggest that an indolent person is doing nothing. Even Maynard used to go down the street and watch the guys “knock down the old Endicott Building.” He did that for the 3 or 4 years the show was in production. When he was really bored, he went to the Bijou to watch a triple-feature: “ The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” The Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” and “The Son-Of-The-Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland.”
As usual, I handed this issue over to our staff of experts to examine, and suggest, a possible pro-active, indolent path for all of you to follow:
§ If you any ties to Christianity, forget it! Christians hate lazy people more than an abortionist who works for tips. Ever heard of the “Seven Deadly Sins”? You guessed it, Sloth, right up there in the winner’s circle. If you are indolent and absolutely, positively must have a religion, may I suggest becoming a “Left-Handed Tantrist.”? They can do anything they want and don’t have to confess.
§ Make certain that the use of the word is indolent-- not impotent! Lazy doesn’t mean you can’t have sex on your back.
§ Tell every workaholic you encounter to go kiss your ass! Much of America works its butt off to come up with ways to do everything—from eating to calculating—fast and simple. What’s the logic of working like hell to invent all these short cut products, and then not spend the time to enjoy them?
§ And while on the subject of short cuts—never have sex with your eyes closed. It goes, or cums—depending how you look at it—too fast!
§ If you want to make a living doing nothing, get a job with the government. It’s the only place on Earth where you can stand around and people will think you are working.
§ As difficult as it may be to believe, it is possible to survive in this life without a cell phone or computer. The Sodomites proved it.
§ An indolent person can be quite happy with his/hers sexual, self-gratification. An ambitious or driven person seeks conquest, which invites rejection. This is a definite risk of one’s self-esteem.
Lastly, I always recommend that all my thousands of readers should not pay attention to a single word that I write.
So listen to someone else:
“Hard work never killed anybody; but I figure, why take the chance.”
… Ronald Reagan
Excuse me; I have to get in my recliner.
Billy P.
Hard work has all the attraction of the Plague, as far as I am concerned. I’d rather suck your nose when you have a head cold than work an over-time day. And you can keep the time and one-half pay, too!
Now I realize I’m stepping all over a cornerstone of our American heritage and the entire concept that has propelled our nation and our people to be whatever it is that we are today. I mean, dream what you will and then give it all you got—and then some—is the avenue we travel to reach our goals and successes, right? And all those who have traveled this path, reached great heights and attained great achievements are people to be admired—even venerated!
We even have created our own measuring stick to judge how successful these efforts are for those who choose to follow this path; how much money you make, what kind of car you drive, what kind of clothes you wear, how many bedrooms you have in your primary house—and, of course, the vacation home, cabin, or time-share—have all become accepted standards of success for our American way of thinking.
So, what do you think! Am I pushing the button a little to far to start a pro-indolence campaign?
Indolence is universally defined as “inactivity resulting from a dislike of work.”
It is a relative to the word “sloth” which has a similar meaning which is to have a “disinclination to work or exert oneself.”
Now I know that I’m not real smart. If you had taken my grade point average at Penn State University and added them individually for the 3 terms I attended, the total wouldn’t have been 1.0! I even flunk “ Gym.” So I’m an Alum-Bum—sue me!
In my lifetime, I have had three idols: Abraham Lincoln, Alfred E. Neumann, and Maynard G. Krebs.
Maynard G. Krebs, of “Dobie Gillis” fame, is my all-time “do nothing hero.” If fact, anytime anyone mentioned the word work, he would go into a hysterical frenzy and shout out W-O-R-K as if he had just been kick in the ass by a mule!
But by its definition—“a disinclination to work”—it doesn’t suggest that an indolent person is doing nothing. Even Maynard used to go down the street and watch the guys “knock down the old Endicott Building.” He did that for the 3 or 4 years the show was in production. When he was really bored, he went to the Bijou to watch a triple-feature: “ The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” The Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland,” and “The Son-Of-The-Son Of The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland.”
As usual, I handed this issue over to our staff of experts to examine, and suggest, a possible pro-active, indolent path for all of you to follow:
§ If you any ties to Christianity, forget it! Christians hate lazy people more than an abortionist who works for tips. Ever heard of the “Seven Deadly Sins”? You guessed it, Sloth, right up there in the winner’s circle. If you are indolent and absolutely, positively must have a religion, may I suggest becoming a “Left-Handed Tantrist.”? They can do anything they want and don’t have to confess.
§ Make certain that the use of the word is indolent-- not impotent! Lazy doesn’t mean you can’t have sex on your back.
§ Tell every workaholic you encounter to go kiss your ass! Much of America works its butt off to come up with ways to do everything—from eating to calculating—fast and simple. What’s the logic of working like hell to invent all these short cut products, and then not spend the time to enjoy them?
§ And while on the subject of short cuts—never have sex with your eyes closed. It goes, or cums—depending how you look at it—too fast!
§ If you want to make a living doing nothing, get a job with the government. It’s the only place on Earth where you can stand around and people will think you are working.
§ As difficult as it may be to believe, it is possible to survive in this life without a cell phone or computer. The Sodomites proved it.
§ An indolent person can be quite happy with his/hers sexual, self-gratification. An ambitious or driven person seeks conquest, which invites rejection. This is a definite risk of one’s self-esteem.
Lastly, I always recommend that all my thousands of readers should not pay attention to a single word that I write.
So listen to someone else:
“Hard work never killed anybody; but I figure, why take the chance.”
… Ronald Reagan
Excuse me; I have to get in my recliner.
Billy P.
Friday, August 29, 2008
"Take My Cell Phone, Please!"
Ten years ago if I were asked to name the four most significant technological developments that have altered and shaped the course of Mankind, I would have readily replied:
§ The wheel, electricity, the computer, and rolling paper.
After the passage of ten years, I would alter my list slightly, deleting the wheel and adding the cell phone.
Cell phones have all but eliminated the time and distance of communication and even made it possible to reach your party without dialing!
I recently heard a guy making a date for Friday night while using the conveniences of a public crapper. Now that’s progress!
Well, answer one question, please?
If the cell phone is so great-- I mean, one smart phone-- how come it gets lost all the time? I need an answer and I need it now!
Man, I have left this thing in bars, cars… on planes and trains… sent it to the laundry, dropped it in the toilet! I have even trained my dog to retrieve it, replacing his trusty Frisbee as his favorite go-fetch-it- thing. (Can he get cancer doing that?)
Yesterday I might have outdone myself! I had already lost “ Wrongway” (I call it “Wrongway” because no matter which direction I go, it goes the wrong way!) twice during the week; once in a bar – it loves bars- and once in a convenience store. In fact, it has spent so much time in convenience stores that I have learned some basic greetings in Punjabi, the most common language of Pakistan.
I thought I had exhausted all the possible hiding places of this clever device and, then, in kind of a “Remember the Alamo” epiphany, I remembered the trash.
I hurriedly grabbed my wife’s cell (we’re a two phone family) and dashed toward our community’s trash dumpster- that dreaded and vile thing!
I dialed my number 954-xxx-xxxx (for security reasons and threats of violence, you understand, right?) and, in just a few seconds I heard it… music to my ears… that lovely cacophonous sound of My Tone, a mixture of Hava Nagila and the Birthday Tune all in one. Life is great!
But wait! The Ring, My Ring, emanates from the confines of the trash receptacle and I am on the outside looking in with nary a way to scale its vile walls. Chagrin!
Quick reasoning suggested a ladder would solve my problem, so I retrieved our kitchen stepladder, mounted it to its top stair and leaped into an odiferous concoction of aromas that would challenge any great Chef’s abilities to duplicate.
Dial! Dial again and again… getting closer all the time. And then, alas and alack, I have found it…resting on last night’s Chinese take-out (Egg Foo
Yung, I believe) just to the right of someone’s old clothing. Eureka!
Just at my moment of elation, I could hear a human grunt and then a rattle-- perhaps some tin cans-- and then…Smack! Right in the face, a 33 gallon-sized bag of trash-- direct hit on me!
I let out with a Yelp! (Well, it was a four- lettered word, anyway.) And my Yelp was replied to with a surprised-like scream. I guess I did look silly standing in the middle of a dumpster, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap, clutching two cell phones. Talk about fetishes!
I did manage to placate the astonished women and calmly said:
“Sorry to stun you Miss. I was planning to come this weekend but the weather has been so nice… Well, you know what I mean.”
I don’t think that she did.
My tale of woe and wonderment would have ended here if it weren’t for that big truck!
If you want to try something difficult, try explaining to your wife why you need to be picked up at a local landfill!
Which brings up the subject of the fourth technological development that has altered the history of Mankind--rolling paper!
Well, maybe that’s how I got into this predicament in the first place.
We’ll save that for another day.
Billy Comerford
§ The wheel, electricity, the computer, and rolling paper.
After the passage of ten years, I would alter my list slightly, deleting the wheel and adding the cell phone.
Cell phones have all but eliminated the time and distance of communication and even made it possible to reach your party without dialing!
I recently heard a guy making a date for Friday night while using the conveniences of a public crapper. Now that’s progress!
Well, answer one question, please?
If the cell phone is so great-- I mean, one smart phone-- how come it gets lost all the time? I need an answer and I need it now!
Man, I have left this thing in bars, cars… on planes and trains… sent it to the laundry, dropped it in the toilet! I have even trained my dog to retrieve it, replacing his trusty Frisbee as his favorite go-fetch-it- thing. (Can he get cancer doing that?)
Yesterday I might have outdone myself! I had already lost “ Wrongway” (I call it “Wrongway” because no matter which direction I go, it goes the wrong way!) twice during the week; once in a bar – it loves bars- and once in a convenience store. In fact, it has spent so much time in convenience stores that I have learned some basic greetings in Punjabi, the most common language of Pakistan.
I thought I had exhausted all the possible hiding places of this clever device and, then, in kind of a “Remember the Alamo” epiphany, I remembered the trash.
I hurriedly grabbed my wife’s cell (we’re a two phone family) and dashed toward our community’s trash dumpster- that dreaded and vile thing!
I dialed my number 954-xxx-xxxx (for security reasons and threats of violence, you understand, right?) and, in just a few seconds I heard it… music to my ears… that lovely cacophonous sound of My Tone, a mixture of Hava Nagila and the Birthday Tune all in one. Life is great!
But wait! The Ring, My Ring, emanates from the confines of the trash receptacle and I am on the outside looking in with nary a way to scale its vile walls. Chagrin!
Quick reasoning suggested a ladder would solve my problem, so I retrieved our kitchen stepladder, mounted it to its top stair and leaped into an odiferous concoction of aromas that would challenge any great Chef’s abilities to duplicate.
Dial! Dial again and again… getting closer all the time. And then, alas and alack, I have found it…resting on last night’s Chinese take-out (Egg Foo
Yung, I believe) just to the right of someone’s old clothing. Eureka!
Just at my moment of elation, I could hear a human grunt and then a rattle-- perhaps some tin cans-- and then…Smack! Right in the face, a 33 gallon-sized bag of trash-- direct hit on me!
I let out with a Yelp! (Well, it was a four- lettered word, anyway.) And my Yelp was replied to with a surprised-like scream. I guess I did look silly standing in the middle of a dumpster, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and wearing a Boston Red Sox baseball cap, clutching two cell phones. Talk about fetishes!
I did manage to placate the astonished women and calmly said:
“Sorry to stun you Miss. I was planning to come this weekend but the weather has been so nice… Well, you know what I mean.”
I don’t think that she did.
My tale of woe and wonderment would have ended here if it weren’t for that big truck!
If you want to try something difficult, try explaining to your wife why you need to be picked up at a local landfill!
Which brings up the subject of the fourth technological development that has altered the history of Mankind--rolling paper!
Well, maybe that’s how I got into this predicament in the first place.
We’ll save that for another day.
Billy Comerford
Thursday, August 28, 2008
"Circumcised, Ostracized, Downsized"... The New Life Cycle!
When we are young, let’s say beginning our professional life, we have little or no thought as to how long our lives will be. This lack of interest applies not just to our personal existence but, especially, our professional lives; what we do to earn a living. The path to success has always been obvious; get a good education—the more the better-- get a job that offers the promise of security and opportunity, and then put in your time.
This has been a plan that has worked for countless numbers of Americans for a long, long time. All we had to do was punch the time clock and pick out the spot for our condo in Florida or Arizona.
The interesting thing about this life cycle is that we have become the instrument of our own demise and it’s all happening in hyper-speed. I’m no economic or philosophical commentator—hell, I had to GOOGLE “philosophical” just to spell it (I can’t believe it doesn’t start with a “F”). All generations have had to deal with their self- antiquating; this is that horse and buggy to automobile thing. The point is I don’t think it has ever happened so quickly and with such a demonic and gloomy prophecy. I have heard that the thinking people who live in caves in such places as Harvard, Princeton, etc., indicate that our current business with China erodes something like 2 million U.S. based jobs a year; and that’s just China ,and as it pertains to the manufacturing sector of our economy. What about the service end of business, call centers, customer support, and the like? It’s getting tough to order a pizza without Mahatma Gandhi answering the phone.
Now I’m not smart enough to know if all of this is good or bad. And, frankly My Dear, I don’t give a damn. If everything goes well I’ll be dead within 25 years and you can all figure it out without me. My kicks are derived from observing the people and the super-structure that orchestrates all of the resulting scenarios. We have armed industry with the silver bullet they have needed to shrink their work force or, at a minimum, farm out its function to someone who can do it cheaper. And they expect, or a least attempt, to do all this and still wear their white hats—they want to be the good guys while they neuter your children!
This scenario is playing havoc--maybe for the first time-- with the fortunes of highly educated and skillful professionals. I’m talking about the guy who did all the right things to insure that his professional life, and the retirement that would follow, would be successful; but finds that after 10 or 15 years of loyal service that he is facing the door. Corporate America has even created a new language to dance around what used to be a simple, “You’re fired”! “ Downsized,” I love that term. My sister was “Rightsized.” When she asked her soon-to-be ex-boss what he meant by that, he replied that he was taking a course of action that was “right for the company,” then he fired her.
An executive for AT&T recently explained that all company employees should realized that “we are all contingent workers.” Contingent is a fancy way of asking “what have you done for me lately”? It means you are disposable and doesn’t, not for one minute, consider your contributions over a period of time. And, these large corporations expect—hell, demand-- absolute loyalty; let’s sing the company song attitudes from the individuals they employ. They make these demands while, at the same time, penciling in your name right next to the delete key on their computers.
Much like my sister’s boss, industry is making what I consider bizarre attempts at changing the English language. I suppose they do this to deflect any wild and crazy thoughts that they might be dirty bastards! At AT&T, after announcing plans to reduce its work force by 40,000, an executive from HR explained, “no one was being fired or laid off.” AT&T was simply carrying out something called its “forced management program” and that those who would find themselves without jobs simply were “unassigned.” This guy added that traditional jobs should now be considered “projects” and “ fields of work.” In this way a person might be “jobless, but not workless.” I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, PEOPLE!!
I thought that as a public service and life-long student of the English language I might lend a hand to these executives with the hope that I might make their jobs a little bit easier. With that in mind, I offer revised definitions of often used business words that can be found in any popular dictionary.
§ Pension- a boarding house; “Do you have a pension?” “Yes, I do. But it only has 1 bedroom and no place to pee because I did not make enough money at my job.”
§ Job- A person of the Old Testament or a person who believes in the Old Testament; “Do you have a Job?” “No, I now follow the New Testament.”
§ Loyalty- The second album from the Hip Hop Group, SCREWBALL, produced by Ayatollah & Godfather Dan.
§ Salary-An allowance of sea salt given to Roman soldiers as wages; “My salary isn’t worth a grain of salt.”
§ Retirement- A car that has dropped out of a race because of mechanical failure or accident; Need I say more?
§ Office- A monastic duty to pray 7 times a day; Seems like a good idea if you have a job with a Fortune 500 Company.
§ WAGE- A radio station in Leesburg, Virginia.
§ Worker- A sterile member of a colony of social insects that forages for food and cares for the larvae; except for the larvae, in most cases, doesn’t this sound familiar?
§ Boss- A circular, rounded projection or protuberance; Sound like “Dick Head” to you?
§ And lastly, HAPPINESS- SOMETHING ABOUT A MYTHOLOGICAL EMOTION OR FEELING ABOUT JUST BEING HAPPY!
As the Pig would say:
“THAT’S ALL FOLKS!”
Billy P.
This has been a plan that has worked for countless numbers of Americans for a long, long time. All we had to do was punch the time clock and pick out the spot for our condo in Florida or Arizona.
The interesting thing about this life cycle is that we have become the instrument of our own demise and it’s all happening in hyper-speed. I’m no economic or philosophical commentator—hell, I had to GOOGLE “philosophical” just to spell it (I can’t believe it doesn’t start with a “F”). All generations have had to deal with their self- antiquating; this is that horse and buggy to automobile thing. The point is I don’t think it has ever happened so quickly and with such a demonic and gloomy prophecy. I have heard that the thinking people who live in caves in such places as Harvard, Princeton, etc., indicate that our current business with China erodes something like 2 million U.S. based jobs a year; and that’s just China ,and as it pertains to the manufacturing sector of our economy. What about the service end of business, call centers, customer support, and the like? It’s getting tough to order a pizza without Mahatma Gandhi answering the phone.
Now I’m not smart enough to know if all of this is good or bad. And, frankly My Dear, I don’t give a damn. If everything goes well I’ll be dead within 25 years and you can all figure it out without me. My kicks are derived from observing the people and the super-structure that orchestrates all of the resulting scenarios. We have armed industry with the silver bullet they have needed to shrink their work force or, at a minimum, farm out its function to someone who can do it cheaper. And they expect, or a least attempt, to do all this and still wear their white hats—they want to be the good guys while they neuter your children!
This scenario is playing havoc--maybe for the first time-- with the fortunes of highly educated and skillful professionals. I’m talking about the guy who did all the right things to insure that his professional life, and the retirement that would follow, would be successful; but finds that after 10 or 15 years of loyal service that he is facing the door. Corporate America has even created a new language to dance around what used to be a simple, “You’re fired”! “ Downsized,” I love that term. My sister was “Rightsized.” When she asked her soon-to-be ex-boss what he meant by that, he replied that he was taking a course of action that was “right for the company,” then he fired her.
An executive for AT&T recently explained that all company employees should realized that “we are all contingent workers.” Contingent is a fancy way of asking “what have you done for me lately”? It means you are disposable and doesn’t, not for one minute, consider your contributions over a period of time. And, these large corporations expect—hell, demand-- absolute loyalty; let’s sing the company song attitudes from the individuals they employ. They make these demands while, at the same time, penciling in your name right next to the delete key on their computers.
Much like my sister’s boss, industry is making what I consider bizarre attempts at changing the English language. I suppose they do this to deflect any wild and crazy thoughts that they might be dirty bastards! At AT&T, after announcing plans to reduce its work force by 40,000, an executive from HR explained, “no one was being fired or laid off.” AT&T was simply carrying out something called its “forced management program” and that those who would find themselves without jobs simply were “unassigned.” This guy added that traditional jobs should now be considered “projects” and “ fields of work.” In this way a person might be “jobless, but not workless.” I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, PEOPLE!!
I thought that as a public service and life-long student of the English language I might lend a hand to these executives with the hope that I might make their jobs a little bit easier. With that in mind, I offer revised definitions of often used business words that can be found in any popular dictionary.
§ Pension- a boarding house; “Do you have a pension?” “Yes, I do. But it only has 1 bedroom and no place to pee because I did not make enough money at my job.”
§ Job- A person of the Old Testament or a person who believes in the Old Testament; “Do you have a Job?” “No, I now follow the New Testament.”
§ Loyalty- The second album from the Hip Hop Group, SCREWBALL, produced by Ayatollah & Godfather Dan.
§ Salary-An allowance of sea salt given to Roman soldiers as wages; “My salary isn’t worth a grain of salt.”
§ Retirement- A car that has dropped out of a race because of mechanical failure or accident; Need I say more?
§ Office- A monastic duty to pray 7 times a day; Seems like a good idea if you have a job with a Fortune 500 Company.
§ WAGE- A radio station in Leesburg, Virginia.
§ Worker- A sterile member of a colony of social insects that forages for food and cares for the larvae; except for the larvae, in most cases, doesn’t this sound familiar?
§ Boss- A circular, rounded projection or protuberance; Sound like “Dick Head” to you?
§ And lastly, HAPPINESS- SOMETHING ABOUT A MYTHOLOGICAL EMOTION OR FEELING ABOUT JUST BEING HAPPY!
As the Pig would say:
“THAT’S ALL FOLKS!”
Billy P.
Monday, August 25, 2008
"Menopause," The Horror Movie The Japanese Were Afraid To Make!
Unlike a lot of men, I love women—I mean, I really love women. I think I even understand them. With that bold statement in mind, I think most women, if they could be given a choice—and armed with the knowledge about this pestilence called “Menopause”-- just might decide to choose a gender change at the point of their delivery. I would rather have permanent boils on my butt than have to deal with the changes and symptoms that accompany this “change of life” because it ain’t no way to change nothin’!
Just take a look at symptoms that read like a bad, bill-of-fare at the local greasy spoon:
Hot flashes and night sweats
Forgetfulness
Moodiness
Changes in urination
Weight gain and shift
Headaches
Palpitations, Joint Pain, Skin and Hair Loss, and a partridge in a pear tree!
I’ll have mine with dry toast, please!
And this isn’t “The Doctor Is In. Com”, so I’m leaving the private part stuff out of the article.
As much empathy as I have for women who all must face this dreaded time, I have matching empathy for those men who must endure this strange ride with their special partners. No one ever told me about this when I started to peep up dresses in elementary school. If I had known, I might be working the night shift at the “Birdcage” with Nathan Lane!
Let’s face it—if it’s supposed to be a “women-thing”, how come they call it “menopause”? Why not “womenopause” and just leave us guys to watching football games and scratching our butts during commercials?
After some time of having to deal with this situation, we have compiled a preventative “do-list” for those of my gender who are currently enduring a confusing time.
As always, our group of “staff “experts has created our list.
Wear at least 6 condoms to bed at night. Menopause is not contagious—this is just a reminder that it is more difficult to cut through rubber than skin!
If you kiss your wife, make certain that you have, at least, 3 reasons for doing so. She is not going to believe the first 2.
Never give the wife the name of your first love even if you were 5 years old when the feelings immersed your soul. Everything you try to be “sociable” she is going to remind you that, “Yeah, you may be kissing me, but you’re thinking of that Bitch!”
Maintain an adequate supply of prescription drugs—Valium, Zanax, Loritabs, or any painkiller will do—you will need them for yourself!
You will receive many questions that are actually accusations. I suggest that your initial response to these questions be a lie—save the truth for the last. You will always have to give in—no matter what—so why not end with the real thing?
Consume only light, low-fat foods and take daily enemas. I’m not sure this will help, but you will be more agile when the first attempt on your life is made.
When possible, walk thru all public places where women can be observed, with your eyes closed. This may seem impossible, but you will be surprised how adept you are at it especially if you’re dealing with a prolonged “pause.”
Try moving to an Arabic nation where killing your wife is “Okay”—as long as you have a good reason for doing so.
Consider a sex change. Oprah always looking for a good story.
And lastly, don’t read this article and, if you already have, deny it! After all, I’ve told my wife that I’m spending this afternoon looking at our wedding pictures. Let’s work together and keep our stories straight. You know, for the good of Mankind!!
Billy P.
Just take a look at symptoms that read like a bad, bill-of-fare at the local greasy spoon:
Hot flashes and night sweats
Forgetfulness
Moodiness
Changes in urination
Weight gain and shift
Headaches
Palpitations, Joint Pain, Skin and Hair Loss, and a partridge in a pear tree!
I’ll have mine with dry toast, please!
And this isn’t “The Doctor Is In. Com”, so I’m leaving the private part stuff out of the article.
As much empathy as I have for women who all must face this dreaded time, I have matching empathy for those men who must endure this strange ride with their special partners. No one ever told me about this when I started to peep up dresses in elementary school. If I had known, I might be working the night shift at the “Birdcage” with Nathan Lane!
Let’s face it—if it’s supposed to be a “women-thing”, how come they call it “menopause”? Why not “womenopause” and just leave us guys to watching football games and scratching our butts during commercials?
After some time of having to deal with this situation, we have compiled a preventative “do-list” for those of my gender who are currently enduring a confusing time.
As always, our group of “staff “experts has created our list.
Wear at least 6 condoms to bed at night. Menopause is not contagious—this is just a reminder that it is more difficult to cut through rubber than skin!
If you kiss your wife, make certain that you have, at least, 3 reasons for doing so. She is not going to believe the first 2.
Never give the wife the name of your first love even if you were 5 years old when the feelings immersed your soul. Everything you try to be “sociable” she is going to remind you that, “Yeah, you may be kissing me, but you’re thinking of that Bitch!”
Maintain an adequate supply of prescription drugs—Valium, Zanax, Loritabs, or any painkiller will do—you will need them for yourself!
You will receive many questions that are actually accusations. I suggest that your initial response to these questions be a lie—save the truth for the last. You will always have to give in—no matter what—so why not end with the real thing?
Consume only light, low-fat foods and take daily enemas. I’m not sure this will help, but you will be more agile when the first attempt on your life is made.
When possible, walk thru all public places where women can be observed, with your eyes closed. This may seem impossible, but you will be surprised how adept you are at it especially if you’re dealing with a prolonged “pause.”
Try moving to an Arabic nation where killing your wife is “Okay”—as long as you have a good reason for doing so.
Consider a sex change. Oprah always looking for a good story.
And lastly, don’t read this article and, if you already have, deny it! After all, I’ve told my wife that I’m spending this afternoon looking at our wedding pictures. Let’s work together and keep our stories straight. You know, for the good of Mankind!!
Billy P.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
"Georgia Invaded By Russians!"
Just when you thought the Cold War had melted its last tray of ice-cubes, the Russkis get crazy and invade my beloved Georgia. I spent 35 years of my life in Georgia, learned to love the people and call the land “my home”. This sudden betrayal by the Russians will set our relationship back hundreds of years, not to mention jeopardize the upcoming Bull Dawgs football season, which had promised to be one of our greatest ever. Wo is me!
If the bullies had to come down off their steppes and start a fight, why couldn’t they wait until the Bowl games were over, or, better yet, invade some other state—like South Florida. There’s a place we can all do without.
Now this may seem to be a shocking suggestion to many of you. I mean, what can be wrong with South Florida with its beaches, ocean, and balmy, wonderful weather?
My response to that question is that there is nothing wrong with all of those assets. It’s the rest of the state that gives me a problem--the people, especially the OLD PEOPLE who usually migrate from the North. They call them Snowbirds, but that doesn’t capture the essence of what these folks are all about. There is no bird in existence as mean as these creatures.
Now I realize this statement is contrary to our generally presumed adulation of the Senior Citizen. Just give me a second to explain; after all, I am a card-carrying member of AARP myself.
ELDERLY folks, like your grandmother, realize that there is a starting and finishing point in life: our birth and our death. Everything in the middle is called “ageing” and most ELDERLY folks do this very well and gracefully.
OLD PEOPLE are of the same species-- at least I think so-- except they are probably dead. They just don’t know it!
Rather than let their age represent an accumulation of a life well-spent, OLD PEOPLE are, more or less, condemned to the years they have spent on this earth and like to draw the rest of the world into their daily misery. They are mean, petulant, quick to anger and often complain more than a tennis player in a match during a thunderstorm with a near-sighted line judge. The long and short of it all is that they confirm a thought I have had for most of my life; that is, if you are a jerk when you are thirty you will probably be a jerk when you are one-hundred and thirty!
I used to hang around a lot of supermarkets when I lived in SoFlo, as I like to call it. Supermarkets are a good place to research the habits and behavior of OLD PEOPLE. This is where you get to see their very best, worst! One day while observing their activities, I entered the dairy section, which is, usually, a pacific area of a market, let’s say compared to a Deli section. (“ Thin, you call this sliced thin?”) Or, how about: (“Ten dollars for a pound of Boar’s Head? Did I say I wanted the whole cow?”) A women-- I would guess somewhere between eighty and ninety years of age, in the loudest of all voices-- was totally berating a man.
“You people are crazy,” she screamed in an accent only her mother would recognize. “Why would anyone put blue screw tops on milk. Who drinks milk with blue screw tops? They should be white, like in the old country, and the bottle should be real glass.”
The man stood calmly with his arms folded.
She continued her tirade for what seemed like an eternity and paused only to remind this poor guy that if it weren’t for the recent death of her beloved husband, she would return to New York in a minute’s time.
When she finally finished, the guy stood quietly for a few seconds and then spoke in the calmest of voices:
“Are you finished, Mame?”
“I could say a lot more, but who is paying attention,” she added somewhat prophetically.
He gave a knowing look and said: “ The next time you have a comment about store policy you might want to be certain that the person at whom you’re screaming is an employee.”
He was just a customer
The OLD PERSON just shrugged, said nothing, and acted as if he deserved it anyway!
After many experiences like this I became hardened to the SoFlo way of life. It gave me a laugh when I announced to my friends that my wife was again transferred and we had chosen Georgia as our option.
“Man, haven’t you heard about the crime in Georgia? A friend asked.
“Man, haven’t you heard about the crime in SoFlo ?” I retorted
Just a couple of highlights about the good life by the sea:
§ In South Florida OLD PEOPLE are enamored with cosmetic surgery. Plastic surgeons are to Miami like BBQ joints to Georgia. These folks give liposuction to their pets.
§ I knew one OLDIE who was pulled so tight that her liver spots were on the back of her head; made her look like an old pair of argyle socks.
§ In Florida OLDIES always have the right-of-way, even if it means driving through your living room.
§ Crashing your car through convenience stores is so common that some of the chains are providing their cashiers with an extra dot on their heads… for good luck, of course!
§ Haiti doesn’t have to worry about feeding their people anymore; they have all moved to SoFlo and are working as caretakers for OLDIES. Like most immigrants, they are doing work that we wouldn’t touch. I can still hear their refrain: “No, Mr. Kravitz…No ‘Doo-Doo’ until you’re out of the wheel chair.” Mr. Kravitz, of course, can’t hear.
§ Pedestrians are also known as road kill in the land down under. You would stand a better chance of surviving a three month cruise on the Hindenburg with a group of chain- smokers than walking to school in the morning.
§ Stopping at red lights in Florida is optional especially if you’re from Jamaica or Central America. I don’t think these people like the color red.
§ This is the only state in the union where the traditional southern salutation “have a nice day” receives a response of “what’s in it for you?"
Why anyone in his or her right mind would want to live there is beyond me! After two years of counting guys at the beach with knee-high black, stretch socks, I found myself quietly wishing for a hurricane of monumental proportions that might wash away the entire area so we could start anew.
I am just happy that Walt Disney didn’t put Mickey further south than Orlando.
I would miss the rides.
Billy P
If the bullies had to come down off their steppes and start a fight, why couldn’t they wait until the Bowl games were over, or, better yet, invade some other state—like South Florida. There’s a place we can all do without.
Now this may seem to be a shocking suggestion to many of you. I mean, what can be wrong with South Florida with its beaches, ocean, and balmy, wonderful weather?
My response to that question is that there is nothing wrong with all of those assets. It’s the rest of the state that gives me a problem--the people, especially the OLD PEOPLE who usually migrate from the North. They call them Snowbirds, but that doesn’t capture the essence of what these folks are all about. There is no bird in existence as mean as these creatures.
Now I realize this statement is contrary to our generally presumed adulation of the Senior Citizen. Just give me a second to explain; after all, I am a card-carrying member of AARP myself.
ELDERLY folks, like your grandmother, realize that there is a starting and finishing point in life: our birth and our death. Everything in the middle is called “ageing” and most ELDERLY folks do this very well and gracefully.
OLD PEOPLE are of the same species-- at least I think so-- except they are probably dead. They just don’t know it!
Rather than let their age represent an accumulation of a life well-spent, OLD PEOPLE are, more or less, condemned to the years they have spent on this earth and like to draw the rest of the world into their daily misery. They are mean, petulant, quick to anger and often complain more than a tennis player in a match during a thunderstorm with a near-sighted line judge. The long and short of it all is that they confirm a thought I have had for most of my life; that is, if you are a jerk when you are thirty you will probably be a jerk when you are one-hundred and thirty!
I used to hang around a lot of supermarkets when I lived in SoFlo, as I like to call it. Supermarkets are a good place to research the habits and behavior of OLD PEOPLE. This is where you get to see their very best, worst! One day while observing their activities, I entered the dairy section, which is, usually, a pacific area of a market, let’s say compared to a Deli section. (“ Thin, you call this sliced thin?”) Or, how about: (“Ten dollars for a pound of Boar’s Head? Did I say I wanted the whole cow?”) A women-- I would guess somewhere between eighty and ninety years of age, in the loudest of all voices-- was totally berating a man.
“You people are crazy,” she screamed in an accent only her mother would recognize. “Why would anyone put blue screw tops on milk. Who drinks milk with blue screw tops? They should be white, like in the old country, and the bottle should be real glass.”
The man stood calmly with his arms folded.
She continued her tirade for what seemed like an eternity and paused only to remind this poor guy that if it weren’t for the recent death of her beloved husband, she would return to New York in a minute’s time.
When she finally finished, the guy stood quietly for a few seconds and then spoke in the calmest of voices:
“Are you finished, Mame?”
“I could say a lot more, but who is paying attention,” she added somewhat prophetically.
He gave a knowing look and said: “ The next time you have a comment about store policy you might want to be certain that the person at whom you’re screaming is an employee.”
He was just a customer
The OLD PERSON just shrugged, said nothing, and acted as if he deserved it anyway!
After many experiences like this I became hardened to the SoFlo way of life. It gave me a laugh when I announced to my friends that my wife was again transferred and we had chosen Georgia as our option.
“Man, haven’t you heard about the crime in Georgia? A friend asked.
“Man, haven’t you heard about the crime in SoFlo ?” I retorted
Just a couple of highlights about the good life by the sea:
§ In South Florida OLD PEOPLE are enamored with cosmetic surgery. Plastic surgeons are to Miami like BBQ joints to Georgia. These folks give liposuction to their pets.
§ I knew one OLDIE who was pulled so tight that her liver spots were on the back of her head; made her look like an old pair of argyle socks.
§ In Florida OLDIES always have the right-of-way, even if it means driving through your living room.
§ Crashing your car through convenience stores is so common that some of the chains are providing their cashiers with an extra dot on their heads… for good luck, of course!
§ Haiti doesn’t have to worry about feeding their people anymore; they have all moved to SoFlo and are working as caretakers for OLDIES. Like most immigrants, they are doing work that we wouldn’t touch. I can still hear their refrain: “No, Mr. Kravitz…No ‘Doo-Doo’ until you’re out of the wheel chair.” Mr. Kravitz, of course, can’t hear.
§ Pedestrians are also known as road kill in the land down under. You would stand a better chance of surviving a three month cruise on the Hindenburg with a group of chain- smokers than walking to school in the morning.
§ Stopping at red lights in Florida is optional especially if you’re from Jamaica or Central America. I don’t think these people like the color red.
§ This is the only state in the union where the traditional southern salutation “have a nice day” receives a response of “what’s in it for you?"
Why anyone in his or her right mind would want to live there is beyond me! After two years of counting guys at the beach with knee-high black, stretch socks, I found myself quietly wishing for a hurricane of monumental proportions that might wash away the entire area so we could start anew.
I am just happy that Walt Disney didn’t put Mickey further south than Orlando.
I would miss the rides.
Billy P
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